‘But I don’t have one. ‘For years I’ve thought about telling you. I wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning, your fiery hair splayed out on the pillow, your eyes closed as you dream. I wanted to tell you, but another thought would always infiltrate my brain: what if I scare her off. I couldn’t live without you in my life, Lacey. So I never told you how I––,’ Somehow Lacey grew six inches because my sentence was lost in her lips. Her mouth claimed mine again and as her arms wound around my neck, mine found their way around her waist. With one arm securely behind her, the other slid back up into her hair. God, it was so soft. My fingers played in the curls, twisting, scrunching, fisting. Who knew hair could be so soft? When she pulled away, we were both breathing a bit heavier. I looked down and saw the stubble burn on her lips again. I felt possessive and primal and knew, right then, that come hell or high water, she would have to shoot me before I’d let another. Someone asked me about the blood-covered bag in the back seat and I replied that the gunman had thrown it in there. I remember giving them my keys and permission to search the car, and them taking my fingerprints to compare to any they found on the gun or the bag. They swabbed my palms, and then the back of my hands, and then each arm looking for gunpowder residue. Only the palms and the fingers on both hands had residue, showing that I had handled the gun, but hadn’t fired it. There was also blood from the gunman on my hands that had transferred from both the keys and the gun.The whole thing began taking on a surreal appearance, and I felt slightly disoriented, almost as if I was looking through a wide-angle telescope.I remember directing them to the flyer still on my dashboard telling the location of the party that I had been on my way home from. It had several names and phone numbers scribbled on it of people that I had met at the party. They took samples of the blood on my hand,.
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