Pippin

It's hard, not knowing what to say, or when to say it,
and wishing some else would just go ahead and say it
for you. It's all quite confusing, really, being that
confused in one moment, but it happens, and more often
than not these days. Perhaps he'll forgive me --
whether he'll forgive me for the kiss, or forgive me
for not saying what I wanted to say at the right
moment, either way. I hope he can forgive me.

It isn't like we haven't kissed before. Cousins, yeah?
Family. So it's only natural for us to hug, exchange
chaste pecks on the cheek, never was a big deal. Not
Îtil today, anyway. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so
chaste, nor was it a peck on the cheek. I couldn't
help it; he just looked so good, and felt it, too. We
had been running, a Îcatch me if you can' game, one
that we've played ever since we were little. Well,
short story cut shorter than usual, I caught him. We
laughed, Îcause I've been running for ages, and it was
only then that I caught him. I can't help it that he's
faster than I am -- he's taller, older and stronger.
Kind of why I look up to him. Sometimes I wonder if he
deliberately slows down so that I can catch him. I
don't mind that he humours me -- it's his job, he's the
older one.

Well, I caught him, whether it was intentional on his
part or not. We laughed, and he told me to start
running, that he'd start counting to ten. I nodded,
and watched as he shut his eyes, whispering the
numbers. I did start to run, admittedly, but then I
just couldn't. I stood, watching him count. My heart
was thudding so loudly that I was convinced he would
open his eyes to see what was making the deep drumming
noise. I stood, and watched as he passed ten, and he
waited, waited for me to get further enough to keep
the game interesting. It was then that I realised how
much I loved him. He wasn't just my older cousin -- he
was my best friend. And more.

Then, it was at that cursed moment I did something
stupid. Doing stupid things is admittedly not uncommon
for me, only this time I knew what I was doing, and I
was fully ware how stupid it was, as opposed to other
times when I wasn't. Slipping my hands under his
jacket, palms against his yellow golden vest, I leaned
forward and pressed my lips against his still ones. He
gasped, but I didn't stop there. I let my body come
closer, let my tongue dip into his mouth.

I'd never kissed before, but I knew how it was
supposed to go. Hard not to when you have three older
sisters. I remember fervently denying that I had ever
watched one of them in the hayloft with a Bracegridle.
Okay, so I did, but I got a pretty good education,
more than I could have learnt anywhere else, really.

At first, he seemed to relax into it a bit, allowing
me to exploring his mouth with my own, allowing me to
rake my fingers against his fabric covered chest,
allowing me to press my body against his in a desire
that was so alien to me until that moment. But then he
suddenly seemed to get scared, and while I was longing
for him to show some sign that he felt the same way,
he was obviously shocked at my forwardness · and
disgusted.

I was shoved in the chest, and before I could
comprehend what had happened, I was on my back on the
forest floor, and my left heel hurt from where it was
snagged on a submerged root, hence my fall. Suddenly,
the warmth from his contact was gone, and I almost
felt cold in more ways than one. Shocked, I looked up
at him, and he almost seemed to glare back with
bewilderment and revulsion.

There.

I should have said something.

But I didn't. Foolishly, I didn't.

He ran. I should have run after him, at the very
least, I should have pursued him. But I was frozen in
disappointment, my heart thudding even more loudly. My
throat clenched up and I couldn't breathe. Rolling on
to my stomach, I tried to climb to my feet, but I
could. So this is what heartbreak feels like? Someone
should have told me that the first cut is the deepest.
I felt broken, shattered from the inside out. Numbly,
I lay there, unawares of the warm tears flowing down
my face as I cried silently. It was only when I stood
did I utter a sob, leaning heavily against a tree,
trying to hold back my tears, but I couldn't.

So crying, and feeling suddenly so very young and
lost, I wandered back towards civilisation, blinded by
tears. Every time I tried to draw breath, it was
returned with a sob. If breathing meant crying, if
breathing meant this much pain, why should I? Maybe I
should just lie down, and stop crying, stop breathing.

I was shocked at this thought. It was that one that
woke me up. I stopped walking a moment to centre
myself, wipe away the tears, even if I couldn't stop
myself from weeping. I had to be able to see where I
was going, at least. But it turned out I didn't need
to. Someone called my name, and I turned to see a
familiar face. Soulful blue eyes, curling dark hair, a
constantly worried expression -- anyone who knew Frodo
Baggins would see him a mile off.

He said my name again, walking towards me, obviously
worried about my state. I couldn't stop shaking. Could
I tell him? We'd been friends for years. I could tell
him anything. Before I could say anything he embraced,
and it reminded me so much of the way he would comfort
me that I broke down into fresh, new sobs. We sat at
the base of a large tree, and Frodo tried to coax the
reason for my tears out of me. But I couldn't, saying
his name would hurt too much.

So I cried, and the daydreamer of a hobbit held me
tightly, telling me it would be all right when he
didn't even know why I was so heart broken. It seemed
like ages before he asked again. "What is the matter?"
he asked gently. "What happened?" I folded my arms,
staring down at the forest floor, ignoring the
friendly arm he had around me. And I answered him.

"Merry."