Half Lost (The Half Bad Trilogy #3) - Sally Green Page 0,50

was good. And I think a lot too about how I fucked it up.

I’m not sorry I kissed him. I wanted to, and it felt good, and mostly when I think about it I wish I’d done it better and not stopped so soon and not, definitely not, walked out and left him. But then there was Annalise and I’d just killed Mercury and I was freaking out and . . . and mainly there was Annalise.

But I wanted to kiss him then and I did and it was good and I’d like to do it again.

But he doesn’t take a step into the room and I think he’s staying away from me because I fucked up last time. But the kiss wasn’t fucked up. And I’m not sure he’d let me do it again, but I’d like to try. I’d like to do it better.

But, oh shit, it seems a long way from the basin to the doorway. And I really don’t want to mess this up.

But I want to touch him, kiss him.

I turn to the mirror and stare at myself. I look a mess so I close my eyes and I’m not sure what I’m thinking except that I want to kiss him. So I turn round and take a step toward him and then another and another, and with each step I’m feeling less clumsy, less unsure, until I reach him and stand in front of him.

I raise my left hand and with my fingertip touch the scar that runs through his eyebrow. “I always meant to say sorry about that. About your eye, I mean. About beating you up.”

He doesn’t move. I don’t think he’s even breathing.

“I could have blinded you,” I say, and stroke the scar. It’s pale and wide despite being only a couple of centimeters long.

And, oh shit this is difficult, and I think I might be shaking but I move my left hand down, touching his cheek with my fingertips, then his jaw, his neck, and feel his hair on his shoulder. I move my lips to his and then, with my lips brushing his, I say, “Sorry.” And I caress his lips with mine. And now I feel him breathing onto my mouth, and his breath mixes with mine, our mouths slightly open. And I say, “Sorry about the scar.” And his lips feel good on mine and I have to kiss him, but very gently. He doesn’t kiss me back and I open my eyes to see his but his eyes are closed. I say, “Sorry I beat you up.” And as I speak my lips brush his again and I kiss him again. And I check his eyes, and they’re still closed and he still hasn’t kissed me back. He hasn’t moved away, but not into me either.

My hand is on his neck and his hair and I want to kiss him again but I daren’t now.

All I can do is say, “Sorry. Sorry I hurt you.” My lips still brush his as I say it, and I do that on purpose, because I like doing it and I’m desperate for him to do something.

But he still does nothing.

“Gabriel, I’m sorry. This is me being as nice as I can.”

And still nothing.

“I’ll wait here forever, if that’s what you want. I’ll say sorry again and again.”

And then I feel his hand on my waist, first one side gently, barely touching, and then the other. And he pulls me to him, our hips together, and he says, “You should be nice more often,” and he says it so slowly and his lips brush mine as he speaks, and he says some stuff in French and all the time his lips are brushing against my lips and then finally he kisses me.

* * *

We kiss a lot. And Gabriel takes me to one of the bedrooms and we kiss more, undress each other and do stuff, nice stuff, making-love stuff. And it’s good. Very good. Very sweaty. And then we sleep together. Naked, sweaty-type sleeping. We wake in the night and start kissing again and more making love. Then he kisses my scars, kisses me everywhere, and I fall asleep.

Later I wake and he’s asleep and I move over him gently to kiss across his chest and listen to his slow heartbeat, and I want to stay there, listening to his heart. I feel strange. I can’t remember ever feeling like this. I think I’m sort of happy. I close