Young Writers Society

When we pulled away from each other, I glanced around the room with his hands wrapped around me. He let me go as I walked over to study the collection of photographs in different stages of progress everywhere. Each image evoked nostalgia within me, as I couldn't help but linger on the faces and scenes preserved in the faded borders. The photographs came alive, immersing me in the experience as if I were there. I examined the emotions on each face, feeling like an intruder invading private moments, yet captivated by the beauty of it all. I could not tear my eyes away from them—an elderly woman waiting for the bus greeting the camera with a wave, a young couple embracing outside an old movie theater, a bee nuzzling into a rose, the sun shining through clouds.

I realized Zeke was staring at me as I lived each moment. His dark eyes pulled me closer, but as I approached, he turned away and held up another film. My thoughts flooded with dirty possibilities of his hands on me, of creating art together, of what we had between us; I bit my lip and took down a few developed photos, stacking them.

Once more, his eyes found mine, and before I could blink, his hands tangled in my hair, sending shivers down my spine. He didn’t kiss me, though. I pulled towards him, and he lightly but firmly kept me from meeting his mouth. A soft, involuntary groan slipped from my lips, and he smiled somewhat, shaking his head. He was wrestling with something, but his eyes intensified with desire. Our lips met in a powerful and captivating kiss, causing me to lose all self-control.

He pulled away, and I whimpered, wanting him back, but he walked over to the counter and grabbed a water bottle. How did I ever consider changing partners or quitting the painting class? Both were ridiculous notions. Despite his resistance, we both knew we couldn't fight what was between us. We had a magnetic connection in crowded rooms, effortless conversation, and were fascinated with each other, like an angel intrigued by a demon's darkness.

After taking a sip, he set the water bottle down and stared at the floor. My frustration at his attempts to push me away hit a breaking point.

“What’s wrong with you?” I crossed my arms, feeling the warmth of the liquor coursing through me, intensifying my frustration. He had the audacity to pull away and reject me when I had done nothing but open up my deepest desires to him. Our ample time together left no room for hurt feelings or hesitation.

He gazed at me as if looking through me. “You.” His response was almost inaudible.

“...What do you mean?” My mind raced to pinpoint anything I might have done wrong. The uncertainty weighed on me, making me doubt everything I had ever said. My self-doubt reignited. I stared down at my feet, unable to look at his face.

“You care too much,” he crooned. When I dared to glance at him again, he wore a distant expression. It was as if he didn’t want to see me standing there with his arms crossed over his chest tight.

“And you don’t care enough!” Annoyance crashed to the surface, causing me to snap. The words escaped before I could contain them. “You probably don’t have a single solitary measure of care.” I rushed over to him and pointed a finger, pushing it roughly into his chest, my emotions surging like a tidal wave. The touch lingered for a moment, conveying my frustration and defiance. His eyes locked onto mine, and I could see a myriad of emotions on his face.

“What makes you think I have nothing I care about?” In his retort, there was a clear undertone of anger and vulnerability. He placed his hand over mine, as if urging me to understand. “I may not show it the same way, but that doesn’t mean I’m indifferent to everything.” His eyes softened, revealing the side of him similar to when he was talking about his grandfather. “You matter to me more than you realize.”

My body lurched for him, and we pressed close together as if trying to merge into one. Our tongues intertwined, and the taste of desire lingered on his lips.

He grabbed onto me with force, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as we continued to kiss. I felt him harden against me. I moaned, and he pushed me toward the wall. Our kiss broke as my back hit the cold brick, and my feet touched the floor. His hands rested on the wall near the sides of my face. His gaze was predatory, with his every desire communicated through his piercing eyes. I felt completely exposed, yet oddly at ease, as if he could see the depths of my soul.

“Do you know what I want?” He clenched his jaw as his eyes descended on my body. With a shudder, my head shook back and forth with an inability to think.

“I want to fuck you. I want to make you lose control. Every tremor or whimper that escapes your body, I want to be the cause. If you let me, I could bring you a pleasure you’ve never known.”

I kissed him again, biting his lip. His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me higher. He traced his tongue along my collarbone. I longed for him to relinquish control, to yield to me.

Almost as quickly as he had grabbed me, he released my body, and I slid gradually down until my feet touched the floor again. His touch sent goosebumps across my skin as one of his hands pushed up underneath my dress. The other traced a heart near my pelvic bone, and I involuntarily quivered in response. Amused, he toyed with me, sliding his finger along the hemline of my underwear.

The red glow of the surrounding lights only intensified the insatiable need growing within me. I could tell he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. I put my hands on the buttons of his pants, attempting to unbutton them.

“Easy, tiger,” he taunted me as he grabbed my wrists and placed them on either side of me. “Although it’s tempting to have you right here in this room and fuck until morning, we can’t. This isn’t the right moment, and you know it.”

I sulked, crossing my arms, but he kissed my forehead and nose, lingering near my lips without touching them. I puckered them out, playfully stealing a kiss. “Don’t pout. I can’t take that.” He pushed a finger onto my lips, and I mischievously tried to bite it.

“God, what is it about you that drives me crazy?” He broke our embrace, asking rhetorically and leaving me speechless. The tension remained, but he knew restraint.

As night worn down, he walked me to my dorm, and we found Emily had spent the night at Nadine’s, written in her note. With the place to ourselves, we quietly slipped inside.

In the faintly lit room, we felt a shared longing, but he was right. I was not sober enough. I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to calm my body’s reaction to him. He joined me, sitting close enough that our legs touched. I saw both longing and tenderness in his eyes, a genuine care for me.

“You know. I’m won’t lie. I want you. God, I want you so fucking bad, Abbie.” He leaned in, his lips hovering inches away.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “I want you too, Zeke,” I admitted, my voice a whisper. “But you’re right. Tonight isn’t the right time. I'd rather not be drunk when we first do it.” A giggle escaped my mouth, sounding more intoxicated than I thought.

He nodded, smiling. “I want you to be sober enough to remember how amazing I make you feel.”

I reached out, placing my hand on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palm. “Thank you.”

He leaned into my touch, closing his eyes before looking at me again. “I won’t ever make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

As we kissed, our hands lingered, and our bodies moved closer. When we pulled away, we both let out a content sigh simultaneously, making us laugh. It was intimate, raw, and beautiful. Though perceived as a deer and a fox, we were kindred spirits, simply asking to exist.

We spent most of the night engrossed in passionate discussions about our favorite works, painters, and photographers, sharing our mutual appreciation for the interplay of light and darkness in our art forms. Although the sexual tension persisted, it was never the sole defining aspect of our connection. I was trying not to fall in love with him, but it was hard.

As the night wore on, we eventually drifted off to sleep. He laid on his back, and I was on my side. My head rested on his chest while one of my legs crossed over his. He had one arm around me, bent with his hand cradling my head, mindlessly playing with my hair. His other hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me close to him. I may not have expected this, but as I closed my eyes, I was thankful that life had brought me to him. Ezekiel made me feel invincible, like I could conquer the world.

A part of me wondered what he was holding back. I also hated how the party-goers reacted to us. I knew I shouldn’t care about what others thought of me, but I had lived my whole life with my last name overshadowing everything I ever did. People often treated me like royalty, and I despised the shallowness of those around me. What did that say about me?

Why did that girl react that way? Was she the girl from the gallery? What was her story? How did she connect to Zeke? Did his oddness and lack of disclosure about his life go hand in hand?

I tried to drift off to sleep, but my racing thoughts kept me awake. Steadily, the heaviness took my consciousness as Zeke’s breathing slowed, and my mind blurred into sleep.