by Eli Lang
Her own smile faded a little bit, but she shook her head. “I hadn’t really thought about that.” She sighed but didn’t sound unhappy, or even that worried. “I’m not going to say either of us should move across the country or anything drastic like that. We don’t even know if this will work.” I frowned, and she squeezed my hand again. “Let’s just . . . see. I think it might work. Do you?” I nodded, and she smiled again, wide. “Then we should let it. We can do long-distance for a while, until we get a better idea of things. I know it isn’t easy. But I still think it might work.”
“I think it might.” I gave in to what I wanted and pressed my face against the side of her neck, breathed her in. She laughed and wrapped her arms around me, and when I raised my head, she was looking down at me with the best expression on her face. Like she was lucky. Like something so good had happened to her. I’d done that. I’d put that expression on her face.
“And you’d be miserable if you stayed here.” Her words were light, but they made me tense. “I can see how much you want to go home.”
“I’d do it, though. If you wanted me to.” I would, too. I knew it as soon as I said it. “At least until we see whether it’s going to work or not. Until we figure something else out.” I hoped it would work. Desperately hoped for that. But I was going to at least try to be realistic about this whole thing. Maybe Cara would decide she couldn’t stand being with someone who was obsessed with playing drums, or maybe she had a secret love of green beans, my most hated vegetable, and I’d have to make a clean break. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to handle it when I toured. Maybe I’d get jealous when she kept long hours at the studio. I hoped not. But I didn’t know. That was the whole point. Maybe we’d fit together like the last two pieces of a puzzle, and everything else would be speed bumps in what we had between us.
She moved her hand up, so her fingers ran over my neck, up to my jaw, cupping my face. “I think you would.” She nodded, more to herself, I thought, than me. “But let’s not. Let’s not make that the thing that ends this for us. Let’s do long-distance, and if we decide we hate it and can’t be apart, then we can figure something else out.” Her smile went a little shy. “I want to try. And I’m flexible. There are other awesome dance studios. I was coming home from one when I met you, you know? This doesn’t have to be long-distance forever. Just for a little while. Just while we give it a chance.”
It seemed too good to be true, and I wanted to question it, poke holes in it until I knew where all the weak spots were, until I could get a better idea of what could go wrong. But Cara didn’t let me. She dropped our hands, then wrapped her arm around me, and pulled me even closer, until there wasn’t any space between us. She leaned down that inch or two and kissed me again. I felt the press of her fingers against my back, the nearly rough slip of her thumb against my cheek, her lips warm on mine, her bangs tangling with mine. And, in that second, I believed it could work. That we would figure this out and it wouldn’t be long before we were together again. That maybe I could be selfish and want what I wanted, and be with who I wanted, and play drums like I wanted, and all of that was okay.
And then I didn’t feel anything but her, and the two of us together, and the music.
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Many thanks, as always, to my parents. Thanks to May Peterson, for helping me polish this into something lovely. Many thanks to Rain, for looking over this with a careful eye and being wonderful. Thanks to Ryan, for teaching me everything there is to know about music, and for being an all-around incredible person, and Jim, for giving me the basics. Tons of thanks to the Blanketeers, for the immense help, support, and fantastic friendship you offer. And to Cosy, for being the best.
Half
Escaping Indigo series
Escaping Indigo
Scratch Track (coming soon)
Eli Lang is a writer and drummer. She’s played in rock bands, worked on horse farms, and had jobs in libraries, where she spent most of her time reading every book she could get her hands on. She can fold a nearly perfect paper crane and knows how to tune a snare drum. She still buys stuffed animals because she feels bad if they’re left alone in the store, believes cinnamon buns should always be eaten warm, can tell you more than you ever wanted to know about the tardigrade, and has a book collection that’s reaching frightening proportions. She lives in Arizona with far too many pets.
Website: leftoversushi.com
Facebook: facebook.com/EliLangAuthor
Twitter: twitter.com/eli__lang
Goodreads: goodreads.com/eli_lang
Enjoy more stories like Skin Hunger at RiptidePublishing.com!
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www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/far-from-home
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www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/the-love-song-of-sawyer-bell
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