This chapter is going to be super long, so please prepare your eyes

 

And one more thing , Listen to this song just to understand Jessica's feeling in this chapter

 

 

https://youtu.be/R8vHbhWxLGg

 

 

 

CONTINUES From Chapter 46 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yuri takes the hint and lays her phone down on the armrest beside her, then sighs heavily as she drops her head against the back of the couch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The silence makes me wish I could experience the world from her perspective for once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I find it almost impossible to put myself in her shoes, though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

People with the advantage of hearing take so much for granted, and I’ve never understood that to the extent that I understand it now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s nothing being spoken between us, yet I understand by her heavy sigh that she’s frustrated with herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I understand how much she’s holding back by the way her breaths are being sharply pulled in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I suppose her expertise in a silent world gives her an ability to read people, just in different ways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Instead of focusing on the sounds of my breaths, she focuses on the rise and fall of my chest. Rather than listening to quiet sighs, she more than likely watches my eyes, my hands, my posture.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe that’s why her face is tilted toward mine now, because she wants to see me and get a feel for what’s going through my head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I feel as if she reads me too well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The way she’s watching me forces me to try to control every facial expression and every breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I close my eyes and lean my head back, knowing she’s staring, trying to get a sense of where I am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also wish I could just turn to her and tell her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I want to tell her how much I’ve missed her. I want to tell her how much she means to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I want to tell her how horrible I feel, because before I showed up in her life, everything seemed perfect for her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I want to tell her that even though we both regretted it, that minute we spent kissing was the one minute out of my entire life that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At moments like these, I’m thankful she can’t hear me, or there would have been so many things spoken that I would regret.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Instead, there are so many things left unsaid that I wish I had the courage to say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yuri’s weight shifts on the couch, and my eyes naturally open out of curiosity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s leaning across the arm of the couch, reaching for something.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she turns back around, she’s holding a pen in her hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She smiles softly, then picks up my arm. She turns her body toward mine and presses the pen to my open palm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I swallow hard and slowly look up at her face, but she’s looking down at my hand as she writes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could swear I almost see a faint smile flash across her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she’s finished, she brings my palm to and blows softly to dry the ink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her lips are moist and puckered into a pout, and holy hell, it just got really warm in this apartment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She lowers my hand, and I look down at it.

 

Just wanted to touch your hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I laugh softly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mostly because her words are so innocent and sweet compared to the things she’s written on me in the past.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been sitting here on this couch with her for 10 minutes, wishing she would touch me, and then she goes and admits she was thinking the exact same thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s so juvenile, as if we’re teenagers. I’m almost embarrassed that it pleases me this much that she’s touching me, but I can’t recall a time I’ve ever wanted anything more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She hasn’t released my hand yet, and I’m still looking down at her writing, smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I brush my thumb across the back of her hand, and she gasps quietly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The permission I just gave her with that tiny movement seems to have broken some invisible barrier, because she immediately slides her hand over mine and presses our palms together, then intertwines our fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The warmth of her hand doesn’t come close to the warmth that just shot through my entire body.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

God, if just holding hands with her feels this intense, I can’t imagine what everything else with her would feel like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We’re both watching our hands now, feeling every bit of the connection pulsating through our palms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She brushes over my thumb and flips our hands over, then takes the pen and presses it to my wrist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She moves the pen slowly up my wrist, drawing in a straight line all the way up my forearm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t stop her. I simply watch her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she reaches the crease in my elbow, she begins to write again. I read each word as she writes it.

 

 

Just an excuse to touch you here, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Without releasing my hand, she lifts my arm and keeps her eyes focused on mine as she bends forward and blows softly up and down my arm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She presses her lips lightly against her words and kisses them without once breaking eye contact.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When her lips meet my arm, I feel a soft flick of her tongue tease my arm for a split second before closes over my skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That might have just made me whimper.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yep. Pretty sure I just whimpered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

God, I’m so glad she couldn’t hear that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She pulls her lips away from my arm and continues to watch me, gauging my reaction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her eyes are dark and piercing, and they’re focused all over me. On my lips, on my eyes, on my neck, on my hair, on my chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She can’t seem to take me in fast enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She presses the pen against my skin again, starting where she left off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She rolls the pen slowly up my arm, watching it intently the whole time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she reaches the sleeve of my T-shirt, she pushes it up carefully until my shoulder is exposed. She makes a small mark with the pen, then slowly leans over me.

 

 

 

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