Disclaimer: I don't own it, I'm just borrowing its inspiration.
Once the words were out there they could not be taken back. You knew this when you said them but you said them anyway. And they grew in the silence around you, as big as they could get without echoing, but whispering them would have done the job because now you know without a doubt these were the words she did not want to hear.
She would have pulled away, maybe even smacked you if you'd let her. But at that moment your focus was your own pain, which ironically was the pain of knowing you'd hurt her. You don't want to see her face. You don't want to witness the tears that are slipping from her cheeks to your chest to the floor. As long as she is held tight against you, you can pretend this is a different kind of embrace altogether. Until she starts to shake and there is no denying her grief.
As your legs buckle under you and you slide to the floor you pull her with you, hands stroking her hair as your knees hit the ground and hers give out completely. She is a rag doll. You hug her with every ounce of strength you have. You blink, and blink again and wonder where your own tears are. But of course they aren't coming. That's what having him within you has done, and part of you is almost grateful. Crying along with her will not help her.
So you are patient, you will yourself not to move, just let her have at it until she is too tired to mourn you anymore. But as her tiny hands ball themselves and strike at you, it becomes clear she will not tire easily. It figures, you think to yourself as you move your hands to her head and push just enough so she can look at you. And as you look at her, you know this was not the right thing to do. She is flushed, her eyes red and earnest, and all you can think of is how soft her skin is and how deep and blue her eyes are. The tears are still coming and her mouth is set in and hard frown. You move to soften those lips with your own. For once she does not fight, and maybe it's the shock but you don't care. Once set on that path, you are determined to follow it. You take complete advantage and allow yourself the luxury of thinking she might not be minding too much, seeing as she has not pushed you away.
It's different than you pictured it. Of course, she had never figured into your adolescent fantasies before, even when she was in your closet and pretty much ripe for the taking. You were too honorable then. You had a reputation. You liked girls. A lot. But you were not a pervert. That was your old man's territory.
So here you are, kissing a girl for the first time, and it's not about any kind of teenage lust. She is the only one you know will come through for you. They all say they will, and you know they mean it. But she is the one who takes care of business. She is a rock.
And she is soft all over. You knew this before you ever touched her. Which, you think as you ease her onto the floor and let your hands do as they wish, may be why it's so easy for it to be her and no one else. She is the one who really knows what you mean. She is the one who carries within herself a part of you. She is the only one you trust to do the deed when the time comes, and in the morning she will hate you for it, but she will do it.
Damn, you think, now this is really just fucked up.