If This Gets Out

by Sophie Gonzales

It’s funny how time and space cast a rosy glow over memories, making them seem less painful than they were in reality.

Weirder than they already are, anyway. Because holy fuck. I kissed him. Or he kissed me. We kissed each other, I guess. And I liked it. I was drunk, but not so drunk I can’t remember that. It was one of the best kisses of my life.

the kiss was hot and sweet and all-consuming, everything I want a kiss to be. I don’t think I’ve wanted anything as much as I wanted to keep kissing him, to never stop kissing him.

My eyes meet his, and I’m about to agree, when I notice something. The morning sun has changed the color of his eyes to a sort of amber. Suddenly, all I want to do is kiss him again. I want to wrap my arms around him and to have him smile at me and to just lose myself with him.

“I don’t have to use my body to sell music, Erin.” “True,” says Erin. “But you’ll sell more if you do.”

Once you’ve learned shame, it settles into your skin like a tattoo. You can cover it up but you can’t scrub off the sense of inadequacy.

“You think I’d point and laugh at you?” “Well, no, but anxiety isn’t exactly rational, you know?

When Zach touches me, though, it’s like my skin stops being the barrier that holds me in and the world out. It feels like a boundary he can cross at will, to merge with me and fill me with this fire, from the depths of my chest to the surface of my skin.

Shit. Jesus. I did not mean to say that. It’s like my mouth went ahead and signed off on something without waiting for my brain to review and cosign.

The thing is, haters and trolls don’t matter, even if it seems like they do.