Breaking Hearts Has Never Looked So Cool

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

13 minutes.

For the love of God say something, woman.

We had been sitting in Gerard’s car, following Ray and the others for nearly a quarter of an hour, embroiled in a heavy and awkward silence. Neither of us had spoken since we bade goodbye to the others and hopped into the car.

At first I thought that maybe he was just focusing on the road, but then it seemed that he was waiting for me to say something; and the longer and longer I waited to speak, the harder and harder it became for me to even consider an appropriate formula of something to say.

“I wonder if any more snow will fall,” I said dimly, determinedly looking out of the window and not at Gerard as a blush of monumental proportions kindled its flames on my cheeks. My internal voice was screaming, berating me for making such an utterly stupid comment.

“Well at last you finally spoke!” replied Gerard, and his voice sounded so nice and jovial that I couldn’t help but turn around and look at him properly.
He had a faint grin on his face, that was turned around momentarily to glance at me before flicking back to the road again.

“Yeah, we were in danger of slipping into a really boring, awkward, silent journey there,” I said, laughing nervously. I wasn’t sure of how to act around him, which was odd.

Being around boys never normally phased me; they were basically women with more hair and penises. Oh, and less brain cells, but whatever. Gerard was different. I felt like I couldn’t slip up in front of him. The fact was, that for the full agonising 15 minutes that we didn’t talk, I was worrying about not styling my hair properly and only wearing jeans and a hoodie. I couldn’t slip up in front of him; I couldn’t look ugly, or fat, I had to be funny and engaging and clever all of the time. Most importantly, I felt like I had to interest him somehow.

“I don’t think any journey with you could be boring, awkward or silent,” Gerard commented with a faint laugh in his voice,

I looked at him incredulously, but flattered.

“Mikey said that you were super funny and talkative,” he said by way of explanation,

“It’s early in the morning!” I said defensively, and he laughed again.

He didn’t laugh in a masculine, mocking way; it was more of an endearing chuckle that made my heart thump even harder than it was already.
“It’s 10!” he said, taking a hand off the wheel to gesture towards the clock on the dashboard.

“Oh…yeah,” I conceded with a grin, “Its early for me…”

He laughed again, and once again, my heart rate increased dramatically. ‘Stop being so stupid’ I told myself sternly.

“Did you have breakfast?” he asked, as we saw a sign for services approaching up ahead.

My stomach growled with hunger.

“No,” I answered,

“Neither did I,” he said, “Let’s get some, I’m starved,”

He slowed down and pulled into the service station, whilst Ray’s car kept on driving.

“Shouldn’t we wait and keep following them?” I enquired, as the dark green car whizzed by without us.

“It’s ok,” said Gerard confidently, “we’ll be fine, I know the way,”

I shrugged and climbed out of the car, “is that man speak for ‘I can work out the way’ or are we actually going to be fine?” I asked sarcastically.

He chuckled, turning his huge hazel eyes towards me, “you know, Mikey was right, you’re warming up a little now,”

“So how long have you and Mikey been friends?” asked Gerard as we tucked into our matching pain au chocolates.

I swallowed and took a sip of latte before I replied, “Like, three years?” I said, almost surprised at how long we had actually been friends.

“Ugh, I feel bad that I haven’t met one of my little brother’s best friends,” he said regretfully,

“Nah, its ok,” I said, “I guess we started getting friendly at about the time you graduated so…”
I felt that we were running the risk of slipping into an awkward silence again so I scrabbled around the remnants of my mind for some sort of thread of conversation.

“What music are you into?” asked Gerard, lazily picking at his pastry. He didn’t know it, but he had been my saving grace – once again I was about to be dreadfully English and comment about the weather.

“Everything,” I answered honestly, “and I mean everything…from classical to reggae to punk to metal to drum and bass, to pop…everything,” I explained,

“Whoa,” said Gerard,

I hoped that he wasn’t one of those music snob people who thought that if you didn’t like the same ‘hardcore’ bands as them that you had absolutely no taste.

“I guess my favourite bands are The Clash, The Ramones, Blondie and Blink 182…” I confessed,

He smiled, “The Clash…how classic…”

“Don’t go all music snob on me,” I said warningly, “I could tell you that you have bad taste because you don’t appreciate…” I cast around my mind desperately for a piece of obscure classical music to mention, “Grieg’s piano concerto,”

I happily took a large bite of my pain au chocolat and smugly surveyed my latte; whilst he raised his eyebrows. “Ah yes,” he replied, “Annabelle happened to mention your prodigious musical talent…”

I cringed; just thinking about Annabelle’s Christmas eve performance made me want the ground to swallow me up. “Nothing wrong with being a classical music geek,” I said, hardly believing my own words,

“Not at all,” smiled Gerard, “anyway, how do you know I don’t appreciate Grieg’s piano concerto,” he said seriously, but I only raised my eyebrows sceptically at him.

“Ok,” he sighed in a mock defeatist way, “I confess, I’ve never heard it…maybe you should play it to me,”
We had both finished our food, so we took up our latte cups and headed out to the car.

“You,” I said as I opened my door, “are not the classical music type,”

He grinned mischievously and I think I may have melted. I was going to have to stop looking at him, it was getting ridiculous.

“How do you know?” he asked, putting his seatbelt on.

“Just trust me on this one,” I laughed, “I know,”
He asked me so many questions once we were back on the road that I wanted to giggle every time he opened his mouth; it was kind of like we were playing a weird game of 20 questions, except that it was more like ‘unlimited questions,’ and it was pretty one sided.

“What’s your favourite colour?” he asked. It was about 1 pm now, and the winter sunshine was blazing a trail through the window, making me squint slightly.

“Wow, original,” I snorted, “what’s with all the questions?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard shrugged, “It’s hard to make conversation under pressure isn’t it; besides, I feel a bit guilty that I don’t know you,”
I chortled at his sweetness, “Gerard,” I said, liking the way that his name felt on my lips when I said it, “I haven’t been friends with Mikey for THAT long,”

I chanced a glance at him. He was watching the road ahead, so I supposed that it was ok for me to gaze a bit, because he couldn’t really tell. His hazel eyes were the hugest, most beautiful things that I had ever seen, and his astounding face was sort of pretty, yet masculine and handsome at the same time…and his lips were so…there were no words. I wondered fleetingly what it would be like to kiss those lips…

“What?” he asked suddenly, making me jump a little out of my skin,

“What?” I asked back, feeling blood hurtle towards my cheeks. He had noticed me looking…and worse, caught me totally off guard thinking about kissing him, of all things.

“Is there something on my face?” he asked with another irresistibly mischievious grin, “or is my hair messed up?”
I took the opportunity to survey his hair. The truth was that it was kind of messy…but it worked,

“No,” I said, feeling incredibly stupid, “I’m just thinking about what my favourite colour is…”

How lame.

“Well?”
“I don’t have one…” I answered uncertainly.

Oh yeah; smooth, real smooth.

He let out a peal of laughter that made me shiver.

“I like bright colours,” I said thoughtfully, “hot pink, yellow, red, blue,”
Hazel, like your eyes. I wonder what he would have said to that.