I twisted my arm to curl him behind me and he unfolded there, the two of us snuggled like quotation marks in his room full of words.

I was going to kiss him, and I was going to regret it. But at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care.

Noah's eyes held my face. I swallowed hard. The juxtaposition of him sitting in a room full of people while staring at no one but me was overwhelming. Something shifted inside of me at the intimacy of us, eyes locked amid the scraping of twenty graphite pencils on paper.

I shaded his face out of nothingness. I smudged the slope of his neck and darkened his delinquent mouth, while the lights accented the right angle of his jaw against the cloudy sky outside. I did not hear the bell. I did not hear the other students rise and leave the room. I did not even notice that Noah no longer sat at the stool.

You smell good," he whispered into my neck. He was warm against me. Instinctively, I arched back into him and smiled.
"Really?"
"Mmm-hmm. Delicious. Like bacon.

I hate you," I muttered.
Noah smiled wider. "I know.

This is a love story. Twisted and messy. Flawed and screwed up. But it's ours. It's us. I don't know how our story will end. but I know it will start. I pick up my pen and begin to write:

My name is not Mara Dyer, but my lawyer told me I had to choose something.