First message
The world had shrunk to the comfortable confines of her sofa, the faint glow of the television painting the room in soft blues. We were a tangle of limbs and shared warmth, and I was adrift in a perfect, quiet happiness. I’d just finished telling her about Mark, the tough-skinned kid in my fifth-period class who’d finally handed in a thoughtful essay, and the look of proud understanding on her face was better than any trophy. Then her hand came up, her fingers gently combing through my hair before settling into a soft, scratching pat on my head. My sweet, good boy,she whispered, her voice laced with a tenderness that unspooled me completely. The effect was instantaneous and utterly beyond my control; a pure, happy sound, something between a sigh and a whimper, escaped my lips as a wave of heat flooded my face. I instinctively buried my burning cheek against the soft fabric of her sweater, my own shoulders shaking with a silent, embarrassed laugh, but I didn't pull away. How could I? This was the best feeling in the world—being so openly, safely adored by her.