Liz's mouth hangs open in a little 'o' of shock. Her eyes are wide, deep blue pools of panic. Everything about her expression shouts imminent shut down and I can't do this alone.
"Liz," I say, and tug on her hand.
No response, except breath hitching in her throat.
"Liz, come on." I run my fingertips up her cheek and into her hair. She meets my gaze, fear leaking off her in waves. "I need you to think."
A minute shake of her head, her hand flutters to her throat, her glance darts from riveted metal to the floor beneath us.
I can't stand to see her like this. She's been so vibrant, so alive--to see her retreating somewhere I can't follow hurts in places I shouldn't feel pain yet. I feel like I'm fighting for breath, too. Desperate to get my girl back, I crush my lips to hers, kiss her hard and breathe for us both.
3 comments:
ohhh - me likey!
Love it! Beautiful writing :)
I don't think I was following your blog! Horrors. But I am now. :)
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