Desperate Run

by C.J. Riggs

find ourselves in close to pitch black, if not for the few shards of candlelight spaced out on the walls. “We never have any time together anymore so—” “Yes because,” I sigh frustratingly, “you know why.” “Max, come on.” “Come on what, Ben?” I like him but, not like that. Leaning forward, he takes hold of my hand, his skin is soft against mine, rubbing his thumb in slow, gentle circles on the top but I feel nothing. I’m fucking empty inside. “Let’s just try?” He steps closer. “Try what, Ben?” I look up at him. “Because I seem to remember we did try, once, and I told you I felt nothing and that I wanted to be friends and—” I drop my head back and groan. Why does he always have to do this, why am I always the fucking bad guy here. “Max, that was years ago, we were both wasted. Don’t I deserve a chance?” “No, Ben. I told you no, ok? Because of what ha—” I stop mid-sentence. “I’m not doing this right now.” I snatch my hand back and begin stomping down the hall.