https://youtu.be/r95-7zfgtLw

Chapter 23 – Daph's POV

Got to Get You Into My Life

It's the weekend again, and just like an addict that needs its fix, I go to the flea market.

I'm just curious. That's really all it is. I'm curious whether or not my Flea Market Guy is going to be there, whether or not anything is going to happen.

I'm curious whether what I feel for this man is just because he's a shiny new toy, and I barely know anything about him so he's all mysterious, or if it's because there might be something there.

I know this is attraction. I know attraction. But I'm curious.

Am I obsessing over my Flea Market Guy because I haven't gotten him yet? Or is it because I'm so obsessed over finding someone to love, someone that might love me that I'm trying to make him into something he isn't?

I've never been in love. I don't know how it feels. I know this isn't it.

So, I wonder. Why do I keep wanting to come back for him?

What's the driving force?

Because if it's just a weird form of obsession, it would be kind of boring.

So, I dress up, and I drive to the flea market.

Unfortunately for me, once I get there, he's nowhere to be seen.

His table is set up with the usual stuff, but he's not actually there.

This feel a little too anticlimactic, so I don't turn around right away.

Maybe he's in the bathroom, or taking a call. Maybe he went to get something to eat, or he's just late.

I peruse through the market for more than an hour, looking over at his table constantly, but there's never any sign of him.

Is this the universe's way of telling me to move on?

I'm a little disappointed, if I'm being honest.

I still roam around, eating food and buying useless trinkets.

After the two-hour mark, I give up and I head back to my car.

I kind of freeze when I spot my Flea Market Guy leaning against my car.

I see him before he sees me.

He's even more gorgeous under the sun. His brown hair looks shinier, his eyes greener.

Honestly, it really freaking sucks that he's so good looking. It would be a lot easier to flush him out of my system if he wasn't.

Pretty privilege really is a thing.

I walk up to him, and he finally notices me, and smiles.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Your car is pretty easy to find in a parking lot."

I frown. "Why are you here and not inside?"

He shrugs. "I wasn't sure what I wanted."

He looks different. Hurt maybe? But not exactly. Tired? There's a light missing in his eyes, one that's usually there. I feel like the usual carefree façade is off.

If I had a better sense of preservation, I would probably be running away.

I narrow my eyes at him. "See, dude, waiting for a chick you don't actually know in a parking lot, by her car, is like super shady and probably the beginning of like a dozen horror stories."

He snorts. "Pretty sure there's a dude selling tasers inside. You want me to go buy you one?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "No, I'm ready to beat your ass if you do turn out to be a creep."

He nods, like he agrees with this outcome, and then sighs and says, "Can we talk?"

"Huh... yeah?"

I lean against my car beside him.

He asked to talk, but he stays silent. I wait as long as my very thin patience allows, and then say, "are you building up the courage to tell me you have herpes?"

"I feel like that would be something easier to talk about."

If he really is some kind of serial killer, I swear to god...

"Are you hyping yourself up to break up with me? Because we're not dating," I reminded him. I hadn't even gone for a full ride yet.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asks, completely out of the blue.

The question completely catches me off guard, so I reply without actually thinking about it, "no."

"I have," he admits, and why does that annoy me a bit? "It didn't end well."

At least it ended. But I don't mention that. I don't betray any feelings. Instead, I state, "We're not in love."

"No. This isn't about us. I just kinda wanted to talk."

Talking again? We did that the last time. Now I want to make out.

But also... I've been having this sort of existential crisis lately, and honestly he's the only one that is probably without bias in my life.

So, I kinda wanna talk too.
"I've never loved anyone, not for lack of trying. Sometimes I think something might be wrong with me," I admit, saying out loud one of the things that keeps me up at night lately.

"I think I've exhausted the amount of love I could give. I gave all my love to one person, and now it's just... gone," he says.

This doesn't feel right. At least, it doesn't sound it. There's no limit to love. At least, I hope not.

"I've never loved anyone, but I would imagine you just feel this way because you haven't moved on yet. Love isn't like fire that runs out after it's out of carburant. It's like water. Even if it evaporates into the sky, eventually it'll turn into clouds and come back down to earth again."

I chuckles, smiling at me sideways, "Did not expect such interesting insight from someone with as appalling taste as you."

I roll my eyes, but chuckle. "Well, you're right, I've been making out with you, haven't I? Proof enough that I have shit taste."

"Only good decision you've made honestly," he replies.

"True," I agree a little too easily.

He looks sad, sadder than usual, so I'll give him that win.

"Do you feel like your life is not enough sometimes?" he asks next.

Is this a therapy session? I'm not entirely against it, but it also feels weird. What brought this on?

He makes me more and more curious, each time I see him.

I hate it.

"I think I haven't figured out what I want from it yet," I confess, "I think that's the issue. I'll be a nurse, like my mother, but other than that, I have no idea. You?"

"I feel like I enjoy doing a bunch of things, but I don't love anything. I feel like I haven't found a passion. Like I'm lukewarm for everything. The passion has been exhausted years ago, and now I just act like everything is fine and I joke around, but inside I'm just empty."

"There are pills for that," I point out, but honestly? I kind of feel the same.

"I know."

"No everyone has wild passions, you know," I add. I certainly don't. Aside from the Beatles, maybe, but I don't think that counts.

"But what's the point? If you go through life without anything igniting it? Am I wasting it, because I haven't found my thing yet?"

I give stare at him. Like some many beautiful things, he's also so broken. "I think you need therapy. And maybe a pint of ice cream. But mostly therapy, and not in a joking way, in a serious way."

My Flea Market Guy ignores that and instead confesses, "My father hates me. He's never been proud of me."

"I never met mine," I reply with a little shrug.

He snorts, and there's no humor in it. "I wish I'd never met mine either."

"That's unfortunately something I'll never know."

It was wild to think that my father might be out there, living his sweet life. Or that he might be dead. It was weird to have no idea who was one of your parents.

As I think about this, Flea Market Guy, pushes himself away from my car and comes to stand I front of me, his eyes boring into mine. "Do you think about me, during the week? Do you wait for the weekends?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"You do." He grins, like he's won. I want to punch him. He leans closer, his lips almost brushing my ear. "I do too."

And then he kisses me.

I didn't see it coming. I wasn't prepared. I kind of lose footing and lean against my car, my hands going to his shoulders.

There a vulnerable rawness in the way he kisses me, and an different urgency I never quite felt before.

His hands goes through my hair, gripping the base of it.

I pull him closer to me.

Too soon though, he stops the kiss and lets go of me.

He's grinning now. "Thanks for the talk."

"Anytime," I reply, grinning too.

"Really?"

"On weekends when I show up," I specify.

He feigns feeling hurt, but I'm pretty sure he saw it coming. "What? We've bared our souls like this and you don't want to give me your number?"

"I still don't even want to give you my name," I reply, and open my car's door, ready to hop and leave him behind.

This little heart to heart was not what I had planned for when I ditched my underwear this morning.

"Still?"

Not giving you my name. Not giving you my phone number. Not giving you anything. You're already invading my thoughts enough as it is, you don't need more airtime.

I don't tell him this though. I am not admitting any of this out loud.

I don't like the power he holds over me.

"Still," I repeat, and get in my car.

I drive away, leaving him behind.

Until next week.