g0dmode:

14. things you said after you kissed me 

When you kiss her in an elevator with a gun in your hand and
her coat in your fist, she doesn’t say anything, but she does scream:  a sound from behind the metal of the gate that
lingers in your head for months, the ghost of a feeling in the pit of your
stomach that does not go away.

When you kiss her for the 23^rd time, she says, “Missed
you, Sam,” but it’s not her, really, just a refraction of light, the illusion
of a sound. Wrong.

When you kiss her for the 405^th time, she says, “Wouldn’t
have pegged you for the soft type, Shaw,” and you bite her tongue instead of
yours. Wrong.

When you kiss her for the 1,029^th time, she says,
“Sorry,” and by now you’ve gotten the hang of this game – you’re only biding
your time when you ask “What for?” and she says, “I wish we’d done this sooner.”
Wrong.

When you kiss her for the 6,741^st time, she says,
“You’re safe here.” And you nearly believe her.  (You stop kissing her after that.)

And then you’re in a prison in Johannesburg, and the back of
a cramped truck in Mexico, and a rooftop in New York, a week in to what you
hope to god isn’t another simulation.

When you kiss her in the morning by the bridge, she only
looks at you fondly and smirks. You say, “Reality looks good on you, Root.”

send me a number