November Tree Leaves

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"It's too early to be here!" I groan, lulling my aching head on to Jenna's shoulder.

"It's lunchtime." She says, looking at me with those bright blue eyes.

Fuck her for being pretty. Fuck her and her blond hair, and glimmering ocean eyes. I could never stand how much prettier she is than me. She always has been the one to turn heads whenever she walked in a room. Not me.

I was(and am), far too shy to cause a scene.

November tree-leaves bleed into each other; from orange and yellow, to every shade in between. The cold autumn's chill caresses our bodies through the café's open windows; eleven o'clock sunshine dampened by the murky grey of the clouds. And with the muffled light of New York's mid-day, I can't help but be reminded of Michael. And that's how I've always though of New York(lovely, but terrifying). How his silly pink didn't really match the light green of his eyes. How his lips were oh-so delicate, but, with the last collision, they didn't seem that way.

They seemed rough and smooth at the same time, pained, desperate.

And I had never felt something like that before.

The kisses I've experienced, were strained, void of all emotion. And throughout all those years, that's what I've believed passion to taste like. I've never liked it. I've never had a passion for anyone. Nothing that made my heart ache, and my knees weak. I've never lived a storybook life with cute endings and unrealistic love events.

And I don't plan on it anytime soon, because that would mean change, and I can't adapt to change very well.

"Hello ma'am. What may I get you this on beautiful day?" An achingly familiar voice asks.

My entire body tenses, the sound of his goofy teenage voice ringing still ringing in my ears; eyes shooting to the boy.

C...

... middle of paper ...

... as Michael cracks, licking his lips as his eyes grow a completely different octave of green. A dark, shaded one.

He picks me up off his lap, quickly standing and pulling me by my arm to the bedroom. I feel bliss take over, and bite my lip in excitement.

I've only pleasured other people before, never experienced it. And even so, those, 'other people,' were only Evan, and it wasn't voluntarily.

He pushes me on the bed, locks the door, and quickly pulls of his shirt.

Fuck.

I almost forgot what he looks like under his dark T-shirts.

Almost.

After that one, drunken and bipolar night in front of the woods of Wonderland, I didn't talk to him for a couple days. And in those couple of days, it may or may not have included the act of touching myself.

Oh no.

Maybe I really was right(for once).

I am the one whose going to get the wrong idea.

Especially after tonight.

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