He was holding my hand.

I could still remember the first time he had done so. That time, I could tell by his trembling fingers that he was nervous. I could tell by his cold, clammy hands -- that he was nervous, and perhaps afraid.

But not anymore.

I could not tell anymore.

As he was holding on to my hand, this minute, this second, I could no longer sense what he was feeling. His hands no longer shook, and was no longer wrapped in a welcoming layer of warm sweat. Or rather, this was not even holding hands at all, unless placing his palm against mine counts.

"Okay, what?" I gave in with a teary voice.

He and I both knew for some reason, that he wanted me to remember this moment as he slipped his fingers between mine, and squeezed my palm. The faint squeeze he gave felt like a heavy stab to my chest. He embraced me, and held me there, fingers still entwined.

It was dark and misty out in the neighborhood as it was night. The streets were quiet and lonesome -- there wasn't even a cat dancing around on the sidewalks.

He held me in his arms so tight, I felt my tears hanging out the rim of my eyes.

Normally, I was able to guess what he was thinking the moment I meet his gaze. But this time, it took me some effort to do so -- he kept avoiding my glances. By the time I finally caught his sight, I was able to confirm my conjectures. I understood what he wanted, and he knew I wasn't ready to hear it.

He let go of me and freed my hand, leaving a safe three-feet distance between us.

"Don't hold back." I forced a smile.

He hesitated.

Staring down at the cement sidewalk, he swung his shoulders back and forth, taking so many deep breaths, I lost count.

Finally, he peered at me with such an adorable look, I almost could not restrain myself from hugging him.

He took one last, deep breath.

"Will you marry me?"

Once again, Cupid's arrow poked at my heart.

My tears uncontrollably poured down my face flooding every possible pore on my cheeks.

"I will no longer just hold your hands. I will no longer be nervous and hesitate over my choices. I will not let go. I will not regret." He knelt down on one knee after a long pause. "Please let me be the one to take on your future."

I wasn't ready for this. I knew I wasn't. I held both hands to my face and let the unstoppable tears overcome my excitement.

This moment, the turning stage of my life, I will never forget. And if possible, I hope I can hold on to this moment forever.

~ Fin.

We met in the bathroom — or so I thought.

The moment I saw him in the girls' bathroom, I could tell he had guilt imprinted in every pore of his beautifully textured face.

However, he had not expected me to walk past him without asking why he was there. Instead, I went along doing what I first went to the bathroom to do.

After giving my bladder a break coming out of the stall, he was gone.

I strolled comfortably to the sink. I was about to open the faucet when a faint chemical smell shot up my nostrils.

When I woke up, I was wearing nothing but my baby blue bra and matching panties. My appendages were tied together; hands around my back, legs pulled straight — I was unable to feel anything but pain from the rough ropes that kept me stiff. I fainted again.

- - - - -

"Wake up, please, wake up already! There's no time!"

My ears stung as something pulled gently on my hair. I felt like barfing so I opened my eyes.

A familiar face leaned into my sight. Slowly, I lifted my head for a better view. The figure backed away. My eyesight was blurry, though I could tell I was on a bed.

Finally realizing what was happening, I attempted to open my mouth for a scream. What came out instead was the sick that arose from my stomach. I turned unintentionally toward the figure and threw up. My lips felt numb.

"Shit! God, this is nasty!"

I sat up weakly. My eyes could see a little more clearly, so I caught a glimpse of the greenish-brown stuff that must've come from my mouth. Then, his face came into view.

I backed away, finally shaking off the drowsiness.

The man must have seen my sudden alarm, for he spoke hastily, "It's not what you think!"

I tried moving my hands – no use. I wiggled my legs – solid as stone. Although I regained my sight, my body was still insensitive. I started shaking.

"I won't hurt you. I won't kill you." The guy looked frightened. He ignored the vomit caught on his shirt and stood up from his chair.

I inched away from him. "W-Wha d-du yew w-whunt?!" My hoarse and shaky voice delivered gibberish instead of comprehendible words. I felt the sick rise again.

"J-Just…" He glanced around hesitantly. "I need you to do something for me." Sadness crawled up his eyebrows, the tips of them pulling upwards.

I stared at him closely. He had short, midnight-black hair. Although his white shirt was contaminated by my barf, his jeans weren't much cleaner – they were covered in dirt and had rips all over. His eyes were dark ocean-blue, shimmering like the sea under the sun. I ogled even more closely. Isn't he the guy I saw in the girls' bathroom? I must've not noticed how dirty he looked back then. And besides, having studied him closely now, wasn't he a bit young for crimes like this?

That was when I became conscious of my bare skin glowing under the only dull, yellow light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The room was crowded and small, the walls covered in dirty, tearing white paint. Nothing else was around us, not even a window. There was only a rotten wooden door.

I navigated my sight back on the man, or rather, "kid". The rims of his eyes were sparkling, somehow making their ocean-like appearance seem real from water flowing below them.

Something told me there was nothing to be afraid of. Maybe it was our age difference, or maybe it was just how inexperienced he seemed.

"Which high school are you from?" My vocabulary finally managed to come out complete. By now, I'd already stopped shaking, and my conscious and bravery slowly came back to me. My body no longer felt so numb.

"What?" The guy looked at me blankly, probably in disbelief from the way I spoke without hesitance to my kidnapper.

"I know I'm older than you," I said, a smile almost crawling up my face, then I added, "Plus you're an amateur kidnapper."

"I-I'm…" He blushed, but tried maintaining his stiff expression.

"Untie me and I won't let your parents know what you've done."

"N-No! You can't leave yet!" Almost immediately, the boy jumped into me, planting his head in my breast, and hooking his arms around me while one knee rested on the dirty single bed.

I froze. The shaking through my body returned.

"I know you. I've been watching you," the boy murmured.

Astonished, I had trouble sorting my thoughts out. I heard him pull out a knife from somewhere, and seconds later, my wrists were free. "J-Just hug me back. Or kiss me even. Please, before it's too late. And then I'll let you go." I could feel his warm breath digging into my chest. I realized I wasn't the only one shaking.

I stared blankly over his shoulders. What did he want me to do again? The disgust in my stomach came back. "Y-You've b-been watching me?"

I felt his nod on my breast. I shivered.

"F-For how long?"

He shrugged. "Years."

I gulped and finally managed to say, "Why?"

"You're beautiful, kindhearted, caring…" He suddenly stopped, lifted his body and started coughing. His coughs sounded like a dying wolf.

"A-Are you okay?" I reached out for him, but the moment I caught glance of my breast, I freaked out. "B-Blood! Why is there blood?!" I pressed my hands against my chest. W-Wait, it's not mine…

I immediately searched for the boy.

"Oh, my god…" I said in almost a whisper.

He was kneeling on the ground, grasping his chest and throat. There was blood everywhere – covering the barf on his shirt, his jeans, his hands, around his mouth. He was coughing nonstop yet still eyeing me desperately.

Without thinking, I bounced off from the bed and held the boy in my arms. I squeezed him tightly. Blood was all over me, but I didn't care. I didn't even care whether he was about to pull out a knife and stab me. All I cared about was that this boy was seriously ill, and I had to save his life.

In my arms, he gasped for air. His coughing eventually stopped.

I held him for a few minutes. Neither of us spoke until he regained his consciousness and wrapped his arms around me.

He chuckled. "You do know I kidnapped you, right?" When he laughed, his chest vibrated against mine. I didn't talk, so he continued. "I knew you were kind, even when I drugged you, or planned to rape you... which I didn't. I just couldn't get myself to do it without guilt." He tightened his grasp.

"Why me?"

He paused, not expecting me to speak, and said, "Two years ago, you saved my life. You probably don't remember, but because you saved me, you were caught in the accident." He pulled us apart slightly and pointed at a three inch scar on my chest. I blushed, but he didn't seem to notice. "Because you were hit by that motorcycle," he traced my scar while talking, "it had to hurt you, and because of that, you almost died for me."

Wait, what? That's not the real problem. "How did I save you?" I asked doubtfully.

"I was a freshman back then." He pulled me into his arms again, and placed his head on my shoulder. "You were walking in front of me, and then this blue motorcycle screeched its way near us. Because you were there, I wasn't the one who got hurt, it was you." He held me so tight, I almost had trouble breathing.

There was another long silence. I didn't talk nor did he. Instead, I felt warm streaks of water continuously making their way down my nearly-naked back. He was crying.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in an apologetically tone into my ear.

I nodded and patted his back. "It's okay." I could feel tears building up behind my closed eyes.

"I'm sorry I had to do it like this. I…" He stopped, but I could tell he was urging himself to go on. "I don't have enough time." His voice turned into a whimper.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm dying." His tone was shaking.

I stopped talking. I couldn't bring myself to speak, but I forced myself to, "Y-You're lying. Y-Y-You're l-lying, right? It's not funny!" I tried a little laugh, but nothing came out except hot, burning tears ripping down my face.

"I'm not…" Although we were hugging each other, I could barely hear his voice.

He suddenly stood up. And flashed me a smile, even with all the blood on him, he managed to give me a grin that only made me want to cry more.

He reached out a hand toward me. I didn't take it. I didn't move from my position. He probably saw the unsteadiness in my eyes, so he retrieved his hand and started talking, "I can't be sure that I'll live to see tomorrow. I don't even know where my parents are…" He wiped the sadness away along with his tears. "But there's one thing I know, and that is," he reached his hand out once again, this time I took it, "I'm a stranger to you, but I know I'm perfect for you."

Unstoppable tears crept down cheeks. I held my hands to my face, wiping the tears away, even though I knew it was useless.

He took both hands away from my face and forced me to look at him. He smiled. I gazed at him, still crying. He left a few seconds of silence, and finally when he thought it was the right moment, he said, "I hope in my next life, I'll get to know you more, get to spend more time with you, get to love you more than I do now, and, if luck is on my side, get to be loved back by you." He let go of my hands and shifted his glance to the cement floor, "But sadly, there's just no more time left in this life." He turned his gaze back to me and hugged me for the last time.

Then he left, leaving me with barely any clothes on, drugs dissolving in my body, my legs still tied up, and his only two possessions – the blood on my body, and, before he raced out of my life, three words that he'd written with limpid ink across the scar on my breast: I'll be waiting.