Marcel

I didn’t mean to.

That’s the first thought that rushes through my head, but it’s a lie.

Of course, I meant to. Somewhere in the tangled mess of my emotions, in that charged moment, I made the decision.

I kissed her.

And now, the air in the room is suffocating.

Lori hasn’t moved. She’s sitting there, her eyes wide, her lips parted like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out.

My chest tightens as I stare at her, taking in the way her breath catches, the soft blush creeping up her neck.

It’s too much.

I push my back so abruptly I almost find myself kissing the floor, the sharp gasp breaking the thick silence between us.

My bag is on the desk, my fingers fumbling with the strap as I sling it over my shoulder. I need to go. I need to get out of here before I unravel completely.

“Marcel,” Lori says, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

The way she says my name—it’s too tender, too careful. I can’t deal with that right now. This was not supposed to happen.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, my words clipped, my tone too sharp.

I don’t wait for her to respond. I can’t. If I stay even a second longer, I’ll spiral into questions I don’t have answers to.

My heels click against the floor as I make my way to the door, my pulse pounding in my ears.

I don’t exhale until I’m outside, the cool night air hitting my skin like a slap.

It doesn’t help. My hands are shaking, my chest is tight, and my lips…

God, my lips are still tingling.

I rub the back of my hand across my mouth as if that will erase the memory, but it only makes it worse because despite myself, I can still feel it.

I can still feel the softness of hers, the tentative way she responded, like she didn’t know whether to lean in or pull back.

The worst part is I don’t even know why I did it.

No, that’s not true. I know why.

I just don’t want to admit it now or ever.

Lori has this way of getting under my skin and pushing buttons I didn’t know existed until she came along.

She’s infuriating, unpredictable, and completely unapologetic about it.

She pisses me off in ways no one else does, and I hate it as much as I’m drawn to it.

And tonight, it all boiled over.

I should have walked away when she started teasing me, poking at my boundaries like she always does.

But something in her eyes, that spark of defiance softened by something almost vulnerable, had me leaning in instead of stepping back.

I don't even know what I was thinking, but I knew then, I just wanted to take away the sadness in her eyes.

And now, I’ve gone and ruined everything.

My car is parked a few miles away, but I can’t bring myself to head there yet.

My feet carry me aimlessly down the quiet street, the city sounds distant, muffled by the thoughts crashing through my head.

What happens now?  What do I do now?

Lori’s face flashes in my mind again—the surprise, the softness, the way her gaze flicked to my lips like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

I couldn't believe it either.

But she pulled back and somehow something snapped. I believed it. I kissed her.

I stop walking, leaning against a lamppost and running a hand through my hair. I’ve always been good at keeping my emotions in check, at maintaining control. But tonight, I let it slip.

And now, the walls I’ve spent years building around myself feel flimsy and useless.

I don't even know what Lori thinks about me right now. Does she hate me? Is she amused by this? By my weakness. Will she want to talk about it?

What was I thinking?

I wasn’t thinking. That’s the problem. For the first time in a long time, I let myself feel something—really feel it—and it scares me because I don't do anything without thought like a headless chicken.

But it’s not just about the kiss. It’s about Lori.

I close my eyes, the memory of her laugh, her smirk, the way she gets this mischievous glint in her eye when she’s about to say something infuriating—it all rushes back, and I feel the same pull I’ve been fighting since the day we made out and never liked each other.

The pull that got the better of me tonight still lingers.

When I finally get home, my house is waiting for me. Big and silent.

I throw myself onto the couch, the same one I masturbated on whole thinking about that stupidly beautiful woman. The same damn couch.

Something settles into my chest, and I can't tell what it is.

Regret?

The word sticks in my throat and my head.

Do I regret it?

I push up and head to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water and leaning against the counter as I try to sort through the mess in my head.

To be honest, I don’t know which it is.

What I do know is that Lori deserves better than this. She is already going through so much and my confusion as well as the emotional whiplash I just threw at her is not going to help in any way.

She deserves honesty, clarity, and right now, I can’t give her either.

Hell, don’t even know what I want.

“What do I do, huh?” I ask the void cup as if it has the answers I'm looking for.

I shake my head.

I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

For now, I’ll sit here in the quiet, trying to convince myself that this isn’t the beginning of something I can’t control.

But deep down, I already know the truth.

It’s too late.

It's been there for a while now and I know Mom will probably get a heart attack and Dad? Well, let's just say, I'm fucked.