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Hurtful Touch

We are so close, I can smell his sweet breath. Its warm and gives me a sense of comfort as it tickles my cheek, playfully. He stares into my eyes and takes a step closer. His soft lips taunt me as they part just slightly to whisper my name, Tessa. This time, my feet move to get closer. Our hands are so close and I reach to clasp our fingers together. My fingertip brushes the inside of his palm gently, but his hand twitches back and a sound of pain escapes those taunting lips. The sea green eyes I had been lost in a moment before now widened and darted towards his hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask warily. I look down at the palm he holds open before me. It looks as if all the veins have come to the surface of his skin in the small spot I had touched. I can see them pulse with blue blood, sending a spark of pain through his body each time. His hand twists into a tight fist, to cover the mark.
“I’m so sorry.” I say and back away. My eyes avoid contact with his. Instead they look at the wall of my bedroom, at the pictures I had taped to the pink paint. There’s one of him and I in the middle that I focus on intently. In the picture, we are both smiling happily at the camera. We are close but not touching. We could never touch.
“Tessa, it’s fine.” He attempts to comfort me. But it was not fine.



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