I kept my eyes closed, the fingers of my left hand curling around the countertop as I tried to stay standing. No good. This is no good. Shit. I tried to turn my head away, but Florian brought his hand up and ran his fingers through my hair.
"Stop it," I whispered as my heart hammered against my ribcage and my breathing came in fits and gasps. Tears tried desperately to squeeze out from under my eyelids, but I held them back. "Flor, stop."
"The smell of your skin, your hair, your breath," he whispered, "it undoes me."
And then he kissed me.
The heat of his lips seared against mine as his right hand found my face and cupped my chin, drawing me forward and into his arms. And oh, it felt good. So good. We unhooked the fingers of our right and left hands, his finding the top of my jeans, curving beneath the denim and drawing me forward while his knuckles teased my tattoo. Mine found the strong muscles of his back and dug into the fabric of his tight T-shirt, latching onto the cotton fabric like it was a lifeline and I was drowning. It really felt like I was there for a moment, like Flor was my only source of life and breath, like if I let go of him, I would lose myself.
When he pulled back abruptly, running his hand through his hair and leaving me a panting, melting, stuttering mess, he seemed almost angry.
"Goddamn it, Abigail," he snarled, marching across the kitchen floor and pausing with his gaze focused on the windows, on the faint sounds of shouting that echoed around outside. I wondered how long it might be before Addi or Max got it in their heads to come back and check on me. "I can't do this!"
"Can't do what, Flor?" I asked, half of me broken and shattered, the other half almost … ecstatic. Because if Flor's actions, if his words, were anything to go on, then he might, just might, feel the same way about me as I felt about him. "Flor, I – "
"Don't say it, Abi," he whispered, reaching back into his pocket. He withdrew something I couldn't see in the dark half-light and placed it on the countertop.
"Why?" I asked, standing up straight, feeling those sobs I'd fought so hard against rise to the surface. "Why won't you let me say what I want to say, Florian? Why not let me get it out there, so we can talk about it."
"I don't want to hear it, Abi," he said, and I found my sudden sadness turning into anger. I clenched my fists tight and moved forward, grabbing at the back of his shirt and trying to get him to turn towards me. He refused to budge.
"You don't even know what I'm going to say," I growled at him, proud of myself for keeping my voice strong and even. "If you'd just let me speak – "
Flor interrupted me again, moving away and waving his hand dismissively.
When he glanced over his shoulder at me, his eyes were cloaked in shadow and his expression unreadable. He reached up and patted the small box on the counter.
"Enjoy your present," he said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and slipping one between his lips. "Call me when you remember mine, okay, nee-chan?"
Flor turned away from me and descended the stairs, leaving me alone in the darkness of the apartment.
I'd thrown all of my clothes onto the floor, emptied out the closet, flipped up the mattress and box spring and still, I hadn't found it.
"Fuck," I said, sweeping some stray strands of hair back from my face. Today, Friday, yet another family dinner looming on the horizon, and I couldn't find the damn box. That box. The one that held all of the items that used to grace my Florian shrine.
"You're up early," Addi said, blinking in the brightness from my open window. As I turned to look at her, I saw Patrick slide by in the hallway and disappear into the bathroom. My friend draped herself in the doorway to my bedroom and yawned. She and Patrick hadn't come home until dawn and all I had from Max was a text telling me that he was sorry I wasn't feeling well and that he'd try to bring over some flowers. Addi's lie to him about my not feeling well was far better than the truth. I caught you red-handed, you dick, I thought, pushing at a pile of clothes with my foot. I thought about asking Addi about the box, but I knew it was useless. She didn't have it; Flor did – as evidenced by the gift he'd left me last night.
A locket. With a picture of us as kids inside. A picture that I knew had come from that box.
"It's a little early for a clean sweep, isn't it?" Addi said, yawning again. I smiled at her and shrugged as she stood up and padded down the hallway on bare feet. My cheeks heated and I closed my eyes, biting at my thumb nail and trying to figure out what I was going to do about this. I mean, based on what happened last night, it didn't seem like my feelings for Flor were a secret, not really. And he'd basically … I stopped chewing on my nail and pressed my fingers to my lips. I could still feel his mouth there, hot and insistent and desperate. But for what? For me?
I sighed and took a few steps back, plopping down on the window seat opposite my bedroom door.
"This is a disaster," I whispered, dropping my fingers down to the silver locket and letting it flutter between them as I leaned down and took a deep breath. Do you even know what today is? I hadn't known what Flor was talking about when he'd first asked that, but I did now. Yesterday was the anniversary of the day we'd first met. It hadn't meant anything to either of us for the longest time, but once, when I was thirteen, I remembered looking at the calendar and being overwhelmed with a memory. There was Flor, dark haired and brooding, even at age eight, standing hand in hand with his mother on my front door step. I remember hiding behind my dad, shy and confused at what was happening. The memory itself is blurry: what Flor was wearing, what River said to me while she stood there with her son, what we even did that day, but there's one thing that remains perfectly clear. Flor's eyes.
I closed mine now and let the color flood back into my head.
I'd looked at the calendar that day and brought it up casually, already embroiled in full-blown Flor obsession by that point. He'd sat at the counter in the kitchen musing on it for a while and then he'd said we should celebrate. We'd walked down to the burger joint that was a few blocks from our place at the time and splurged with Flor's allowance. Ever since then we'd been getting together and having lunch or exchanging stupid meaningless little gifts. Even in the dry years between the kiss and the day I'd graduated high school, we'd made time for that day.
And here I'd gone and ruined it.
I sighed again and stood up, pulling my phone from my pocket and removing the block on Flor's number. It took a few tries, but I finally forced myself to dial him up.
"Abi?" he asked, sounding sleepy and confused.
"Lunch," I told him, and then after I listed the place and time, I added, "and bring the box."
Flor looked a little wary when he stepped inside Plank Town Brewing Company, the box under one arm, and a beanie crushed over the dark hair on his head. He glanced around for a brief moment before spotting me and, my heart thumping in my chest, I waved him over.
When he set it down on the pale wood of the tabletop, I clenched my jaw and spit it out.
Instead of a hello, or a damn you for taking what wasn't yours to take, he ended up with this:
"I love you, Flor."
A visible shiver shook his body as he took a step back and tore the beanie from his head, crushing it up in his fist and slamming it down on the table. Our waitress, approaching with a carafe of water, paused and set it down on the table two places to our right, pretending to tidy the menus stuffed between glasses filled with napkin wrapped cutlery.
"Don't do this, Abigail," he said, his voice rough again. I traced his face, the slight stubble on his jaw, his scar, the piercings in his eyebrow and those in his lips. I kept my hands locked together in my lap and said it again.
"I love you, Flor. I always have, and I always will."
"I love you, too, Abi. You're my … little sister," he growled out at me, slumping onto the bench opposite me. I noticed that Flor didn't bother to look my way, focusing on the waitress who finally decided it was safe to approach, picking up the water carafe and bringing it over to our table.
"Can I get you anything else to drink?" she asked us, and I shook my head. The tension between me and Flor was thick enough to cut with a knife. As if she could sense that, she added, "I'll give you a moment to decide," before disappearing.