She went to him and they kissed by the picket fence, their mouths open in answer to each other’s call and need. Her hands holding on to his shoulders, his hands in her hair.
He had forgotten what his lungs were for. He couldn’t draw any air in, everything lost any importance, except the feeling this unknown girl was communicating to him, one he had never experienced before.
She was shaking or was it him? She felt thin and fragile, alien and yet familiar at the same time. Now his hands were spanning her tiny waist and he could smell the lavender on her. Then, they separated, gasping for air and staring at each other, holding hands, as if mesmerised.
“You…” he breathed. The bumblebee from the lavender bush had been buzzing around them but he hadn’t taken any notice, caught as he was in that strange, out of space and time moment. Her head went back resting on his shoulder blade when he felt the bee sting on his neck. Almost immediately, his lungs forgot once again what to do but for a different reason now. He felt his throat closing, his tongue swelling, himself falling, as the girl struggled to catch him.
“Stay with me, calm down, breathe…” he heard her shouting before all went dark.
As his eyes opened again, he felt raw and weak. He was half-laying, half-sitting in this girl’s lap, his head resting against her stomach. He could hear her heartbeat, he could smell the lavender on the small hands stroking his face. The hazel-green eyes were still looking at him with recognition, her smile looked dazzling.
“Lavender…” he murmured drowsily.
“You are going to be fine. I put some lavender on the sting; the swelling is going down, one of my Grandma’s remedies,” she said.
He couldn’t think of anything better than doing what she was asking. He wanted those small hands to carry on stroking him, he wanted to kiss her again, to breathe her in and absorb her, just like the smell of lavender.