Lengths of Trust [5]

(Kyle)

“Hold it properly, Davidson, it’s not a slug –it’s not going to slip out of your hand like a disgusting gloop of slime,” she argues, but she’s laughing.

She extends her hand again. I stare at it for a moment and raise a brow. I look up at her. She gives me a pointed look. I sigh. I grab it.

Her fingers press between the spaces of mine and then we’re standing in the middle of the living room, holding hands, and for some odd reason, I feel solid; whole… warm… slightly tingly –not uncomfortable, but… strange.

She looks up at me and smiles, managing a laugh. “Get used to it. We’re not made of acids –I’m not going to burn you the second we come into direct contact.”

“You were the one who said you didn’t want me touching you,” I remind her, “So I’m sorry if I’m a little hesitant.”