“Did I kill you?” I asked.
But he didn’t laugh or say anything for a moment. Just breathed.
“My heart…” he said. “Shit.”
I remembered what he said last week at my house. Do you know what I have to do to get it to beat like that?
“I scared you.”
“Not an emotion I’m used to being on the receiving end of,” he mused.
And then his fingers found the pulse on my neck and pressed down. I followed suit, placing my three fingers on his neck, on the side of his throat, and finding his pulse, as well. We sat there for a moment, each of us with one hand on our own neck and another on the other person’s.
It was fast like mine, and I liked that I did that to him.
“What color is your car?” I asked, pulling my hands down from his neck and mine.
“Black.”
Of course.
“When I remember the colors in my head,” I remarked, “I get a feeling sometimes. Pink is how I feel now. My stomach doing somersaults and laughing. Giddy. Squirrelly…” I slid off him and into the passenger side seat. “I don’t know what I feel when I picture black, though. Nothing, really, I guess.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
I smiled to myself. “You scared me, I scared you, now it’s your turn again.”
He started the car and shifted into gear. “Pull your hood up and put your seatbelt on.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to,” he muttered, trying to sound commanding, but it just came off as playful.
I pulled my seatbelt on, fastened it, and pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt, my hair spilling out the sides.
We drove in silence, which was fine by me, because he blasted the stereo, and the only time I got to enjoy loud music in the car was with my sister, but she hardly ever had to chauffeur me anywhere, so those times were rare.
Turning my face toward the window, I zoned out, thinking about everything that had happened the past hour. Dancing for him, touching him, the way he was patient with me but also pushed me, to see what I was made of.
And how I wasn’t entirely sure if it was for my benefit or for his pleasure.
His body moved next to me, shifting gears and putting pedal to the metal, but every once in a while, I felt his eyes on me. My heartbeat started to pick up pace, and I was glad I couldn’t see him with my eyes. Glad I would never be able to see him.
He would be the picture he was in my head. A faceless boy with dark hair and fire in his eyes, just how I wanted it.
Forever.
We drove into town—he started curbing his speed, and I think we stopped at a traffic light—and after a few turns, he pulled the car to a stop and turned off the engine.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, taking his keys. “Keep your hood up.”
I didn’t respond, and he didn’t wait for confirmation that I’d heard. Opening the car door, he climbed out, slammed the door shut, and I heard the click of the lock right before everything went silent. Of course, I could still open my door. I could get out. He was keeping anyone else from getting in.
I felt a little traffic farther away, and I could hear the subterranean droning of music coming from the building to my left, but other than that, the village was quiet. I had no idea what time it was.
Why did I need to cover myself? Maybe he was planning on slicing and dicing me, after all, and didn’t want witnesses tracking my whereabouts after the fact?
I almost laughed. I was pretty sure he had no malicious intent at this point.