A Note Before the Story: I want to try making a tale from drabbles (each chapter will be exactly 500 words long), so here we go! Feedback/reviews are adored and really motivate me, so if you'd be so kind as to indulge me.
Disclaimer: I do not own Spirited Away.
I. Touch
.
He's nice, this boy who likes me.
He's normal and that's what I like and need. There isn't that profound love which makes me imagine that the wind rippling through my hair is actually his generous and kind fingers. Fingers that I had felt what seems like a lifetime ago; fingers that had grasped onto my hand with life before he'd let go and I went back to where we thought I belonged.
So when this black haired boy with a wide smile and adjourning dimples asks me to be his girlfriend, I say yes.
His touch is initially tentative, and I commend him for fighting overwhelming hormones for me. He is careful because he knows that I'm different. I'm the smart one whose art subjects make the teacher bit her lip to hold back comments on my peculiar nature.
He's understanding when he takes me to parks rather than crowded theaters with movies that fail to convey true wonder for me. When the cherry blossoms bloom on the river bank he takes me on and I lift my head to kiss him in thanks.
I remember his shock at my lips on his, but it only takes a moment for him to give me a kiss of his own and a small spark ignites below my ribs. I can't differentiate it between lust or affection, but I go in to his room later that day regardless.
First we talk, and then he's moved from his chair to sit on the bed aside of me and he's leaning over, his breath warm against my ear as he asks if this is ok. I move my head towards him and I feel my hair slide over my shoulder to my back, my shirt uncomfortably sticking to my back.
I look into his brown eyes and I tug on a smile. I reach up a hand to trail across his forehead and through his short hair, and suddenly he's kissing me again.
And when this boy's, this human boy's, fingers grasped the base of my ponytail, to try and pull the glittering band away so he can let my hair loose and grab onto it in passion, I suddenly feel that the room is too small, too crowded of worldly possessions and full of countless dark shades.
I want to push him away, but when his hand moves to grasp my hip that nausea is overwhelmed with desire for some sort of connection to another. It's been hundreds of days since I've felt a touch filled with emotion like this.
Not since Kohaku let go of my hand.
Later, when I'm back home and in the shower, feeling the pounding water on my hair before it trickles down my back, I feel like I just cheated. Even with this water flowing over me in rivers, I feel dirtier than ever.
Crouching down so I can convince myself the liquid flowing down my face is only water, I wish yet again to fly.