On an Edge of Glass

sometime in the past two hours because I waited up for him until midnight, finally letting myself drift off during a movie that I’ve seen five times already.
                  I touch his hair because I always want to touch his hair, but somehow it seems less like a demand when he’s sleeping.  I run my fingers back through the thick strands and let them fall over his face—over the angular cheekbones and the straight line of his mouth. 
                  I didn’t like the way we left things tonight.  The whole scenario of Ainsley and Payton trying to set me up in front of Ben was awkward.  And then, I went and categorically denied having anyone special in life.  To make things worse, I acted like I thought all musicians are disgusting, smelly losers.  Ben’s expression had been one of defeat and something else.  Maybe it was disappointment? 
                  I know that should have said something about us.  It was a golden opportunity, and I’m sure that’s how Ben sees things.  Ten words from me to Ainsley and Payton, and everything could be out in the open.  No more sneaking into bedrooms at night.  No more secret kisses in the hallway before anyone else in the house gets up. 
                  I don’t know why I didn’t just open my mouth and let the words fall out.  They were there, dangling on the tip of my tongue.
                  I probably shouldn’t have put it off, but I did, and now I feel inexplicably guilty.  And I hate feeling guilty.  Especially when I can’t even quite articulate why.
    Next to me, h e stirs and rolls over, and when his arm comes over my stomach I scoot lower so that my head is cradled just under his chin in the curve of his throat.  As I close my eyes and let my breathing fall back into a slow pattern, I try not to let my mind wander too far.  I’ve done too much thinking already.  But one thought is there in the forefront, impossible to ignore.  It’s like a whisper in my ear. 
    Let go .
     
     
     
    “How many more?”
                  “I’m not sure.”
                  “Are we talking ten more or ten thousand?”
                  I tilt my head and laugh.  “Probably somewhere in between.”
                  We’re in an empty classroom in the music building.  It’s Wednesday afternoon and I have an hour between exams.  I texted Ben and he told me that he was practicing in here. 
    Following the directions that he gave me, I walked in when he was right in the middle of a piece.   His head was bent over the neck of the cello and his eyes were closed and he looked all lost and beautiful.
    I stood by the door and watched him play for about five minutes before my wonderment dissipated enough for me to scramble to my bag and retrieve my camera.  I got about thirty good shots in before he even noticed me.  Now he’s rolling his eyes and acting stiff and generally being a bad subject.  I take the hint and slip the lens cap back onto my camera.
    “Fin e,” I say, taking a step toward the front of the classroom.  I slide one strap of my bag off my shoulder and shuffle the contents around until my camera is safely stowed away.  “But, one of these days I want free access to take pictures of you while you’re playing.”
    His hands are stilled and he’s looking at me sideways.  “Why?”
    I drop into a chair in front of him and shrug.  “Because your face is interesting.”
    Ben laughs, openly amused.  “ Interesting?  Wow.  You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
    I wave my hand.  “Don’t be a jackass.  You know that you’re hot.  You’re a perfect specimen of masculinity by my standards and by those of every single girl that you meet.  I just mean that when you play an instrument you go somewhere else.  You get all these new faces.”  I look up and he’s watching me closely.  His mouth is curling into a crooked smile.  “And, I want to capture them all with my camera.”
    After a few silent beats, Ben purses his lips thoughtfully.  “So, you think I’m hot?”
    I bring one of my legs up and tuck it underneath me.  “Ugh!  No.  That was just a figure of speech.  I didn’t want to say anything, but if we’re being honest, you’re hideous .  I can barely stand to look at your chiseled jaw, and your eyes surrounded by those horribly long lashes, and that awful dimple.  It’s such a blight