Or what?

　　The space between us is gone, we are standing a hair’s breadth away from each other. His brows are so drawn together, his anger is obvious.

　　He is staring hard at me, I am not sure what I want to say or do anymore. I poke his chest. He is evil. He knows what he does to me yet he hates labels.

　　“Or what?” I whisper.

　　“Or I’ll kiss you,” he whispers in return.

　　We stand there for a minute, my lips part but he doesn’t kiss me like I half-hoped he would. Without a word, he scoops up my bridal style like I weigh nothing. He occupies the empty seat without letting go of me. I hide my face in his chest as his jaw rests on my head. His heart thumps against my palm and I trace the sweat drying out on his tank top.

　　“It’s unfair,” I say after seconds of staring at his chest. He needs to want me like I want him. “Ben.”