Haven't Had Enough → Chenry

(authors note)
Sorry for the wait. Here is Chapter Twelve. ♡

☽

     My attempts to act normally after what happened were completely pointless. As hard as I tried to pretend otherwise, the only thing on my mind was the mental image of Henry's lips being just inches from mine. And that was very hard to ignore.

   For the entirety of the night, I lay awake in bed while the plain white ceiling stared back at me. Over and over again, my mind drifted back to the moment when I thought, this is it, he's going to kiss me, and every time, my heart dropped a little when I thought about the fact that he didn't.

     There was something very wrong with that, I knew. Why did I care whether Henry kissed me or not? I would have preferred to think that it was actually the very last thing I could have wanted from him. But as I lay in bed thinking it over, I found that I wasn't too sure, and the thought of that was scary to me.

   So I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Hours passed by until, eventually, I could see the sun peeking through the curtains and into the room.

   I climbed out of bed apprehensively. I exhausted, but more importantly, I was in no hurry to see the boy I had almost-but-not-quite kissed. The same went for the girl who knew and was probably never going to let me live it down. I didn't want to face either of them, but there was one thing I wanted even more than that: breakfast.

   With a deep breath, I was finally able to bring myself to leave the room and head for the kitchen. I held the breath captive in my lungs, bracing myself as I rounded the corner. Here it comes.

   But there was nothing. The only thing in the kitchen was the bowl of fruit that sat on top the island. Dumbfounded, I slumped onto a stool and sat for a minute before sighing in relief – after all, no Henry, no Lyah, no problem.

   They must have both forgotten that it ever even happened, I thought to myself. Maybe I dreamed it all up. The Penbrooke stress must really be getting to me.

   I already felt better. If they could forget what had happened so easily, I could forget too. I felt a lazy smile spread across my face as I placed my arms on the counter and put my head down. I was already forgetting, and suddenly, it felt a lot easier for me to fall asleep.

   Or maybe not. Once my eyelids fell shut, Henry's face appeared in my mind. He was just there for a while, doing nothing but looking at me, and then suddenly, he was leaning in. My muscles tensed. I was supposed to be forgetting, not daydreaming.

   It's fine, I reasoned with myself. It'll take some time to forget. And so I just let it happen.

    The image in my mind looked and felt impossibly real. The sleeves of Henry's distressed denim jacket were pushed up to expose the ink that covered his arms. He was reaching up to cup my face and it was as if I could feel his hand on my skin. His tan skin flushed as his lips parted and his mouth came closer to mine.

   I could hear the faint sound of his breathing, just like I could feel his breath softly hitting my face, and I could smell him – he smelled like pinecones – and I was absolutely entranced.

     It occurred to me then that maybe I wasn't forgetting because I didn't actually want to. Whatever the reason was, I was very content to stay there and keep daydreaming, undisturbed.