Slowly, so slowly she didn’t even notice him moving at all, he closed the space between them and lifted a hand, reaching for her. She watched him with wide eyes, frozen by some dark spell. He is going to touch my cheek. He is going to lean in to kiss me. She held her breath, dreading and eagerly awaiting.
He plucked something out of her hair and held it between his first two fingers. A tiny oleander flower. He looked at it without moving his head, then back at her. “You know this is poisonous?”
“Well,” he said in a low, confiding tone, “so am I.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
In answer, he crushed the already wilting flower between his fingers. Then he put it on his tongue and swallowed it.
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