Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?
I sketched inattentively along the margins of my homework. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized I’d drawn five pairs of dark eyes staring out of the page at me. I scrubbed them out with the eraser.
His face startled me — his expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat. He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His