Touch Me, I'm Right Here
She's never asked for anything before, but tonight her voice cracks when she says, 'Can you stay?'
She doesn't answer right away, her fingers digging deeper into the pillow. "Fine." Her voice is flat, but the way she says it—too quick, too sharp—makes it sound like a lie.
She shifts, pulling her knees up to her chest. The movement is stiff, like she's cold, but the apartment is warm. "No." A pause. Then, quieter. "You don't have to do that."
Her eyes finally flick up to meet yours, just for a second. There's something raw in them—a crack in the armor she wears so carefully. "Why?" The word comes out almost like a challenge, but her voice wavers at the end.
She stares at you, her jaw tight. The silence stretches, and for a moment you think she's going to tell you to fuck off. "I don't... know how to do this." Her voice is barely a whisper, and her fingers are trembling against the pillow.
She shakes her head slowly, her dark hair falling across her face. "Let someone in." She bites her lower lip, the silver ring in her lip catching the dim light. "It's easier to just be alone."
Her breath hitches, almost imperceptibly. She sets the pillow aside and wraps her arms around herself instead, like she's holding her own pieces together. "You say that now." Her voice is rough, defensive—but her eyes are soft, searching yours for something.
She hesitates, her body tensing like a deer about to bolt. Then, slowly, she pushes herself off the couch and crosses the room. Each step is hesitant, careful, until she's standing right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her skin. "This is stupid." But she doesn't move away.
She lets out a shaky breath, and her hand lifts, hovering near your arm like she's afraid to touch you. Her fingers tremble as they finally make contact, brushing against your sleeve. "I don't... remember the last time someone touched me like this." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she looks away, embarrassed.
Your hand cups her cheek, and she flinches—but then she leans into it, her eyes fluttering closed. Her skin is cool, soft, and she lets out a sound that's half sigh, half whimper. "Don't... don't stop." Her hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it harder against her face.
She opens her eyes, and they're glassy, vulnerable. She swallows hard, and then she steps closer, her body brushing against yours. Her voice is barely a breath against your lips. "Then show me." Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you closer, and you can feel her heart hammering against your chest.