What Happens After by Portia Moore
It’s always the same question every single time. He looks at me with his eyes full of sadness, his expression full of embarrassment, and I hate it! That question always makes me feel terrible, as if we just did something wrong… which we have, but I hate that he’s conscious of it, that he reminds me of it. As if I said ‘no this is wrong, terribly wrong, I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you,’ it’s something he wants to hear. “Yeah,” I say, my throat burning. He looks at me, and I turn my face away, feeling a tear escape. “Lisa.” His voice is full of sorrow, fear, and every other depressing feeling that makes me want to vomit. Anger starts to consume me, and it replaces the hesitancy I usually have to say the words I’ve wanted to say for so long. “I love you, Will.” There’s silence, and each second cuts through me. When my eyes meet his, I see a storm in them, and I don’t care. I want him to say something. Anything. “You know I…” His voice is weak, his expression full of confus...