"Bliss?"

     My eyes snap open, the force of my eyelashes whipping across my lids in a painful matter. My breath can't be contained; it's the wildest of winds, racing through my lips in harsh pulses, pounding throughout my lungs as if it can make them pop. I can feel the cool tears of sweat on my skin.

     Dexter's hands are on my shoulders, so gentle like the quiet timber of his voice. I can't see his expression, just the silhouette of his shadow in the darkness and his glimmering eyes.

    "Bliss, are you okay?"

    Her words are in my head, pounding between my ears, and I can feel her name trying to mould my lips. I hate her, yet I've never loved someone so dearly.

    "Bliss?"

    I look up and all I see is him.

     And I grab his shoulders and I lean myself into him. I kiss him. I allow my lips to slowly tug on his lower one, my fingers curling into the fabric of his tee-shirt, as I hear the slight catch of his breath in his throat. And I kiss him because he is the only thing pushing the air in and out of my lungs, forcing my heart to be beat, pumping the blood through my veins. I kiss him because he is the only person who makes me feel alive.

    He pushes me away.

   I can see his wild, green eyes for a moment. There's something in them . . . and with a groan, he stands. Dexter leaves the room.

    He's not gone for long.