It rained throughout the night, and then, a couple of hours before dawn, it settled down to a cool wet mist. She demanded that they walk in it, because in her current state, she was wont to make demands. Boots, scarves, hats, coats came out, because a winter mist soaks you in wet cold. Four of them trekked out: the girl, the boy, and the boy's two friends. Euphoria was in the air; it exuded from the tips of her frazzled hair. She walked side by side with the boy, and their arms were wrapped around each other.
Her lips were not her own, and they spilled thoughts meant to be kept locked inside. It was careless of her. He stopped in his tracks, she took a few more tentative steps, then stopped with him. His face was open with surprise and pleasure, and she smiled widely, happy that he was happy, no matter the cause.
At the gas station, they paused while the two others bought cigarettes. The boy was telling her a story as they stood by the gas pumps, but she was distracted by his lilting voice, his sincere and earnest face, his hand in hers. Suddenly, she threw her arms around him, interrupting him mid-sentence, and buried her face in his neck. She squeezed tight, trying to tell him with an embrace what she couldn't with words. Finally, she pulled away and said:
"OK, go on."
He laughed loud and said, "No, I'm done."
The night was filled with misty air, frizzy hair, and euphoria. But with time, came doubt. Practical concerns crept in, made her forget the walk and the gas station. She slept in his bed, facing the wall, back to back with him, afraid of what she had done.