Beautiful Graves

by L.J. Shen

“What if I’m not fucking awesome?” “You are,” he says, sure as the morning sun. “If you were mediocre, you wouldn’t be running circles in my head.”

“Is it always like that?” I whisper. He knows exactly what I’m asking, because he shakes his head and says, “No, Ever. It’s never like that. This . . .” He dips his head, kissing the shell of my ear. “This is heaven. This is worthy of death.”

He’s got me there. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I admit. “Great for me. Sucks for hypothetical him.” His smile widens.

And then I feel it. A brewing storm. The small hairs on my arms stand on end, like lightning is about to strike. I want to fall to my knees and bend forward, dodge being electrocuted. But I know it’s too late. That thunder has already struck me. All it takes is for me to turn around. I swivel on my heel. And then I see him.

He is a storm, and I’m lightning, and whenever we meet, there is chaos.

And yet, his most desperate moment had occurred under the night sky. So clear and pure and full of stars. He closed his eyes and saw her. A girl. Or maybe she was a woman at this point. Whoever she was, he belonged to her. But she no longer belonged to him.

Joe’s head drops to his chest. “Ever, please.” I kiss his neck, running my hot tongue over his Adam’s apple. “Fuck. Here we go,” he moans.

“You goddamn know Presley was never in the race.” Joe shuts me up with a dirty, violent kiss. “As long as you have breath in you, no one else stands a chance.”