Tilton

 

 

“Oh, my God,” I whisper, mostly to myself as my body tries to catch up with my brain and my new-found realization.

Slowly, my eyes finally dart back to Kitty-Cat’s now puzzled ones.

“W-What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice still dripping with desire but marred with hints of apprehension as well.

“It’s…it’s you, isn’t it?” I say, blinking slowly as my high suddenly comes crashing down.

I’m not sure whether the look on my face says I’m confused or spooked—though I feel a whole lot of both right now—but either way, she obviously doesn’t find it comforting.

She tries to pull her hand away but I hold it firmly in mine, still observing all the lines of her palm; vertical, horizontal, and diagonal, paralleling and intersecting with each other. Contours merging and curving like elevation points on a geographical map. Micro ridges and furrows etched into her soft skin. More prominent lines across the bends of her knuckles and the center.

I recognize all of them.

I remember all of them.

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