“Murph,” he begins, his voice wavering. “W-what are you doing?”

Ignoring his hushed, stammered question, I swallow the lump of apprehension at the back of my throat, staring up into his green eyes that glisten beneath the overhead lamp. I stand on the tips of my toes, craning my neck and breathing him in as I inch closer and closer to his lips. His eyes turn a slightly darker shade, smoky and heavily hooded, his pupils dilating ever so slightly with every inch closer I move. I’m completely intoxicated by both the alcohol I’ve consumed and his heady scent, and I’d like to say I have no idea what I’m doing, but of course I do. I know exactly what I’m doing. Closing my eyes, my lips finally brush against his, shocking me through to my core, and it’s everything I imagined it to be and more. His lips are warm and soft. They feel like home—something I hadn’t been expecting—and I’m forced to stifle the contented murmur as it creeps its way up the back of my throat when his lips parts and the very tip of his tongue glides against my bottom lip.

But suddenly, like a cold, hard slap to my face, everything comes to a crashing halt when I almost fall flat to the floor with how quickly he moves away from me.

“What the hell, Murph?” he yells, his voice hoarse as it echoes throughout the stark silence of the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing?”

I gape at him as he steps even farther away, keeping a good few feet of distance between us. Anger is evident within his blazing eyes. His chest is heaving as if he’s just run a mile. His cheeks are a deep shade of pink as he glares at me, his eyes almost threatening. “This is all bullshit, Murph,” he hisses from between gritted teeth. “It isn’t real! It’s a lie. It’s your lie. Remember?”

“I’m s-sorry, I just—” Lost for words, I grip the edge of the countertop behind me. I breathe hard as the world around me begins to spin. I want to die. But, maybe I’m already dead.

“This was all your idea. Your stupid idea,” Harley continues, and he’s so angry. Furious, even. But, to be honest, I’m not even really listening anymore.

“I didn’t mean it. I—” I try to speak but I’m suddenly riddled with a humiliation I doubt I’ll ever be able to overcome. An unexpected sob bubbles up the back of my throat. “I’m sorry,” I cry out, violently swiping at the hot tears trailing down my cheeks before pushing past him and running upstairs to my bedroom, desperate to get away from him and my mortification. I close the door behind me, resting my forehead against the cold wood as I try to catch my breath. But it’s no use. I’m a mess. I hear the front door open before slamming shut, and I turn, sliding down my door and falling into a heap on the floor. Burying my face in my hands, I continue crying uncontrollably.