A guy likes me.
Now that’s a truth that seems incredibly unreal to me. I mean, I’m nothing like the other girls who are pretty, brave, funny, sarcastic, sweet or possess a million other good traits that makes it easier for guys to fall in love with them. All the female characters that I’ve met have everything, and it makes perfectsense when the male character can’t help but fall in love with them because they are just amazing.
But in real life, things are not like that. People have flaws, insecurities and imperfections.
Here I’m thinking about love, but it’s too good of a thing to happen to someone like me. Sometimes I wonder what Heath sees in me, because no other guy ever saw it before and they all had perfectly functioning eyes. I never caught the eye of a guy who wanted me like Heath does. Someone who wants to protect me, care about me, and fight for me.
I know it’s not sex that he wants.
If that were the case, he would have made advances but he hasn’t.
We’ve done nothing other than kissing and hugging.
The strangest thing is, he seems to be satisfied with that as if he doesn’t care if we get to the intimacy or not.
My body warms at the thought of sex and intimacy. I’ve only ever read about it. I wonder if all those things actually happen.
I have zero experience in the department. I’ve never touched myself let alone someone else.
So really, I don’t see what Heath gets out of this relationship that we share.
I prepare the sauce for pasta as the warm sunlight of the sunset falls like a wave into the room and drowns it in golden. A calm and peace hang in the air.
I pour the pasta into the sauce and mix it well. The fresh colors of the vegetables and the vibrance of the red tomato sauce look enticing, I feel proud of myself. This pride is different than when I get perfect scores—because I work hard for them. This is me being good at something I’m not good at.
After a few minutes, I taste the pasta off the spatula and grin, it tastes heavenly. I’m half convinced that I didn’t make it myself.
I pour some in the fancy white china plate that Mom rarely use because it’s reserved for special events like birthdays, anniversaries and guests—we never have guests over.
For some reason, today feels special to me as if I’ve survived, although a war awaits me. When Dad comes later today, all the calm and peace will sweep out of the house.
It’s a worry that I’ll tire myself over later.
On the pasta, I also sprinkle some unevenly cut coriander just to make it look good. Then I rush upstairs and lock myself in my room.
I turn around deciding to read as I eat it, but I see the empty space where my book wall used to be.
The plate almost slips off from my hands, but I grip it at the last second.
All my books are gone. I don’t have anything to read.
My throat bobs painfully and the reminder of happened comes back like a bullet and knocks the air out of me.
Breath in. Breath out.
Heath’s words come to me and I repeat them in my head as I practice breathing and calm myself down.
I sit on the bed in a way that my back is facing the gone-book wall. I know it’ll be too hard for me to glance at the spot andnotmiss the books I’ve lost.
I take a bite when my phone pings with a text.
Heath:Do you like it?
I frown.
Hope:Like what?
Heath: You haven’t checked your bag.
