First Kiss

FIRST KISS

L ife is currently a freeze frame of sensations. One where I'm seeing myself knocking on her door, where I'm hearing the police cruisers' sirens and ambulances racing to the scene I abandoned, and where I'm feeling the adrenaline pump through my veins. But it's also all numbing to the senses, as though I'm not really here.

My first knock goes unanswered, so I bang on the door again, this time harder. She wasn't at the party and may already be asleep, but unfortunately for her, I don't give a fuck. Not now. Not when this could very well be it.

Sirens whirl in the background, echoing closer. No doubt, all those witnesses told them I was the point behind their call, and they're out scouring the streets for me.

Alex Miller and his family are powerful but also petty, which means this won't be forgotten. At eighteen, if they press charges, I'll be tried as an adult and not a minor. There's only one way this ends, and it'll take me away from my Dolly.

Images of red wash over me. Of Alex's blood spilt on the basement floor where I attacked him. The same blood coating my cracked knuckles. I wipe them on my jeans before she sees, but the blood's begun drying and my attempts are useless.

All of this will be worth it once I see her again. The only person, other than my family, that I'd kill for. In this case, I kind of wish my hits had done more damage, so then Miller definitely wouldn't be an issue to her.

Finally, the door opens and I see her.

My Elena.

She takes me in with a low breathy gasp that I'd miss if I wasn't so attuned to her. Always have been, even if I've had a fucked-up way of showing it over these years.

Her eyes flick down, landing on my bloodied knuckles.

"Dolly," I greet, forcing a grin, downplaying everything about my presence, but we both know this is no small coincidence. Although I've always known where she lives, she would have burned me alive had I showed up any other time.

She blinks, her pouty lips pressing together. "Ryker?"

The distant sound of a siren echoes from down the road, reminding me why I should hurry. Without waiting for an invitation, I step through her doorway. She doesn't move out of the way, so I'm dangerously close to her. So close, I witness every emotion fluttering through her—confusion, fear, shock. Everything I'd expect and nothing I'm hoping for.

After another quick glance outside, I shut the door. As though Elena now gets what's happening, she paces backwards, away from me, and I prowl after her, matching every step she takes.

"What are you doing here?" She rubs her forehead, right where there's a ripple in her skin. I want to reach out and smooth her concern away.

Instead of answering, I glance down the dimmed hallway. "Are your parents home?" Last thing I need is for them to be around.

"N-no," she replies, tension tightening her shoulders.

I hate that. For years, I've thrilled myself with tormenting her, but now, I wish otherwise. That she'd be looking at me differently than she is.

"It's only me here," she adds, hooking strands of hair around her ear. She's missed more than she tucked away, and my hands form fists by my side before I reach out and touch the hair I know to be stupidly soft.

I need her nerves gone though. This isn't how I hoped it'd go, but it's also expectant. Still, I tell her, "I'm not here to hurt you. Don't be doing that shit." And before I fully stop myself, I reach for her hand, tugging it away from her face.

Her gaze flicks to my hand, eyes widening but obviously not for the reasons I hope because she demands, "Ryker, what happened ? Who did you kill?"

If only. I stare where we're still connected, sucking in a sharp gulp of air before I come up with an answer she'll accept. For years, I've been her personal villain, but for this instance, I long to be her hero.

"Tell me you didn't." It's a low whisper.

I shake my head, the image of Miller crying on the ground momentarily returning. "Not for lack of trying. If Tristan hadn't pulled me off…"

"Pulled you off of who?"

Of the guy who bragged about touching you. Raping you. But if she's struggling with my presence, I doubt she'd accept an almost-killer in her home.

"Doesn't matter. It's not why I'm here." Do it. Now. Do what you've dreamed of for so damn long.

"Why are you he—"

I move without giving either of us warning. My hands cup her hips, pulling her against me. She feels fucking amazing. Soft and warm and so perfect, like she's made for me. My own personal doll.

My mouth descends on hers, swallowing her breathy gasp, as my hands slide to her back, slipping beneath the edge of her tank. Her skin is silky and soft, and I don't know how I'll ever stop touching her.

She's frozen, but with the next flick of my tongue, she shivers and starts kissing me back. It's this moment I mentally lock in time so I have it with me during tonight's aftermath.

Eternity is forever. Endless. And as much as I wish this moment could be a part of eternity, it can't be. We can't be.

The pain of tonight and what's probably coming is nothing next to the pain it takes me to pull away from her, when all I crave is drowning here and now, in Elena. My hand remains under her tank, my fingers teasingly dancing up her spine. I have to release her too, but my body and mind aren't partners right now.

Something like hurt flashes in her eyes, as well as another emotion I recognize but refuse to acknowledge because doing so will mean I'll never be able to leave.

Freshly-kissed lips, reddened by the pressure from my own, part. My name slips out. A plea; a question; a million words packed into five letters. "Ryker—"

I finally release her, and do the second stupidest thing tonight: turn away and head for the door. "I have to go." The last thing either of us need is the cops tracing me here—and Elena witnessing everything.

"Okay." Her desolate tone sounds further away than the five feet physically between us.

My heart skips a beat, and there's nothing I can say but a single prayer to get me through this night. A prayer, a vow—her name. "Elena."

Silence stretches between us but if I know Dolly, then I can sense what she's thinking. It's so rare I refer to her by her real name, but it shows the moment's importance.

Her quiet steps drag over the hardwood as she nears, something I can't have right now. If she were to touch me, hold me, I might never leave. I jerk my arm away before she can. "Don't touch me."

There's only one way this ends now.

So I leave before I do anything worse, like try to stay.

I walk away quickly, hoping she doesn't follow. I head back toward the Millers' house, to where most of the cops are probably still lingering. It's the feel of Elena on my lips, in my arms, that makes all this possible. Everything tonight was for her, and my only regret is leaving her.

The closer I get to the party, I spot a police cruiser slowly patrolling. No doubt, someone at the party handed over my image so it's only a matter of time before they find me. I may have made a lot of decisions others would say isn't smart, but I'm not suicidal enough to run from the law forever. They'd find me no matter where I went.

Which is why I stride straight toward the car and stop by the passenger side's window, hands up where they can see them. I bend, meeting the surprised faces of the two officers.

"I believe I'm the one you're looking for, gentlemen."

I've been processed and had my statement taken. Was told that Alex Miller will be pressing charges and his father is demanding I go to prison. The police threw out terms like court and lawyers , and I've just become numb to it all.

Now, I'm in a small room. A one-way window is to my right, a door in front of me, and two stone walls making up the rest. A camera blinks from the room's top right corner, angled toward me and the table I'm seated at, cuffed hands lazily resting on top. The metal chair is uncomfortable as fuck, but after speaking with the cops, I suspect it's something I should learn to get used to.

Others might sit in my place and recount what brought them here, but not me. No, I'm strictly focused on the second half of my night, with Elena. I've imagined her staring at the door after I left, her wickedly smart mind trying to come up with every possible reason for why I showed up tonight. Or worse, why I kissed her out of the blue, and took off. Years of me fucking with her all to do that… If I know my girl in the slightest, she's assuming this is yet another one of my games.

Did she follow me out of her house? I didn't check because if I saw her, I'm not sure I could have continued walking.

Or did she head back to whatever she was doing prior to my visit and brush the entire thing off? My stomach knots thinking that.

I glance at the officer standing guard by the door, his hands lazily hooked around his belt as he stares straight at the wall behind me, seemingly zoned out. The only acknowledgment I got from this guy was when the other cop left, and I was the only other person for him to shoot a nod toward before becoming as stone as the wall he leans on.

"Hey," I call out, garnering his attention. "Favour. Can I have a pen and paper?"

His bushy brows scrunch together before he looks away again. "No."

I scan his hands, searching for a certain item, thrilled when he has one. A wedding band on his left hand, which means there's someone in his life he cares about.

"Look," I lean forward as much as I'm able to, "you know Alex Miller's father. Everyone does. So you also know, there's only one way this ends, which means I might not get the chance to say goodbye to everyone I want to."

He blinks, looking toward me again, which is a win. Means I've gained some measure of his interest.

"I have a girl, sir. Well, she's not mine exactly. Not in all the ways that matter." A quick glance at his hand to add impact to my words. "But I love her just the same, and now, I'll never be with her the way I've always dreamed of." I lower my tone. "I only want to write her a letter, explaining what's happened and why I'm out of her life. A final goodbye, to tell her all the things I was too dumb and scared to say in person."

I stop there because if that didn't win him over, then he's a hard-ass and nothing else will.

The officer stares at me long and hard before glancing toward his own hand, and I bite down on a smile. After another moment, he clicks the radio strapped to his pocket and murmurs something into it. I lean back in the chair, trying to appear eased and cooperative so when the door parts and the officer reaches through the opening, I'm nothing but the perfect prisoner.

He treads toward the table, dropping a yellow notepad and a cheap pen in front of me. "You have five minutes, and then I'm confiscating the items. The letter included. Protocol. We have to read it."

"That's fine." There's nothing going in there that'll admit or deny anything. "Keep it, though. I'll be using my call to get friend to come for it. Thank you, sir."

He grunts again and retreats to his spot. With five minutes on the clock, I get writing and let it all pour out.

Dolly,

By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. The stories will soon make their way to you and I will be depicted as the bad guy in the scenario, simply for who's at the forefront. Believe the stories, because buried in them, the truth is there. No one knows the complete truth—why I did it—so don't bother searching.

If I have my way, she'll never figure out the truth. There's a peace in ignorance. But at least this might explain my sudden disappearance, and why the tales will begin spinning once Miller opens his big mouth.

Holding the pen a bit tighter than earlier, I continue:

I wanted to write to you and tell you this personally. At first, I planned on using this letter to keep my name clean in your heart, but I realize this is better. Do not see me as the hero, because I'm not one. I'll forever be your villain.

How I fucking wish I could use this paper and explain everything so she's aware I'm not the same bully she knows. The stories that'll circulate will align with the only version of me she knows—a villain.

I came to you tonight because I needed to taste you once before I lost all opportunity to do so. It was a taste I'll never stop imagining. The flavour of your lips, your small gasp, the feel of you in my arms after all this time… Thank you for allowing me to steal a piece of an angel before I'm put into Hell.

I pause. For the first time all night, there's a stinging behind my eyes. The same feeling I used to get when I'd cry myself to sleep as a child, scared that one random day, the good life my adopted parents provided me would come to an end and I'd get sent back to the agency.

I blink the tears back, using the room's fluorescent bulbs above to burn them away before the guard or anyone watching on the camera sees.

Because that paragraph just written is one of the few statements in this entire letter that's the complete truth. It's the entire reason I bolted from the party. The whole purpose behind my visit, and at least with this, she'll understand why.

With that thought, I bite my tongue to continue holding back my true feelings. Thinking about her in my arms again makes this all worth it, but also more agonizing. What I wouldn't give for one more taste…

I stare at the letter, presuming her emotions for each paragraph. Confusion, and then if she feels even the slightest similarities that I do, then something much larger with those last few statements. Which is why I quickly scribble the next one, shattering any positivity she'll cling to.

All for her. Because if this is it, hating me will be better.

You were a fun pastime. A toy I spent molding for the last four years for myself, but apparently that can't happen anymore. You'll be put on the shelf, ready for the next boy who comes along. But remember, in the end, you'll always have been mine first. No matter who plays with you, I will be engraved in your soul—exactly as you're affixed to mine.

She'll move on. She'll meet someone new. And that'll be that…The thoughts trail off before they can imagine more.

I realize this is vague and regardless of what you hear, do not come looking for me. One day, if I'm able to, I hope to come back to you. Until then, forget about me and forget about these last four years.

Have a good life, Dolly. Be happy, my beautiful Elena.

Ryker.

I drop the pen, rereading the letter in its entity, and the final facts at the end.

"Time's up."

Before handing over the letter and writing materials, my thumb strokes over the sentence I'll commit to memory. The finality in it kills me, but the truth shatters me.

Have a good life, Dolly. Be happy, my beautiful Elena.

Within the hour of my phone call, I'm told Tristan arrived and picked up my letter. On the phone, I asked that he drop it off immediately so she'll have it in the morning.

And that's the end. Elena's safe. From both me and Alex Miller.

Early in the morning, a man enters the room, introducing himself as the court appointed lawyer charged with my case. Whatever. He won't be able to fight whoever the Millers hire. Money and influence does that.

He tells me they're currently setting a court date and that it's much sooner than even he could predict. Something about the Millers demanding a quick trial.

So instead of graduating high school in a few short days and crossing the stage, I'll probably be a convict. The end of high school feels even bleaker than before.

Because instead of years of bullying my Dolly leading to something more, they're simply…over.