How long can I hold out? Honestly, I don't fucking know. Every moment feels like a test, a slow-burning trial of my patience and willpower. It's not just the proximity—it's her.
Leona had suggested we stay in today. Said something about how much trouble she caused last night, how it'd be better to keep things low-key. I'd laughed it off at first, told her she hadn't been that bad, but inside? Inside, I knew the truth: staying in a confined space with her all day was going to be its own special kind of hell.
Because it's not just being around her—it's being around her like this. Leona, in one of my shirts again, her legs bare and her hair slightly messy from sleep. It's the way she moves through the room, so completely unaware of the effect she has on me.
I swear, I can feel the figurative spaceship crash before it happens. I know where this is headed if I'm not careful.
