8

#tumemanques

"Ya skoro priyedu." I said into the speaker of my earphones. The elevator doors ching and then open, revealing no other than James Castellanos and your famous black backpack. You didn't sport your usual attire; a dress shirt topped with a sweater and a pair of jeans. You were wearing a striped t-shirt under a dark washed jean jacket. I like stripes.

I smiled at you, still focusing on the phone call with my mother. You looked at me and made your way into the library after I told you where I was sat. You had texted me earlier and suggested that we studied at the university's library instead of Starbucks. Good choice. It didn't seem like we got any work done in the café anyway.

"Davay, ya poydu. Lyublyu tebya." I pressed my thumb onto the red decline button, wrapped the earphones around the phone and slipped it into my butt pocket. Pushing the library glass doors open with the uneven annoying Christmas poster down the middle of the right door. Wasn't it too soon for that? My eyes scanned the room for you as I entered further. You were in the corner, your favorite spot by the shelves.

"I'm sorry. It was my mom. I'm going to have to leave you for a few minutes as I go back home, but I'll be back. I just need to drop off some money that got sent to us by my father from abroad." I told you as I pulled the chair out and slid into it.

"Everything is all right?" You asked, your eyes were watching every movement I made which made me wonder what was that all about.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I texted the cab driver and he's on the way. It's just that I don't want to carry around that much money on me. You know?"

"Yeah, I get that!" You smiled, your cupid lip deforming into a straighter line. Your teeth submerging your lips. You tried to mimic some words from the conversation I had with my mother earlier.

"Don't you just hate it when we try to speak your language?" You guffawed, almost choking on your own words. I smiled at the ridiculousness of your happiness as it warmed my heart. I could feel the beats in my ears. Loud, breathy, and perhaps too fast.

"Not really," I stated, my hand swiping up the blonde strands from my face. "As long as they're not racist about it or making faces like when I try to speak your language. Then I'm all good."

"That's fair."

It was silent for a while. The only sound was emanating from the pages of your certification text book as you flipped through them and took notes on the notepad I had given you. I tried to focus on my own note-making, but you wasting that high-quality lined paper that I had purchased abroad from my resident town on some scribbles with your terrible chicken handwriting, distracted me.

"You know you're rather entertaining smoke-free and weed-free." You broke the silence. I had almost reacted with an excuse-me? but I have done enough teasing for the day and should reserve some for later. I did try to be careful around you because of your sensitivity towards many things that I was yet to figure out. 

"Well, I'm glad to be of entertainment to you." That is what I said instead. It was the better choice. Our conversation was so light, as ever. We spend time and time pulling each others threads as we slowly made progress in the subjects we were both studying individually. I don't remember the last time it's been so easy between us.

"I don't really believe that exes can be friends." You stipulated after our discussion of my previous relationship, once again. It dawned on me that it didn't bother me when you asked about it repeatedly, it just made me curious. What motivated your sudden interest? Also, you weren't really one to talk. For someone who'd never been in a relationship before, I don't think it was something you could have a say in. There was no problem in believing it but, how would you know what can be if you've never lead to a point of the events actually happening?

"Really? I think if everything between them is clear and resolved. There shouldn't really be a problem. I mean, I'm not talking real close best-friends. But they were a part of our lives once and it's all right to be civil and be able to communicate when there is a gathering without any bad blood. Don't you think?"

You clearly disagreed with me and I could see that through the disapproval in your eyes and the way you shook your head. Before I could say anything else my phone rang. I waited for the ring to settle before I accessed my messages to see that the cab driver had been waiting for me downstairs.

▲▼▲

"Thank you so much, Caleb. Really." I told the driver. It was amazing that he came back right to the place where he dropped me of at university only to take up another thirty minute drive back to my house and to university again. I mean I still had to pay him for all the trips, but he could have easily said no and I wouldn't have been able to do this because I didn't trust just anyone out there.

"And again, you're welcome. It's not a problem at all." He smiled at me. I thought Caleb was creepy when I had initially met him, but then it kind of all clicked. He was just a weird dude. I mean, which one of us isn't?

A smile made its way onto my face when I got a text from you. It was a forwarded message of a voice note followed by a voice note from you.

I played the first one.

The creditors are considered to be from the side of the stakeholders and the income tax is when you multiply the rate that is given into the income itself. And I want to excuse myself from you, Miss Charlotte but I don't solve any exams. You sent me an exam and I don't solve exams. I'm so sorry.

A part of me wanted to respond to the latter statement. Which would have been fine if your tone of voice didn't lower and took over its defenses. It sounded as if you were approaching the situation in an attacking manner. It made sense to me, but I don't think that's how she viewed the situation.

I played the second voice note right before responding to him.

Listen, she asked me like, a question whether creditors are stakeholders and what income tax is. But like, did I sound mean by the end? Because I feel like I sounded mean.

A part of me wanted to agree with you. Because, in a way, you weren't really wrong. I would have probably been just as mad in your situation. I wouldn't be as collected you were. Another reason why I didn't want to tell you why you were rude was because there really wasn't anything that you could do about it anymore since you've already sent it. But the real, major, reason was the fact that a little flashback jogged it's way into my mind of how Ella had narrated to me her advice about a girl and how you had ended up ignoring her for a few months, or was it weeks? Not wanting to take the risk, the easier choice was to always agree with you and keep things simple.

Besides, it really wasn't my place to tell whether you were rude or not.

The next message you send me has my heart palpitating in different rhythms I'm afraid I won't be able to make it back to you alive. I'm petrified of what you were trying to tell me. Was this what I thought it was? Or was it my anxiety and it was all in my head? This probably means nothing. I tried to convince myself. I'm sure it doesn't.

And I meant every word I had told you. You smelt like the mist and flames of a forest long left enchanted and out of living. It feels like stepping into a child's imagination where everything concocted represented hopes and dreams of replenishment, where you could finally breathe again. The mist on the leaves emanating the petrichor of a rain recently run down.

Caleb's deep voice interrupted my trail of thought. "We're here." I needed to tone down the author's voice in my head. I blew you completely out of proportion. I let out a low sigh and stepped out of the vehicle.

▲▼▲

We walked to the closest movie theater to our campus bickering about the current situation in the country. I had rather controversial views about everything going on here, outside the country, and in the world in general. I liked to remain updated and aware of my surroundings, know where I stand and how I feel about it. I was surprised to see that you shared the same views on quite the few subject matters.

You approached the lady with black, shoulder-length hair at the counter and asked her about the movies. I was standing right behind you, by your right side, like I always did. "The movie in English doesn't start until 5pm. Would you like to book that one?" I heard her say.

You turned to look at me and I nodded, indicating that I don't mind. We booked our tickets and picked the seats right at the top middle. You insisted on buying the snacks since the coupons for our movie tickets came from my side. I had agreed only in the case that we wait until the movie actually starts before beginning with the munching.

The cinema is really the only place I could eat during the movie, otherwise I could hear nothing through my fat-ass munching on crispy snacks from my laptop's volume whilst watching television shows and I refused to use subtitles.

"I think we could have some lunch until the movie starts. Are you up for that?" You were stepping onto the escalator with me following suit when you said that.

"I don't mind. Where do you want to go?" I asked you. I was the worst person to ask about the food, not because I didn't have a favorite place but I wasn't familiar with the town our campus was located in and honestly, I'd just pick what I liked from the menu anyway.

It took us a while and a lot of bickering with the 'no you choose' phrase moving over our heads until you decided to take me to a little diner at the corner of the street called The Capital Grill. Apparently it served everything you'd need, from large appetizers, sandwiches, pastas, to burgers and pizzas.

"I still can't believe you made me change when I went home. It better get cold or rain." I dispassionately said.

"Noo!" You exclaimed, raising your hands over your head in defense. Your eyebrows rising over you dark frames. "I just didn't want you to get cold."

I was dressed in a white t-shirt that ended right on my belly button and low waist, dark-washed jeans with a pair of olive green sneakers and a matching rain coat. It was my favorite. Wearing a tight-fit, white short-hemmed t-shirt wasn't my best choice for my figure at 97 kilograms being 5'7". But this semester was all about embracing myself, my body, and the way I looked. Besides, I didn't have a half bad waist. I think.

Somewhere mid-conversation between me being entertaining without smoking weed (according to you, which was a compliment I assume) and Caleb picking me up. You told me I should change when I got back home. The conversation went something like you insisting that it was really cold outside because it was the thirtieth of November dated two thousand and eighteen and this top would do me no good since it keep making its way midway up my stomach and people would stare. And you didn't want people to stare because you were with me and you don't like attention.

It doesn't make sense to me now. But back then, on that date, it did. I didn't find it weird or out of place that you could have possibly used this excuse. Someone was waving a red flag right there in the corner; did I not see it? or did I choose to ignore it? It was telling me about the type of boy that you were in big bold letters.

Here I was, sat in the same striped, long sleeved shirt paired with the same jeans with a jean jacket. Yes, I matched my outfit to yours. Someone will think we're siblings you said. Great, how can I forget the sister-zone after the friend-zone?

It wasn't long before the food was ready and served. We ordered sandwiches and had them split in half so we can split our meal with a side of nachos topped with molten triple cheese and two dips on the side. I love cheese. As we waited for the food to cool down, you had asked me about Bryce. Again. It was too often that you brought him up, funny how you pushed that I hadn't moved on. When I was too busy trying to converse with you, you were too busy trying to find out more about what was.

"Tell me what happened, I promise I'll keep it to myself. How did you feel you were emotionally abused?" You queried, looking at me as if I were some damsel in distress. That's how you saw me at the beginning, it took you long enough to realize that I was no damsel and I certainly wasn't in distress. You were just looking for someone to fix in someone that did not need or want any fixing.

I didn't blame you for asking. The first time you've posed a question against Bryce, I told you I couldn't take him back because of the emotional abuse. I didn't expect you to question its severity. Later I had learned that your intentions weren't as pure as I had assumed.

"I don't want to talk about it. Please." I wasn't worried that you'd tell anyone. That was the least of my worries. I didn't think it was fair for me to talk about it. Bryce, no matter what he had done and what had happened between us, had kept it to himself (in his own way, besides that one incident). He never spoke ill of me to anyone and didn't try to ruin me in any way in anyone's eyes. He's made his mistakes, that he was quite aware of and tried to apologize for them. It wasn't like it was with you.

"...I used to get angry and get into fights at school. I refused to do well, it didn't feel like anything mattered. My mother used to worry a lot about me, and when I decided to stop my meds on my own. I never told her." You entailed. It worried me that you had done that, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to stop your depressive meds without any consultation. But I wasn't going to say anything because I hadn't had any meds for my mental health, not even after what happened.

You told me about how your father pushed you into the field you were studying so hard in now. There was a little dream you'd had at the back of your mind where you could have gone to culinary school and ended up in Italy. Do you remember telling me that? I smiled, sadly. If there was anyone that knew what it was like to be stuck learning and working in something that you despise, it was me.

So I listened to your story the best way I knew how, nodded to acknowledge that I was right here with you and a part of me wanted to bring out my hand and cup your cheek, trace my thumb across your slight stubble. I wanted to show you that I was physically here, that it didn't matter what kind of things you had going on back then or what had happened. You were here now. You were better now. You tried harder then to be here now and that's all that mattered.

There was a silence between us that I couldn't quite describe after you had opened up to me about a fraction of the details of your past that you had claimed was not even a fraction of what I have seen or ever known. Another part of me was afraid, who were you really? Besides a boy who deemed himself fearless without a knowledge in managing your anger or emotions, who was sick and needed help, or who did't know how to converse with people. Were you still that very same boy? Have things gotten better or worse? By the time I found out, it was too late. But I didn't know it back then. I was as clueless as any girl who could have been sitting right here in place of me. Had I known it was so simple for you to replace me. I wouldn't be sat here.

▲▼▲

The animated film that we were watching was unlike any other. I hadn't watched something this good in a long time. The Grinch started out with one of the most magical graphical animations that I had ever seen. As soon as you laid your eyes on Cindy Lou though, you had snorted out a laugh from the back of your throat, pointed a finger at her and said. "She has your butt and tiny fat legs!"

I was baffled. First of all, how would you know what my butt looked like unless...? Could it possible be? Second, only I, and I mean, only I can say that I have tiny fat legs. So without even thinking twice I turned around, my mouth agape and stared you down. "What did you just say?" My eyes narrowed.

"Nothinggg."

"No, repeat yourself."

"I said she has tiny fat legs like you." Smart. You hadn't mentioned the butt thing again, but I was sure I heard you say it.

In an alternate reality had you mentioned the butt thing the second time around, our conversation would have probably taken a different turn.

"I said she has tiny fat legs like you... and your butt." It was too dark for me to figure your facial expressions, but your tone of voice hadn't given you away. Your confidence astonished me.

"Oh yeah?" I smirked, turning my body to face him. "And how would you know how my butt looks?" I asked, subtly placing my hand on his arm.

And I can't possibly imagine what would have happened further. But instead, I only turned my head to look at him. "Listen here, boy. Only I can say that I have tiny fat legs. Are we understood?"

My focus was completely deterred from the film. You raised your hands up in defense. The glass up your freckled nose sliding down a little bit. I don't think I could ever get over that fleck sprinkled face, sprinkles.

"Yes, ma'am."

Smiling in satisfaction, I focused back on the film. We were still right at the very beginning when a father with two kids, or maybe a brother or uncle, had entered the theater with them speaking en français.

It was like you had read my mind and we both, shamelessly, pointed our fingers at the group. "They're so adorable." I said. "I want one of those. Ugh and the way they sound speaking that cute french with those little voices. I think they're going to make me cry."

I just admitted that I liked children in front of you. But I don't like children. What has really gotten into me? I've spent my entire life trying to convince my parents that I disliked children, running in the other direction the minute I saw them, and refusing to hold a baby in my arms. But as I sat here with you, watching this fantasy-filled christmasy movie mid-winter, that was all I could think about. The opposite of the person that I thought I wanted to be.

Getting a little bit tired mid-movie where The Grinch has actually stolen all the presents already; which doubled my tiredness because it made me sad, I craned my neck to the side because it allowed me to rest it on my own left shoulder. I could smell your cologne on you through the jacket that you had changed because you were cold at this point.

I could feel you stealing glances at me every time I shuffled to try and find a comfortable position. I only wish I could rest my feet at the headrest in front of me but there was a person seated and I didn't want to do that. "Do you want to rest your head on my shoulder?" You asked me. I couldn't quite read the emotions on your face. Your lips formed into a thin line as you moved your hand to adjust the thick frames on your face. I wondered what you looked like without out them.

Your eyes would probably look slimmer, the almond shape cornering your warm brown eyes. I let my gaze, just for a second, slip to watch the slow breathing from your boat-pressed, parted lips.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" I didn't want to pester or make you feel uncomfortable in any way. "Not at all." You were now smiling, that encouraged me to accept your offer.

Before I lean the side of my head to your right shoulder, touching the side of your neck, my hands grabbed your muscular arm and I pressed my nose against it quickly and rather harshly.

"Mmmm. You smell so good." I muttered and turned back to the movie.

Did that really just come out of my stupid big mouth? What the fuck, Lyla?

Author's Note:

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapters as much as I suffered writing it [just kidding, I'm only overjoyed to finally be able to provide new content for you].

I want to thank you all for 1.8K reads, 1.5K comments, and 269 votes. Your support means so much to me, do not forget to leave this chapter a vote if you read it and let me know what you think or how you feel. Also, if you have any questions about anything regarding the book or the characters, I would love to hear them and answer them for you.