10 Minute Creative Writing Prompt

“Not too tight,” you said, wrapping a neon scrunchie around your auburn locks, leaving the nape of your neck exposed, down to your lower back. Your pearl earrings and necklace set reflected the morning rays, emitting an aureole that encircled your head. You appeared untouchable, or almost untouchable. Your skin was the white of my mother’s wedding dress, as if it had been hidden in a windowless attic. I wanted it. I wanted my finger to trace the smooth skin down your back, to the bottom of the broken zipper. I didn’t want to pin your dress shut, didn’t want to conceal the porcelain skin behind a veil of black lace. You trusted me. You trusted me to insert the pin in the top of the dress, keeping the fabric together, shielding you from the glances of other men and women alike. But I couldn’t, I didn’t. I slipped my hand underneath the lace, clutching your waist with my palm. I felt your back tighten into me, unsure how to react; but before you had a chance to figure it out I spun you around and pressed my lips against yours, felt the warmth of your tongue against mine, felt your tongue resisting, while mine was attacking. I knew your white skin belonged to him, I knew your silky lips would never be mine. He trusted me to know that, and you trusted me. But that wasn’t enough, and everyday since then I’ve asked myself why wasn’t that enough.