I didn’t want to admit it.

I really didn’t want to admit it.

In fact, I’d rather gouge my eyes out of my head with the Bugles I had been snacking on than admit it.

But there wasn’t any denying the way my heart jumped in my chest when I looked at the time. Again. It was nearly five o’ clock. That was when Kisten got out of work. That was when he started to head back. Since it was Tuesday, that mean it was about half an hour before Kisten knocked on my door.

“Stop it, Joe,” I muttered to myself. I was starting to get far too excited about him coming over. “He’s just another filthy monster with dirty hands. Don’t get excited. Don’t feel anything for him. He’ll break your heart, Joe, you know that.”

“Are you talking about me?”

It was Kisten’s voice, and I almost jumped out of my skin. I did knock my chair over, and I was looking at him upside down when I managed to shake my hair out of my face. Kisten leaned against my open door, a hand over his mouth as he tried to smother his laughter.

“I- I wasn’t… I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I snapped, rolling over and getting on my hands and knees.

He laughed harder, his hands on his knees as he bent in on himself, laughing so hard he was gasping for air. “God damn it, Rapunzel. Stop being so fucking cute.”

“Shut up!” I turned my back on him immediately to hide the heat that rose to color my cheeks. Cocky son of a mouse, with his flirty words and his hair hanging in his face. Why did my weakness have to be for black hair?

Kisten cleared his throat, coughing away the giggles that I could hear hitching in his throat. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” he said, his voice still shaking slightly, one corner of his mouth still turned up.

“You’re an… you’re a jerk,” I informed him, my tone cool and haughty. At least, I hoped it was cool and haughty- god only knows how it actually came out past my embarrassment.

Kisten came up behind me, righting my chair. He had a cup of coffee in his right hand; the bright green Starbucks drink that I loved above anything, mint chocolate chip ice cream in coffee form.

“Is that… for me?” I asked hesitantly.

Kisten raised an eyebrow at my hopeful expression. “That depends. Are you going to actually call me an asshole or just stumble around the nasty adult words like you usually do?”

“What is your obsession with getting me to swear?” I grumbled, sitting down on my bean bag couch. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him; it was my sign for ‘stop it before I start throwing things at you’.

Kisten never listened. “I think you’d sound adorable swearing. I mean, sure it’s cute when you screw up your face as you try not to swear. But corrupting your innocent mouth seems like far more fun.”

“Jerk!”

Kisten caught the notebook before it could hit his face. He handled it carefully; he treasured my work more than I ever did. “Irrational? What’s this? I’ve never heard you talk about it before,” he said, his eyes bright and eager as he held it out to me.

“Nope, you don’t deserve to know,” I sniffed, turning my face away from him.

Kisten always had the same solution; he waved the frappuccino under my nose, tempting me. I couldn’t resist; I reached out for the peace offering. My fingers brushed his, ever so slightly, and my heart thrashed. I pulled away as quickly as I could without upending the frozen concoction on my lap.

But the damage had already been done. Kisten sighed, sitting on the far side of the couch. He barely held the notebook as he passed it to me, so there was no chance of us touching each other even accidentally.

“You have your weird puke drink,” he said, mocking the color as always, “Now tell me about the abandoned story.”

He turned to face me on the couch. His legs were crossed in front of him, his hands together in his lap, and that smile- he reminded me of a puppy whose owner was dangling a treat right in front of his nose. Screw him and his calling me adorable, he was the one who kept using that begging expression to win me over. Cheating jerk.

“Come on, Joe, puh-lease,” he whined, dragging the word out. He shifted forward onto his hands and knees, and I could imagine him with a pair of tufted ears and a fluffy tail as he pouted at me.

“Alright, alright! Just sit the hell down already!”

“Ooh, you said hell. That’s almost a swear word.”

“Screw you!”

“Aw, come on Joe. You know you want to say fuck. Say it with me. Fu…ck. Fu-ck. Fuck.”

I glared at him, unable to believe him. Talking to me like I was a toddler he was trying to teach a word to. “Piss off,” I said, holding up a hand in his direction.

He shocked me, then; he moved too fast for me to avoid, and then his fingers were twined with mine, his palm against mine. My heart had a furious beat in my throat, and my eyes were so wide they probably could have popped out of my head.

Kisten watched me carefully, his gaze calm and thoughtful when he squeezed my hand. I made a sound that was almost a squeak, and tried to tug my hand out of his. It had exactly the opposite effect of what I wanted. He didn’t let go, and the tug jerked him forward. He was kind enough not to fall on top of me; he braced himself, his free hand next to my head.

I could feel his breath on my face, hot and sweet and minty. He must have taken a sip of my coffee on the way home. The knowledge made my head reel; I’d drank out of that coffee, out of the straw he’d put his mouth on. A shiver ran through me, and the desire to get away from him grew to be greater than my fear of touching him.

I raised my free hand and tried to push him away; he caught that one too, holding my captive hands over my head. His face was too close to mine, his hair brushing against my cheek. My mouth was slightly parted as I panted slightly while I tried to squirm out of his grip. His eyes closed, and a soft moan made me stiffen.

I hadn’t realized how close we were. That every time I moved, I moved against him instead of away from him.

“Joe…” My name was soft and sweet rolling off his tongue, his voice deep and raspy.

I shivered again, and once I started I couldn’t stop. I was trembling, shaking under him, my quick breaths shortening until I was almost hyperventilating. His eyes dropped, and I knew where they went to; Kisten was not the first boy to hover over me like that.

“Kisten, don’t. Please. Kisten…” My voice shook as much as my body, and I knew he could feel it.

Kisten lowered his mouth closer to mine. “You don’t mean that, Joe. I know what fear looks like; I’ve known you for long enough to know what you look like when you’re afraid. You’re not afraid right now. Afraid is the last thing you are. You’re just afraid to admit it. To admit that you can feel something other than fear when somebody touches you.

“Admit it, Joe. Admit that this feels good.” He had shifted his grip so one hand held both my wrists against the couch, and his freed hand traced a gentle down down my jaw, a hint of his nails caressing my neck.

My breath hitched, held. “Kisten, please-”

“Stop it, Joe. Stop lying. Admit it. For god’s sake, Joe, fucking admit it before I force it out of you.”

I whimpered, a soft sound, that was only half fear that he would keep touching me. The rest… the rest wanted him to keep touching me, and that frightened me more than anything else about the situation. Because those words didn’t sound loving. They sounded like what every obsessive man said before he raped the woman he couldn’t touch. It scared me to death. I was terrified of what he was going to do next- and of the part of me that wanted it.

“Joe… I can’t keep doing it, Joe, restraining myself. It’s hell, having you right in front of me and never being able to touch you. Joe… Joe, please, let me touch you.”

He was begging, and I couldn’t bring myself to deny him when he was begging. My shaking was worse than ever, but there was nothing I could do as he lowered his head to close the last few inches between us.

Kisten wasn’t harsh or demanding like I expected him to be after those words. His kiss was soft, and his grip loosened. Just a little. Just enough.

I wrenched my wrist out of his grasp, and used the momentum to keep my hand moving; it crashed into the side of his face. Kisten cried out, surprised and probably hurting; my hand hurt enough that his face must have. He fell off the couch, and I was on my feet in a second, darting past him.

“Joe, hold on-”

I heard him crying out for me. It was hard not to; he was almost screaming. It was easier to simply ignore him. I left everything, including Kisten, behind and fled the apartment building and the dark haired monster I had known was going to hurt me the first time I saw him.