16. Holding Hands
Alicia Blade
391 words
Turns out that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
He was her boyfriend, her first boyfriend, and they walked into the arcade holding hands like girlfriends and boyfriends do. It brought an odd sort of satisfaction, like the winning of a prize one had sought for a long, long time.
But that satisfaction was just as quickly followed by disappointment, like finding out you were a runner-up, not the grand prize winner after all.
His hands were warm, but clammy. Big, but not strong. He kept letting go of her hand to rub sweat off on his pants—and she felt guilty for enjoying those short respites. She smiled. She looked at him with doe eyes and fluttering lashes and thought, What am I doing?
She was beginning to feel like that girl she'd never wanted to be. She wondered if something was wrong with her. After all, he was fun, he was handsome, he was popular, and he liked her. So how come it wasn't how she'd dreamt it would be? How come she was dreading their first kiss? She knew that this just couldn't be how things were supposed to go.
Maybe she just wasn't the hand-holding type. Maybe she would like it more if he put his arm around her waist or shoulders. Maybe she would like it more if they linked elbows. Maybe she would like it more if he just went away for a little while.
She sighed and turned away from whatever he was saying and scanned the arcade, looking for someone that she didn't know she was looking for until she saw him. And only when her eyes fell on his did the guilt turn into something akin to shame, and the disappointment grow to outright misery. His piercing gaze was looking at their interlocked palms, glowering, while his own fingers mindlessly ripped a napkin to shreds.
She realized while ignoring her new boyfriend's good-intentioned ramblings that she was losing something very important, and very dear. If she was going to stand here holding his hand, she wouldn't be able to walk over and spar with the enemy, which at that moment seemed to be the only thing she wanted to do.
Shame. Misery. This can't be right.
Setting her jaw and straightening her shoulders, she let go of his hand.