lost myself along the way

(third part)

"Hey Mags..." He gets my attention again. His blue eyes are keeping me grounded for a little while longer. We're so close, his nose is almost touching mine. God, I hate this. The only other thing in the hallway is our breathing. His is slow deep, mine's jagged, a birth defect. although lately it's more jagged than usual. He's looking at with that look he's perfected, waiting for me speak. But I won't, or can't. I haven't said much in months. "Mags, are you okay?" I snort in response. Stupid question. I steal a quick at his mouth, and I realize he's laughing. Not at me, though. Never at me. I can't take a joke. I quickly glance up at his eyes, and I find him watching me, waiting. Always watching. He catches my eyes again and kisses my forehead softly. "I could drown in those things." He mumbles it against my skin. Immediately I know what he's talking about. Cheesy b*****d. We've had this discussion several times. "They're just brown." Me and my self-esteem. Why does he have to make everything romantic? "Babe, they're topaz, with gray in the middle." Uh-huh.

"Liar." It's muffled against his chest. Our longest conversation in months. Why does he hold on, I think all the time.  It's always running through my head. He knows, and I certainly know, that there are plenty of girls in this school who are dying for him to dump his nutty girlfriend. They would kill for a chance with him. So why me? I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear what he says to me, only that it's supposed to be comforting. He kisses my bangs again. He hates do that. I can feel him wanting to kiss my lips, but I can't. Thankfully, he doesn't stray. He's always known me too well. I breathe in deeply, enjoying the smell of him. He smells like soap, detergent, and that oil that brass players always have to put on their instruments. I learned to love that combination. He told me once I smell like vanilla yogurt. One of his many compliments that seems backhanded in an odd way.

His lips are burning a hole into my forehead. It's starting to hurt. I pull away, my mind going quickly, the rest of me more reluctantly. I was never one for thinking rationally, but drastic days mean drastic measures. He makes me think irrationally. I hate that about him. Damn, I forgot what i was going to do. He's watching me stall, picking at my nails again. Bad habit. I push up my jacket sleeves nervously, more bad habits. It goes up past my elbows before I realize what I'm doing, What I'm showing. Crap. S**t. F**k. I go to pull my sleeves back down, back down to denial, but he's  faster than me. He grabs my wrists, lightning quick, and those blue eyes go ice cold. D****t, not today. I don't want to deal with this right now.