He let me walk out first, of course, but then I didn’t know which direction to walk down the hallway,
and so I just stood there outside the elevator and he stood there, too, his face still contorted, and I said again, “Okay?”
“Just out of shape, Hazel Grace. All is well.”
We were just standing there in the hallway, and he wasn’t leading the way to his room or anything, and I didn’t know where his room was,
and as the stalemate continued, I became convinced he was trying to figure out a way not to hook up with me,
that I never should have suggested the idea in the first place, that it was unladylike and therefore had disgusted Augustus Waters,
who was standing there looking at me unblinking, trying to think of a way to extricate himself from the situation politely.
And then, after forever, he said, “It’s above my knee and it just tapers a little and then it’s just skin.
There’s a nasty scar, but it just looks like—” “What?” I asked. “My leg,” he said.
Just so you’re prepared in case, I mean, in case you see it or what—
Oh, get over yourself,” I said, and took the two steps I needed to get to him.
I kissed him, hard, pressing him against the wall, and I kept kissing him as he fumbled for the room key.
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