I let Amber take me inside.

She avoids the hotel’s security and pulls me to a side corridor away from the main desk and the elevator. She never looks at me, not once. She just keeps walking, and there’s a glow surrounding her that I’ve never seen anyone carry like that before.

It’s coming from inside of her chest. It’s something fluttering between her ribs and wanting to break free because we’re in London and we don’t know anyone here, and I think I know what’s going on with her, but I don’t want to think about it because that would mean I’ll have to make a decision and I don’t want to. I want to live head empty tonight. I want to let her carry me anywhere she wants to. I want to look at her and don’t stop until my pupils burn.

I wasn’t expecting today to feel like this feels, but it was a great day. I felt relaxed. All was nice. I genuinely had so much fun with her, and I wasn't expecting that, but now it's time to say goodbye and somehow I don't want to.

And I can tell she doesn't want to either.

And I'm fine with that.

But if she breaks me after this, I’m never going to forgive her.

I couldn’t take my eyes away from her if I wanted to. I can’t even say a word or ask where we are going. She’s holding my hand and at some point I’ve started holding hers too, and our fingers fit so well together and I don’t get it, but I don’t want to draw my arm back.

I don’t want to move away. I don’t really know why, but I only want to get closer.

“The security guy told me there are no cameras in the stairs, so we can hide there,” she says, and I don’t know who she is hiding from.

She pushes the door open and I hold it so it doesn’t make a loud sound when I let it go.

“Isn’t it dangerous for a place like this to have no cameras?”

“This is an eight-story building, no one is going to take the stairs anyway.”

“Right.”

When she lets go of my hand to grab the banister, I put it in my pocket.

This just feels like last night, but at the same time it does not. I can’t believe it’s been less than twenty-four hours since all that happened, but she looks a bit tipsy again, even if today we didn’t have a drop of alcohol whatsoever. When she lets her hair down—literally, pulling her scrunchy and her hair apart, her head tilted back and her long neck exposed to me—, I look away. I’m not sure of what’s happening. Today’s been great and we had a nice time, but I fell asleep in the taxi on the way back here and it suddenly feels like I woke up in an alternative universe.

One that doesn’t feel real, one where Amber looks at me as if she doesn’t want to let me go.

She looks at me as if she’s hungry.

And I like it.

I think again about the lack of security cameras, and I regret being here where no one can see us. If this girl is going to devour me, I want there to be proof.

Then she does something that doesn’t feel quite like her: she sits on the steps and pats the space next to her.

“Come here.”

And I do.

Amber’s leaning her head back against the wall behind her. Her eyes are closed and her lips a bit apart, and I can tell she’s sad, and she knows I can see that now.

She also probably knows that I’ve seen her tear up a bit during the day, and during Wicked.

A part of me was a bit worried the whole time. Once, my little finger shily touched hers, trying to hold her hand to comfort her, maybe, but she moved away before she even noticed.

“You’re not crying,” I point out now, softly, and she smiles but doesn’t move.

“Maybe I’m crying but my eyelids are holding the tears inside.”

“So this is going to be like a real tsunami when you open your eyes, got it.”

She smiles again and, this time, she chuckles.

“You make me laugh, Char.”

And she says it as if it is just so simple, so obvious, as if it is some sort of universal truth. Her words are stupid and I should know better than to follow a straight girl’s game, but I let them tie around me as if they were made of rope. I move closer, close enough to let my hand fall right where hers can find it. I move to the step right under hers, and wait.

It’s midnight.

Her fingers do the exact thing I wanted them to do, and I open mine to let them intertwine. I wonder if she thinks she’s doing this alone, or if she knows I'm somehow allowing it. I wonder if she feels in control, and if she’s doing this because she’s heartbroken, and if she’ll do this now and then deny it for the rest of her life.

Girls like her always pretend things like this never happened. I still refuse to think about how all this makes me feel.

“Why are we here?” I try, speaking softly, leaning closer so she can hear my voice.

I see her shrug, then she finally opens her eyes to look at the ceiling.

“My work phone is in the room. And my laptop. And everything. If I go back there, I’ll have to check them all and pop this bubble...”

“So, is this a good bubble?”

“Yeah. Is it for you?”

I take a few seconds to answer because I don’t wanna lie to her, not now.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. I had fun.”

Amber takes my hand to her lap and starts playing with my fingers, running hers through my skin so tenderly that it makes me shiver. I bite my lower lip. I didn’t think she was looking, but she stops when I do that and, suddenly, her other hand is on my chin.

“Your lips are terrible,” she whispers, but she doesn’t say that as a bad thing. She’s staring at my mouth now. I wonder if she’s making that face on purpose.

“I’ve been trying the chapstick you gave me, but it hasn’t worked much, you see.”

“Not if you don’t use it.” She smirks, as confident as ever. How does she do it? “You got it here?”

“Yup,” I say, and I immediately go for my bag and look for it. 

I need to break away from her for a second. Her perfume is suffocating from that distance.

“Good,” she nods.

When I find it, she takes it from me and then she scoops closer, opening the bar. She parts her lips, and I mimic her, mesmerized.

“You should be applying this all the time, especially after eating or drinking. If not, your lips are going to end up bleeding, and we don’t want that, do we?”

Why wouldn’t she want my lips bleeding? Do they annoy her?

“But I don’t want to waste it,” I try to say, and she shakes her head.

“It was a gift,” she laughs. “I won’t be needing it back, don’t worry.”

That would be the second gift she’s given me today. I want to ask, but she starts applying the chapstick softly against my lower lip, and I find myself leaning closer to her.

This isn't hard work, but she’s frowning like she wants to do it right. I let her. I dare myself to look at her all the time; her dark eyes, her soft skin, and she moves my head so lightly to match the bar as she applies it.

Amber’s gaze lifts just enough to meet mine, and suddenly, the lip balm is on my cheek.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she mutters, and she rubs her thumb against my skin to clean it off.

She looks like she could’ve licked it. 

“That’s okay,” I gasp. And I so hate that I do.

Her hand stops and we’re just so close now, so still, so quiet. My heart is beating fast and I can’t help but to accept it, even if it still makes no sense, even if I’m not sure how we ended up here. What is happening? How? Why? Amber looks both satisfied and petrified; in her dark eyes, I can see myself eager, yet cautious. We are like two sides of the same coin. We were never supposed to face each other, yet here we are, breathless and willing to die.

Her thumb opens my mouth and I hold my breath. She leans in and I can feel her curtain bangs caress my cheeks.

Then, the stair’s door opens and we break apart fast: her banging her head against the banister, me falling one step lower than I was.

“Hey, girls!” the voice interrupts. “You can’t be here!”

I clean my throat and fix my hair and smile at the security guy that’s looking at us.

“Sorry! The elevator wasn’t working a few minutes ago, and we were tired.” That doesn’t make much sense since we’re on the first floor and there’s no way we got tired after ten steps or so, but it’s late and I’m improvising. “We’ll try again now, thanks!”

If he’s bought it or not, I don’t care. I stand up, I grab my bag and my new book, and I start climbing the steps towards the open door to prove that we’re already leaving.

I can’t find the courage to look at Amber’s face and check her expression. 

I don’t think I want to know.

I leave her in the elevator with a soft “goodnight”. She’s still staying in Billie’s room on the last floor. Mine’s on the third, so I leave her behind. I walk the corridor like I’m doing the walk of shame, even if nothing happened, and I try to shake off whatever I’m feeling so I can get some sleep.

Amber was right when she said coming back to the rooms would be like popping a bubble. Right when I get here, the wi-fi connects itself and I start to get all the notifications that didn’t reach while I turned off my data.

I first check Molly’s e-mails, but I can’t focus and I mark them as unread so I can go through them tomorrow.

Then, I answer my friends Trent and Julia. They’ve been sending selfies and telling me what gifts from England they want in compensation for ditching them for a week.

Lastly, I open Matt’s chat and I read all the things he’s written to me:

Matthew Berry (6.45 pm): THEY HAVE A DOG NOW, CHARLES.

Matthew Berry (6.45 pm): LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT HIM. HE’S SUCH A GOOD BOY.

Matthew Berry (6.47 pm): My mum loves him more than she loves me. I can’t blame her, but I make more money.

Matthew Berry (7.02 pm): I hope you had fun today with Amber!!

I leave him on read and let myself fall back on the bed. I don’t know what to say or do, what to answer.

I just want to sleep and pretend none of my actions have consequences.