Putting Life on Hold
Lucky.
I can’t say I learned a lot about Eric in the three hours that we spent at my house that Sunday afternoon[siz. It was awkward at first, as I left him in my living room so I could quickly run upstairs to change my clothes. I figured spandex and a t-shirt wasn’t very appropriate for a friendly visit with someone that I hardly knew. After putting on a pair of jeans and trading my plain white tee for a shirt that displayed my membership of my school’s volleyball team, I swiftly ran a brush through my messy hair and looked at myself in the mirror of my vanity.
I hated my reflection. It wasn’t that I was displeased with my physical appearance, because even I couldn’t deny the fact that I was attractive (not necessarily beautiful, but more than average). When I looked at my reflection, it was like looking into my thoughts. What do I honestly think of myself? I was never really sure; some days I felt like I was unstoppable, like I could do anything I wanted because “my daddy said so,” but other days I felt like a failure, not in my father’s eyes, but in my own. Today I just felt defeated; you could see it in the bags under my eyes and the dazed look that stared back at me in the glass. I swiped mascara across my lashes before sighing and exiting my room, mentally preparing myself for the boy in my living room.
He wasn’t in the same place I had left him, instead he was sitting on the couch, his shoes on the floor in front of him and his legs crossed under his body, while one arm rested on the back of the couch and the other in his lap. He didn’t notice my presence at first, rather his eyes were fixated on the screen, where a yellow sponge and his pink starfish friend were bouncing around carelessly, singing songs and blowing bubbles; being carefree. It made me jealous, and that’s weird right, to be jealous of a cartoon? But I was, and I couldn’t help it.
I snapped myself out of it before sitting down next to Eric, nervously crossing my legs under myself just as he had, and resting my hands in my lap, interlocking them and letting go in a repeated motion. I could see him look down at my hands from the corner of my eye; I wouldn’t look at him. I think he got the gist of it and looked away as well, a small frown coming to his lips.
It was at least twenty minutes later before one of us finally found our voices, of course that one of us being the one that’s not me, because I was silent as an old black & white film as I sat there next to Eric on the couch. I couldn’t help it though (and by “it” I meant the bubbling in my stomach that I could only hope was due to my extreme nervousness and not the burrito I had eaten earlier).
“Should I not have come?” he asked, defeat evident in his voice and I wanted to scream at him, to thank him for interrupting my boring life and making me feel important for a change, but instead I just shrugged my shoulders; great alternative right? “Should I just leave?” he tried again, this time a little more defeated, a little more of a frown in his voice. It took me until he was starting to get up from the couch before I finally spoke,
“I’m just not good at this,” I told him, and even I could hear how shy I sounded, but I wondered if he could see the blush rising to my cheeks as well as I could feel it. I felt the couch shift as he settled his weight down onto it once again, a small little smirk on his face as he looked at me.
“Not good at what, talking to attractive men?”
I laughed outwardly and hoped that he wouldn’t take it offensively. It felt good to laugh, to not be fake for the first time in a long time. I secretly hooped that it would last, too, but even I knew that it was s foolish thing to hope for. Not many things in my life that actually brought me happiness ever really lasted, not for a while at least. I suppose I wasn’t lucky enough. I suppose people thought just because my family had money that I had to have been happy, that it was practically taboo for me to be upset about anything as long as I had a credit card and a BMW sitting in the garage, waiting for me to get my learners permit. But hadn’t people ever heard the saying, “Money can’t buy happiness”? Or had everyone really become so absorbed in material things that they were naïve enough to think it brought them true happiness?
I didn’t have time to try and answer the question I was asking myself in my mind before Eric was speaking again.
I hated my reflection. It wasn’t that I was displeased with my physical appearance, because even I couldn’t deny the fact that I was attractive (not necessarily beautiful, but more than average). When I looked at my reflection, it was like looking into my thoughts. What do I honestly think of myself? I was never really sure; some days I felt like I was unstoppable, like I could do anything I wanted because “my daddy said so,” but other days I felt like a failure, not in my father’s eyes, but in my own. Today I just felt defeated; you could see it in the bags under my eyes and the dazed look that stared back at me in the glass. I swiped mascara across my lashes before sighing and exiting my room, mentally preparing myself for the boy in my living room.
He wasn’t in the same place I had left him, instead he was sitting on the couch, his shoes on the floor in front of him and his legs crossed under his body, while one arm rested on the back of the couch and the other in his lap. He didn’t notice my presence at first, rather his eyes were fixated on the screen, where a yellow sponge and his pink starfish friend were bouncing around carelessly, singing songs and blowing bubbles; being carefree. It made me jealous, and that’s weird right, to be jealous of a cartoon? But I was, and I couldn’t help it.
I snapped myself out of it before sitting down next to Eric, nervously crossing my legs under myself just as he had, and resting my hands in my lap, interlocking them and letting go in a repeated motion. I could see him look down at my hands from the corner of my eye; I wouldn’t look at him. I think he got the gist of it and looked away as well, a small frown coming to his lips.
It was at least twenty minutes later before one of us finally found our voices, of course that one of us being the one that’s not me, because I was silent as an old black & white film as I sat there next to Eric on the couch. I couldn’t help it though (and by “it” I meant the bubbling in my stomach that I could only hope was due to my extreme nervousness and not the burrito I had eaten earlier).
“Should I not have come?” he asked, defeat evident in his voice and I wanted to scream at him, to thank him for interrupting my boring life and making me feel important for a change, but instead I just shrugged my shoulders; great alternative right? “Should I just leave?” he tried again, this time a little more defeated, a little more of a frown in his voice. It took me until he was starting to get up from the couch before I finally spoke,
“I’m just not good at this,” I told him, and even I could hear how shy I sounded, but I wondered if he could see the blush rising to my cheeks as well as I could feel it. I felt the couch shift as he settled his weight down onto it once again, a small little smirk on his face as he looked at me.
“Not good at what, talking to attractive men?”
I laughed outwardly and hoped that he wouldn’t take it offensively. It felt good to laugh, to not be fake for the first time in a long time. I secretly hooped that it would last, too, but even I knew that it was s foolish thing to hope for. Not many things in my life that actually brought me happiness ever really lasted, not for a while at least. I suppose I wasn’t lucky enough. I suppose people thought just because my family had money that I had to have been happy, that it was practically taboo for me to be upset about anything as long as I had a credit card and a BMW sitting in the garage, waiting for me to get my learners permit. But hadn’t people ever heard the saying, “Money can’t buy happiness”? Or had everyone really become so absorbed in material things that they were naïve enough to think it brought them true happiness?
I didn’t have time to try and answer the question I was asking myself in my mind before Eric was speaking again.
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Sooooo, it's been a while huh.... This is very poorly written, & I know I can do wayy better. And I will! Once I get back into the swing of things. I lost a lott of subscribers, but I'm hoping to gain some back. I love this story and I love mibba and I love all of my readers, so please comment and re-subscribe! (ps sorry for mistakes, I'm a little rusty!)However, you should know I might be starting this over. It will be pretty much the same plot, just some minor changes and things I should've done differently from the very beginning anyways. Don't be alarmed though (:
Man, it feels good to be back!