Posted 2:43 AM by Gloria S. Álvarez in Etiquetas:

“Fuck. What are we doing here?”, she said, staring at her white Oxfords. She was scared to look up at the reason why: Him, with those irresistible, curious eyes behind his thick plastic frames.

He took a gulp and tried once again to keep it cool. “What do you mean?”
“Who needs to edit on a Friday night, when the weather is perfectly nice outside, when we don’t have a deadline…” She glanced at him, mustering all her courage to speak truthfully. “… And when we both have someone to go back to”.

She knew by his eyes that he understood her. How much longer would it take for them to realize what they were doing? The time was now, before it was too late. They stared at each other, ashamed and longing.

“It’s not like that… At least not anymore. I’ve… always wanted this, but it’s just never been the right time”, he managed to mumble out.
“I know it’s not the right time, but I’m also sure of something else: this… thing we have… You know how I hate static shocks? That’s what you are to me. Just like them, you’re unpredictable, powerful, inevitable: appealing and repelling at the same time. You are like electricity, and in just one touch, you have the power to break me”.

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