I breathed in, then, and I knew we'd gone too far. Ignorance was bliss, yes, but at a cost. She went pale, as a ghost before me. The scents overwhelmed me.
"Eff, I think..."
She smelled, now, no longer like her make-up. It was another person that I smelled at this moment. Sweat, apprehension and attraction lingered in the air. The ghost before me trembled, making me sad.
I could smell it. Blood.
"I'm bleeding," Onley told me.
I already knew; but not what to do. The school nurse would report the scarring. I couldn't force her to deal with it like that. But what else would the nurse do?
We panicked. I kissed. She bled. Whose fault was it?
My mind was braced against some kind of backward logic. At first it seemed almost sly, perverted, overly forward. I was stricken with indecision.
Onley bled. The pavement became crimson.
Arms up. Grabbing fabric. My shirt came off.
She looked away, unsure. For a moment, I don't think she trusted me.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
I don't think I trusted myself.
She let out a whimper, mumbling into her arm. Onley, so beautiful, was caught between walls of shame.
Shirt in hand, I approached again. It happened fast, but was reckoned slowly. For a moment, she must have thought I wasn't such a nice guy anymore.
She looked down, afraid, expecting to see a bulge in the denim. It had left earlier, when she began to bleed.
I rolled up her sleeve. The scars crisscrossed like plaid flesh. My dark blue shirt caressed the fresh wound. I wrapped it around her arm and bound it tightly.
She gasped as I pulled. Her ghostly pale face was met with a smile, "Thank you, Eff."
But I'd have class soon, and no shirt. I seemed to be the only one nervous about it. My stomach grumbled.
"Lunch isn't over," she said. "I live nearby. C'mon."