The question had been running rampant through her head the entire evening. Louder and louder as the night progressed and the drinks kept finding their way into her hand. She'd tried to ignore it, and mostly succeeded so long as he was there to offer adequate distraction. It had been fun, a welcome deviation from what her life had become over the course of the last month, but even then, even when she smiled and leaned into his side--even when she pulled him in to taste the sugar on his lips--it had still been there at the back of her mind. That question, that doubt, that fear. A terrifying desperation that had been growing and growing since the day they'd kissed in the pool.
Peyton wanted what she didn't think she could have. She had what she didn't thinks he deserved. Trying to hold something she was terrified would simply slip through her fingers, like everyone else. Trying to push away the potential for future pain.
A walking contradiction.
It lingered still when they left. On the walk back to the dorms. At the crucial moment when she could have bid him goodnight at the stairs, but didn't. Small fingers had a death grip on his hand as they headed towards her dorm.
I can't do this.
<Why can't you? He makes you happy.>
It's not fair.
<Why don't you let him decide that for himself.>
A circular argument that had been going through her head for the better part of the last half an hour.
syrie
