The Lie

Natasha turns her head to look at me, one half of her face highlighted by the screen.

“You’re not watching the movie,” she whispers.

I lean into her neck, my lips just below her ear. “I’d rather be watching you.”

I don’t pull away at first, keeping my mouth there, her skin so close, taking in her sweet smell. Thoughts run through my head, heavy and weighted, thoughts I don’t dare disclose.

I want to kiss you.

Lick you.

Taste you.

Fuck you.

It’s a side of me that’s dirty and secretive but completely real.

As if she can hear my thoughts, she stiffens.

I lean back to look at her, feeling my brows pull together. “Was that inappropriate?”

She nods, facing the screen. “Yes.”

I stare at her for a few moments. She’s not being facetious. She means it.

That balloon in my chest is slowly deflating. The funny thing is, I didn’t think twice about it, which only cements how natural it feels to be around her. But she obviously doesn’t feel the same way.

I sit beside her for another minute, stiff and awkward in the dark, the embarrassment creeping over me until I abruptly get out of my seat and stride up the aisle and into the cinema lobby. It’s quiet out here, both screens occupied, and I head to the washroom to compose myself.

I splash a bit of cold water on my face then shake it off, staring up at myself in the mirror. We’ve both changed, and as much as it feels like we’re back in time, back to the same people that we were, we’ve both been through so much that it’s just not possible.

We can’t go back to what was.

But we can go forward.

After I compose myself, I head back out into the lobby.

Natasha is standing there grasping the bag of popcorn for dear life and peering at me with so much worry that it’s fucking adorable.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“So am I,” I tell her, walking right up to her until I’m so close, she has to take a step backward. “I’m sorry for being inappropriate, and I’m sorry for this.”

I quickly lean down and kiss her. Her soft cry of surprise is muffled by my lips pressed flush against hers for a long, hot minute. Then my mouth opens and my tongue slides across hers.

The bucket of popcorn drops beside us.

My lungs evaporate in a kind of heady infatuation.

I grab her now, my hand at the back of her head, at the small of her back, pulling her to me, wanting to get deeper, hotter, as flames lick along my skin and my desire is more painful than ever.

It doesn’t matter that I’m in a cinema lobby, in public.

We could be on Mars, for all I care; she’s all the oxygen I need.

She’s feeling it too. I know she is from the way her mouth moves with hunger, the tiny, breathless sounds she’s making, the way her body feels underneath me, wild and tense and ready to explode.

With a gasp, she suddenly breaks away, and the bright, effervescent cord between us snaps, leaving me empty and stunned.

“I can’t do this,” she cries softly. Panic is etched clearly on her face.

She tries to pull away, but I’m grabbing her arms, holding her in place.

“Can’t do what?” I demand.

“This!” Her voice is choked, her eyes are growing wet and brimming with pain. “You kissing me, me being with you. Any of this.”

My chest grows cold. “Why not?” I manage to say, even though I know her answer. I know exactly why “why not?” because it comes from that same dark place where guilt buzzes like flies.

“Because we’re dishonoring the dead!” she sobs. “Don’t you feel that?”

I immediately let go of her, sucking in my breath.

She’s breathing hard and staring at me like she knows she’s done wrong.

I can barely speak. “They were my family, Natasha. Don’t think I’m not thinking about them every single day, that I won’t be thinking about them for the rest of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head, a tear falling to the floor. I’m barely aware that another theatre is emptying, people coming out of the doors. “Brigs, I’m sorry. I just look at you and…”

“You think I’m a mistake,” I offer flatly.

“Don’t you?” She looks around wildly then closes her eyes. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Frustration builds at the back of my throat. I want to be patient, I want to be understanding. But if she has more problems with us than I do, I’m not sure what I can do to change her mind. I’m not even sure if it’s right for me to feel this way.

But I do.

She bends down to pick up the spilled bucket of popcorn, but I reach it before she does, and walk over to the trash, tossing it in. The lobby is crowded now and people are walking between us. Any chance for a serious conversation is over.

But we can’t be over.

I walk back over to her. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, practically pleading. “Thanks for the movie, Brigs.”