Don't Be In Love

by Liana Cincotti

But my mind worked too quickly, wanting to know what she needed, so I responded, “Yes?”

I caught her elbow and stopped her. “Fine, fine.” I took a breath. “You.” “Me?” “Yes, you.” She froze. “What about me?” “I dream about you.”

Her eyes darted across my face. She didn’t believe me. But she wanted to. Or else her elbow wouldn’t be in my hand still.

With the slightest force, I tugged on her arm. She obliged, taking a step. Her eyelashes were still wet, pulled into sharp points like the tip of a detailed paintbrush.

I let my hand travel down the length of her arm before stopping at her fingertips, holding on.

“You keep me up every night. I dream about August. And I dream about the night before Halloween when we kissed. And I dream about seeing you kiss someone else. I dr...

An opportunity to divulge how suffocated I was by the dreams of her—of us.

She took another step closer, forcing me into the wall of the booth, nowhere to go. I was pinned. I looked to the right where the bridge stood stronger than I was now.

“Dorian,” she responded. Then her fingers found my chin and pulled my gaze down. My throat bobbed. A pathetic apology...

“If this is your way of torturing me, it’s working. Because I lose all ability to lie when it comes to you—” “Do you ever stop talking?” she exhaled before grabbing the sides of my coat and pulling me down, crashing her lips against mine.

A fortress built block by block left in disarray, and all the rubble sat in Adelaide Adorno’s hands.

taking her jaw between my palms and kissing her back.

Her hands found my shoulders, my neck, my hair, my jaw. She was shapi...

I tried to take it all in. Absorb it. But I coul...

With a hand on her hip and another at her neck, I switched our places, pressin...

I didn’t waste time finding her again, my hands catching her waist and pulling her into my chest.

I couldn’t get her close enough. I couldn’t get enough of her.

She parted my lips as if demanding admittance for something she’d been patient for. I’d let her do whatever she wanted.

“God, Adelaide,” I groaned.

I absorbed the taste of the coconut lip gloss I stared at all night, sweeping my hands over her frame. I memorized her hips. I memorized her lower back. Her breathing, the back of her arms, the arch of her neck. We...

I was suffocating and breathing the freshest air ...

I couldn’t fathom how she was real. She was everything I never knew I needed. An...

I love you, the hand cupping her jaw, said. I love you, the hot breath I was gasping for, said. I love you, the desperate kiss I pressed against her lips, said.

I counted every inch that stood between our lips, my brain calculating the number of seconds it would take to reach her again. No different than any other time I was around her.

“Tell me to stay,” I said. “What?” she breathed. “Tell,” I exhaled. I couldn’t catch ahold of my breath. She had it all. “Me. To. Stay. With. You.”

“You’re supposed to be in Italy with your family and James.” “They are the last thing I’m thinking about right now.” “Dorian …”

“Tell me something, Adelaide. Because I care for you so much that I’m ...

Dorian Thoughts occupied every corner of my mind.

Because by the look on his face last night, he would’ve spent the whole month with you if you asked.”

“Ah, I see.” “See what?” I leaned forward as if she had some insight into my future. “You love him.”

“The mistakes I regret the most are the ones I didn’t allow to happen.

I clutched the scarf that Dorian had left me, trying to keep it from flying off. I resisted the urge to press it to my nose and smell his cologne.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And knowing that he felt the same way …

As in the stabbing fire poker to the gut I suffered from each time I saw him? That fountain pen drag across my heart as if the features of his face were being drawn into my blood? The absolute nausea I got any time I thought he was going to tell me he was in love with Victoria and didn’t want to see me anymore?

I itched to call him, ask how he was, nag him for pictures of his meals in Italy. I wanted to hear him say that he cared for me again in his soft, sultry British accent so I could confirm that I hadn’t made it all up. So I could kiss him when he came home and not wonder if he’d pull away.

His hold on me had become plant overgrowth; a vine wrapped around every bone in my chest.

I missed the way he squeezed my palm in the rain. I missed the way the umbrella shook above our heads when I made him laugh. I missed the way his voice deepened when he said my name. The way he leaned into me when I spoke. The way he held me even when we were arguing. The way he openly told me about his life like it was a collection of buried diary entries no one else had read.

I missed the way he liked me.

“Jasmine, I took the damn bag all the way to Italy with me because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I should’ve given her the gift on her birthday like I wanted to rather than letting this friendship linger so long.”

I refrained from mentioning the baseball cap keychain I clutched every day like a pocket watch.

“Are you nervous at all?” her tone was soft. ​“Exceptionally. It’s pathetic.” ​“You shouldn’t be. I bet she’s missed you.” ​I missed her.

During holiday, I was drawing her profile on café napkins like I was selling silhouettes for spare change. I found her in the rain-fallen nights. In every keychain and cheesy postcard. It was the reason why I had several pushed into my back pocket, too indecisive to pick one.

“What I told her is only a quarter of how I feel. I can’t imagine if I tried to say anything more.

My heart was running at the speed of the transit system, whirling around in my chest with no track and a broken brake.

Then it stopped. And I found her on a short ladder at the back of the store with a box in her arms that she was pulling books from and sliding onto the top shelf.

She looked so beautiful. With a long skirt on and heeled boots, she was picturesque. Watching her push a strand of hair behind her ear felt like a missed opportunity for a painting.

I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath.

It felt like my heart was wilting and thriving all ...

A century old fireplace sparked to life in my chest. One that had been dormant for what felt like my entire life. The flame flicked at the hearth as she searched the shelf. Her deep brown eyes read the spines. The sam...

Nothing was just brown anymore. The purse that hung from her shoulder most days was no longer just a glove-tanned leather, but the same color as her hair...