burn | an injury caused by exposure to heat or flame

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3/19/17

"WOULD YOU EVER get a tattoo?" Asher asks me before he takes a hit of the joint that always resides on his bedside table. The smell of weed hangs in the air around us creating a haze in his room. The sun is beginning to set and the room flushes with golden light, as our half naked bodies lie curled around each other.

I run my thumb over my bottom lip as my mind runs his words through my head. "Maybe..." I trail. "Would have to be something I really love or you would need to get me really drunk," I tease with a chuckle.

His hand caresses my bare hip causing the skin to heat at his touch. "I'd love to get you drunk," he tells me with a wicked grin.

"Why?" I question with a raised brow. "You think I'd let you sleep with me then?" I ask with a tilt of my head.

I feel his shoulders lift slightly. "Maybe," he admits candidly. "But I know I don't need alcohol to get you under me," he tells me cockily, and I hate to admit he's right. He knows if he really wanted to nudge me in that direction I wouldn't resist. I would follow him willingly and he knows it.

I rise up on my elbows so I'm looking down at him with his hands now tucked behind his head. "I've already been under you," I point out with a roll of my eyes.

"You know what I mean," he says as his mischievous grin breaks into one of his rare, breathtaking smiles. A smile that lights up every aspect of his usually dark and intimating features. A smile I like to believe is only for me.

A sigh flutters from my lips as I lay back into his warm body. I do know what he means and it worries me how close we've come to crossing that line. I know not sleeping with Asher won't matter in my best friend's eyes if she ever finds out about our secret nights wrapped in each other's arms. But it matters to me. To still hold on to pieces of me that want to be good. That don't want to be tarnished under Asher's touch.

"How was your date with Franny?" I ask though the words burn as I say them aloud.

That night after their date I didn't want to hope. I didn't want to leave my window unlocked for him to slide into bed with me and whisper naughty words in my ear. But I did.

The click of my window opening causes my skin to prick with goosebumps and my heart to still. I tried to fall asleep; to not stay awake in anticipation he would show up and prove in some twisted way that it's really me he wants.

My back remains towards him as I hear his footsteps and the sound of him sliding the window shut to protect us from the cool midnight wind.

I want to roll over and grab him and kiss him and make him take away all the parts of me that hurt. That aches and burns to be the one he takes on dates and struts around proudly throughout town. But I also want him to leave because as soon as I feel the dip in my bed I feel his warmth and I smell my best friend on him.

I smell the perfume her mother bought her for Christmas. Freesia and pear. I remember the smell because she said it was specially made and crazy expensive, and she now only uses it for special occasions. I guess she broke it out for Asher.

My stomach churns knowing what I'm doing as he lowers himself behind me. My heart clenches thinking of how Brooklyn says I've changed and here I am proving him right. Here I am letting a boy play with my body and discard my heart. Here I am lying to my best friend and hurting her in ways that no one ever should hurt someone they love.

"I've missed you," he whispers into my ear. My body without warning begins to relax into him as his one arm wraps around my waist pulling my back into his front.

"Have you?" I ask curtly. Because why would he miss me when he has Francesca? Why is he even here right now? They just had a date. I bet he kissed her. Touched her? Have they slept together? A green-eyed monster I don't recognize begins to claw at my insides and it's ugly and ravenous and I refuse to set him free.

Questions begin to wind though me until I'm fraying at the edges, falling apart. I start to push out of his arms but instead he holds me closer. Not letting me go.

"Stop," he murmurs as he presses his hand into my stomach to keep me locked against him.

"I want you to leave," I tell him as tears prick at my eyes and heat rises in my throat.

"Okay," he instantly agrees.

I pause taken back that he didn't try to fight me. "Okay?" I question hesitantly.

"I'll leave after you calm down," he tells me slowly as his lips kiss the bare skin of my exposed shoulder.

I sniffle and fight to hold in the tears that want to break loose. I want to push him away and tell him to leave me alone forever, but I also want to pull him in close and never let him go. I sit in a constant battle with myself because I want to do the good thing, the right and moral thing, which is to end this. But I also want to be selfish for once in my life and let him hold me, and kiss me, and surprise me and shock me and bring excitement into my once simple and mundane life.

He has made a mess of everything, and somehow I hate and love him for it all at once.

My body rolls over so I'm now facing him. Our noses brush against each other and I clench my fists into his worn Nike sweatshirt.

"I hate you," I whisper letting my lips breathe over his.

"I know," he states. I can smell the slight spice of rum on him and wonder if he tastes like it also. "But don't push me away just yet," he says his voice breaking slightly.

"Why?" I ask openly.

"Just don't," he repeats before placing his lips on mine. He does in fact taste like rum, a rum and coke to be exact, and cigarettes, and I can even taste the slight sticky sweetness of my best friend's favorite lip-gloss.

The small taste of her lip-gloss sets me off and I bite his bottom lip. Hard. Angry. On edge and wanting to fall over and burn the world down as the monster once again beats inside my chest. Begging to come out. Begging to overcome.

I pull back and place my hands on his chest pushing him away. "Don't kiss me," I tell him heatedly as my chest moves up and down rapidly. My heart racing, my skin boiling, my lips tingling.

With Asher I feel too much. This can't be normal, and yet I'm chasing him like a drug addict waiting for my next hit. Waiting for him to ruin me until there isn't a way back.

"Fine," he tells me with narrowed eyes. "I won't," he says though his words come out dark and husky and suddenly he's looming over me. His hair illuminated by the moonlight almost creates a halo and I want to laugh. Because Asher Lawton wants nothing more than to drag me into the pits of hell and watch as the flames eat me alive.

But in this moment, alone with me in my bedroom. He's an angel, and a part of me wonders if I've somehow made him better. Changed him. Is he even possible of change?

He leans down and places a tender kiss on my jaw distracting me from my thoughts. "I won't kiss you here," he whispers in the dark.

Asher continues his descent and places another one on my neck, letting his tongue flicker over the same spot. "Or here," he adds his deep voice turning breathy and making my head spin.

A little bit lower he goes and places another kiss to my collarbone. "Or here."

My body begins to flush and I can hear my beating pulse pounding throughout my entire body. "Or here," he repeats as his hands push my oversized t-shirt up to expose my stomach before he takes a small nip at the soft skin.

The action causes a small whimper to escape me and I see the way his lips turn up at the edges as if he knows he's won. He knows he's got me, and he does have me exactly where he wants me.

Asher tugs at the edge of my shorts along with my underwear, and I let him. I raise my hips to make it easier for him, and in that moment I feel the darkness that consumes me when he's around take over. His hot breath heats my inner thigh and my body rocks faintly towards him wanting him. Needing him. Needing what only he can offer. "Or here," he groans darkly, placing a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin of my thighs.

So close, yet still so far. I moan out a note of frustration at his action and a deep chuckle vibrates from his chest.

He then kisses me just where I need him and all I can get out is a strangled, "Don't stop."

And he doesn't until I see stars, and my heart doesn't have it in it to hate him anymore. No my heart begins to feel something different, something more, and it frightens me. So I push it away to focus on the way we can use each other's bodies.

And use we do until we succumb to the flames and fall asleep in nothing more than a pile of flickering, fading embers.

"Fine," he states, simply pulling me from my thoughts and answering my question about their date. "Asked her to prom," he elaborates as if I wasn't aware. As if I didn't see it posted all over social media, as if I didn't get the text of pure elation that my best friend was going to prom with the guy of her dreams.

The guy who after he asked her climbed into my best and touched me in ways I know she wouldn't like.

"I saw," I state simply not wanting to talk more on the matter realizing how stupid it was to bring it up in the first place. I don't want him. I know we aren't permanent. We aren't forever. So I have to stop acting like him and Francesca being together bothers me. I have to be indifferent.

My heart doesn't beat for Asher differently. My cheeks don't flush when he smiles at me. I don't want to meet his parents and go to prom with him.

"Are you going?" he inquires casually.

My hands fist, and I hate the annoyance that slices through me in this moment. I agreed to this years ago, and again months ago. This was always the plan to attend senior prom together and have the best night ever, and now I'm pissed I have to spend time with my best friend. I shake my head lightly to try and shrug off the emotions that want to bear down on me. "I'll have to," I tell him.

"With who?" he pushes slightly as if he's now interested.

My eyes lift to meet his stormy ones. "No idea," I confess. "Most likely Fran will set me up with someone in a couple weeks," I explain knowing how my best friend works. How she'll set me up with some dumb jock that looks amazing, but is incapable of holding a conversation. Or he'll be decent but gets so shit-faced a half hour in he'll be useless.

I know what's to come, and I never once minded it.

Until now.

"Fun," Asher bites out, turning so he is staring at his ceiling.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Fun." Though we both know it will be anything but, as images of how that fateful night can unfold begin to fall into place in our heads.

Francesca and Asher winning prom king and queen. Them dancing with me watching. Me being dragged around with some random date only looking to stay in my best friend's good graces, probably secretly hoping they can sleep with her before graduation. A night filled with beautifully expensive dresses, and perfectly painted faces, and stylishly curled hair.

A night to never forget, yet it hasn't even happened yet and I'm already wishing to shove it all away.

I place a hand on Asher's cheek drawing him into me. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't want to be sad or angry anymore. I want to live in the small bubble we've created. I want him to kiss me and touch me and make me feel good.

He follows my lead and leans forward until lips find mine and draw me in so I am now straddling him. His hands gripping my hips so we are perfectly aligned to feel each other, to stoke the ache we have for each other.

Our lips continue to battle against one another. He draws me in then pushes me away and makes me work for it. Our kisses are long, and hard, and always light the fire deep inside me until I'm burning with a need only he can fully bring to life.

He sits up so we aren't lying down anymore and pulls back ever so slightly. "Are you a virgin?" he asks against my lips. A question that has become more frequent as of late.

"Are you?" I giggle into him as I wrap my arms around his neck letting my nails score his heated skin.

"Very funny," he states unimpressed with my joke.

Another giggle falls from my lips. "I thought so," I tell him as my hips shift into his trying to find a way to ease the pressure that's mounting between my legs.

"Maeleigh," he growls, obviously not impressed with my games.

"Fine," I relent with a sigh and sit back. "No, I'm not," I let him know the truth as my eyes lock in on him. He looks at me as if he's trying to decide if he believes me. If quiet and meek Maeleigh really has screwed before.

"When?" he questions letting his hands fall to the hem of my shirt. I can't help but love the way he always finds a way to touch me, like he can't get enough. "Who?" he adds.

"Summer after freshman year I was a camp counselor and there was a guy also working at the camp and one thing led to another the last week..." I trail as I lift my palms in an open shrug. It was once time, it wasn't terrible but it sure as hell wasn't good. Thankfully it was the end of camp because things got awkward after that, and he wouldn't speak to me after we slept together.

I don't regret losing my virginity to him. He was nice, and cute, and gentle. But there also wasn't any spark. There wasn't any heat, any undeniable need and aggression to have the other person.

It wasn't like how it is with Asher.

"Hmm, does Franny know?" he asks as he draws his eyebrows in together.

"Of course, she's my best friend," I say almost shocked he thinks I could hide something so major from her. But then again, look at what we both are hiding from her. I shove at the guilt that wants to wash up on me and pull me into its wild tide. "What about you?" I ask pushing everything inside away that wants to drown me.

Asher lifts his hands and runs both of them through my long brown hair. He twirls the ends of my hair and pulls faintly on the strands. "It was right before freshman year with my neighbor," he tells me right away.

"Your neighbor?" I question letting myself roll over his admission in my head.

"Yeah, but don't worry she graduated two years ago," he says as a smirk tugs at his perfect lips.

I roll my eyes at the fact that he thinks I would actually be worried about him and some neighborhood fling. "Am I supposed to be jealous of her?" I ask him with raised brows.

"She was my first and it was damn good," he tells me, drawing me closer into his body as if he wasn't being a dick.

I smack his chest letting the slap ring through the heavy air. "Don't be an asshole," I tell him, letting my words come out as rough as my slap to his body.

"So you're not?" he pushes almost as if he wants my envy. Little does he know I'm far from jealous of some girl he slept with four years ago.

No, you're just jealous of your best friend.

I shove the random thought away as his words and taunting and rough hands that are pulling at my hair mix into something and spur me into a darkness only he seems to bring out from deep within me.

A bolt of boldness hits me as I lean in and let my tongue dart out to lick his lips. "Are you jealous of the guy who touched me first?" I ask innocently though fire sits in my veins. Do I want him to be jealous? Do I want him to wish it was him who could've had me first?

"No," he spits at me though with a clenched jaw and wild eyes I know a small piece of him does wish he was the first. The first to touch me, mark me, enter me.

The fact I can make him envious sends a spiral of power through my veins that sizzles and makes my heart jump in my chest. It runs through me and makes me want more of it. "Then I'm not jealous of some tramp who couldn't get someone her own age," I reply with a snarl.

"Don't be a bitch," he growls melding his body into mine as he sharply tugs at my hair until my neck is bent back and exposed to him. Heat races through me and I let out a muffled moan. Why do I love this so much? It isn't me. It isn't who I am, but here I am letting the fog cloud my vision and twist my moral compass.

"Plus," I whisper as his teeth trail up my neck making me weak. "It's my window you're crawling into at night not your neighbors," I tell him as a satisfied smirk pulls at my lips.

A deep laugh falls from his lips. "Maybe I thought you'd be easy," he suggests.

I let my tongue click against my teeth. "Well I'm not and here you still are," I point out as his other hand drops from my hair and begins to trail up my shirt.

He lets his fingertips trail around my chest never touching quite where I want him. "You want to keep playing this game?" he whispers deep into the night that now surrounds us. The once light of the sun that peaked through the window is gone and replaced with a crescent moon.

I nod once. "I do," I tell him breathlessly. Because I wasn't lying when I told him in the classroom closet that I loved playing his games. I shouldn't. I should walk away and never turn back, but I don't. I continue to fall deeper into him.

Instead I let him lift my chin so that my lips are grazing his. "Say it," he demands his voice coming out gravely and filled with need.

I instantly comply. "Ash," I breathe before his lips slam over mine.

And that's what I become under his lips and fingers. Nothing more than the aftermath of a blazing wildfire.

Because he may not be my first, but he is the first to make me feel this way and that's not something I can let go of just yet.