Notes: This is from Cat's POV.

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Second Degree Burns

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Sometimes it's like this.

This perfect time where she lies in bed with me, and it feels so right. Even though it's not, because even though she makes me feel all kinds of amazing, I can't touch her. She doesn't let me, and it hurts and burns, how much I want to. She's good at distracting me though, or I'm easily distracted, her hands are going under my shirt, and her lips go on my neck. It's almost comfortable now, and she's so, so beautiful, all dark curves and light skin. So, it's perfect. Kind of.

I like it when it's like this, more than other times when it's not. Like when she's not here, and when she doesn't look at me for days, because I know those times come too. Usually after this. But now, it's this and her and she smells like vanilla, so I smile and sigh.

Then other noises come out, because she's moving her hand under my skirt.

She whispers in my ear, telling me how beautiful I am, and it nearly makes the stars explode behind my eyes. She's soft and when it's like this, I almost know—I know she loves me. Even though she says she doesn't. She yelled it at me once really loud. But she's not yelling now, so I try not to think about that. Just focus, focus, on how nice this is. Because it is, and I love it, and I love her. I just know I do. Otherwise I wouldn't do this with her, when there are so many reasons why I shouldn't.

She's moving faster; saying my name over and over and over, making me melt, just melt against her.

It feels good, then better, and then I'm arching up and everything's still for a moment. I just watch the stars, and feel them pop and fizzle all over my body.

Soon, too soon, I'm opening my eyes, and see her watching me. Stroking my hair and it feels amazing. Everything feels so amazing, and we're quiet, just looking at each other. She said once she likes it right after, because it's the only time I'm not talking. She didn't mean it though, because she said it smiling and laughing, and sometimes I do talk. Just talk and talk about her hair and eyes and all the beautiful things about her. And she lets me, smiles softly, and listens to me ramble.

I reach up and wrap my fingers in hers, bringing her hand down between us. She lets me, and it makes me soar, because she never, never, lets me touch her when she's making me sweaty and tingly. I examine her hand, the chipped nail polish, and flush a bit at the slight damp feeling that's drying quickly on her fingers.

"I wish you wouldn't do that." She whispers to me, and it's hoarse and broken, making me flinch and look at her with a little fear.

"Do what?"

"Make me want you so much. You make is so easy to—" But she swallows the rest of whatever she was going to say, even though I'm pretty sure I know. I look at her deeply, and her eyes stay down to our hands while she runs her thumb over my knuckles.

I know I shouldn't, because she told me not to. She said that we don't do that, because she does it with him, and only him. And I'm not him. I shouldn't, but before I can stop, I lean in to kiss her.

She jerks back violently just like I knew she would, but it still hurts, and I never learn. My dad used to tell me that and I know he's right. I never learn, I know the stoves hot, but I keep putting my hand on it, because maybe—maybe just this one time it'll be different. It won't burn and hurt and burn, but her face hardens into something I don't like, and it burns and hurts.

I'm sorry. And I say it over and over again, as she scrambles to get off the bed. I say it a whole lot of times, but she leaves anyway. I'm so stupid, and I never learn. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Sometimes it's like this.

She leaves angry, and I lie in bed alone, crying.