Aphrodite

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Christian was sitting across the room, throwing a ball at the wall and catching it. The monotonous activity was hypnotizing; almost enough to distract me from the subject that we were currently discussing.

“You can’t just ask a girl something like that, especially Anabel,” I replied, running my fingers along the creases of my bed sheets.

“What do you mean you can’t ask? Stop being a fucking wuss,” Caleb,” his voice was hard, the hypnotic sound of the ball stopping. I looked at him and he stared back, clearly wanted his words to sink in. I knew he was right, he was always right, but I didn’t want to accept it.

“I can’t ask Anabel about her feelings. I don’t even think she has any,” I said, letting myself slip onto the floor. It was Friday, and it was so hot that we spent the day celebrating on my highly air conditioned room’s floor. I’m not entirely sure how we got on the topic of Anabel, but it wasn’t something I really enjoyed talking about.

Christian laughed and started throwing the ball again, not even attempting to argue my point. It was a commonly known fact that Anabel Dawson seemed to be a heartless bitch, and if you didn’t know that then you obviously hadn’t met her. I tried to convince myself otherwise, telling myself that maybe it was all just an act, but she had yet to prove my theory right. She enjoyed using people, and I was starting to feel like one of her toys.

“And you really like her?” he asked, his voice becoming serious. I thought about his words for a moment, trying to think of a suitable answer. My feelings seemed to be tangled, knotting even worse when I tried to sort through them.

“Yeah, I think I do,” I said with a sigh. He stopped his throwing and looked at me, staring into my eyes like he was somehow staring into my soul.

“Then you better do something about it before you lose her,” his voice echoed.