Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

I remembered what he said last week at my house. Do you
know what I have to do to get it to beat like that?
“I scared you.”
“Not an emotion I’m used to being on the receiving end
of,” he mused.
And then his fingers found the pulse on my neck and
pressed down. I followed suit, placing my three fingers on his
neck, on the side of his throat, and finding his pulse, as well.
We sat there for a moment, each of us with one hand on our
own neck and another on the other person’s.
It was fast like mine, and I liked that I did that to him.
“What color is your car?” I asked, pulling my hands down
from his neck and mine.
“Black.”
Of course.
“When I remember the colors in my head,” I remarked, “I
get a feeling sometimes. Pink is how I feel now. My stomach
doing somersaults and laughing. GGiddy. Squirrelly…” I slid off
him and into the passenger side seat. “I don’t know what I feel
when I picture black, though. Nothing, really, I guess.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
I smiled to myself. “You scared me, I scared you, now it’s
your turn again.”
He started the car and shifted into gear. “Pull your hood up
and put your seatbelt on.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to,” he muttered, trying to sound
commanding, but it just came off as playful.
I pulled my seatbelt on, fastened it, and pulled up the hood
of my sweatshirt, my hair spilling out the sides.
We drove in silence, which was fine by me, because he
blasted the stereo, and the only time I got to enjoy loud music