Opia

That next day gave me time to think, that deep, thorough thinking that gave thinking the right to be even be considered a hobby. She had said that her name was Aliz when I hadn't even asked. I didn't mind much. It was just that she was a brunette and I wanted her and she kept throwing hints at me and quite frankly it was all too much for my head to contain. I was a thinker, that much was true, but I had never had so much to think about at once.

I had a dream the night before, after we parted ways. It felt real and utterly intense and I wanted to do nothing but burn the feeling from my skin. She had been lethargic kisses along my jawline and the feeling was seething, simmering through the realm of a dream to reality. I felt almost like a cocaine addict, wanting to scratch and tear through my skin for what was never there. That was enough to remind myself that her lips were never there, that they were a figment of my (cruel) imagination.

And now I sat at the end of the bed, in nothing but striped boxers and socks that went no higher than my calf muscle. The clock displayed the time of 4:58 AM in fluorescent lights and it made me want to vomit. Nightmares weren't a normal part of my nights and definitely not ones that featured grossly beautiful brunettes—especially not ones that featured grossly beautiful brunettes.

To soothe my mind, I tried a shower. The water was warm and unwinding, the perfect solution to calm the storm in my head. It was as if I could still see her in my head; those eery sapphire irises, s lips painted red, and the soft, modulated voice of hers. I wanted her, badly. I wanted her to be mine. I wanted to hold her, to buy her things, to give her my all.



It was four o'clock in the afternoon and the mass majority of my thoughts had cleared out. Only two remained: life still managed to confuse the living fuck out of me and her. I was okay with both of them, for there was nothing I could do to permantly rid them.

My hands were pushed deep into the pockets of a khaki pair of straightlegs and I was walking down the street—straight to the house in which Aliz live. It was a longshot, but it was one that I was managing to take. I wanted to repay her for buying me a treat yesterday.

And then came the rush of nervousness, washing over my head like a large typhoon. There was not a way out now, though; my fingers were already curled into a fist and knocking on the door. I waited, waited by slowing my ragged breaths and urging myself to stop being so damn nervous. "Don't panic, Stellan. Don't pa—"

"Is there some way I can help you?" The voice that spoke was gruff, ugly in my opinion. He coughed a cough that smelled like nothing but tobacco and saliva. It took almost every ounce of respect in me to not offer to buy him a jar of tic tacs.

I threw the ole' man a smile, one that (I hoped) looked friendly. "Yes, actually. I was here for Aliz, if that's all right."

"Is it all right?" he retorted, retrieving a cigarette from his back pocket. He stuck it between his lips and I simply stood there, stuck on how to answer his question.

"Is it?" I asked. "If it isn't, I can just go home. It isn't a big deal."

He exhaled, as best as he could with the cigarette dangling from his lips, and I wished he hadn't. "I suppose it is." He turned around, peeked his head back into the house. "There's a boy here for you. Is there a boyfriend you didn't tell me about?"

And then there she was, her hair pulled into a rather messy ponytail and a sheer-sleeved sweater hanging from her shoulders. "He's a . . . he's a friend." She sent me a look and I couldn't quite decide on how to decipher it. I silently agreed by nodding my head.

We waited until her father was gone and the 'click' of the door being locked was sounded on the other side. I did not know what else to do after the mere awkwardness that had just occurred, so I just slung my arm around her shoulders. "I want you to walk somewhere with me. It isn't too far, but if you're wearing uncomfortable shoes, I'd suggest changing them."

"I'm not going back in there." When she spoke or even so much breathed, I swore that I could hear the melody of her heart, as if her ribs would combust and it would fall right onto the pavement in front of us. I just nodded and we began our quest.

I made her close her eyes the as we got dangerously close to our destination. The walk was not as much of a pain in the ass as I anticipated, but it would still a bit of a workout.

"Stellan, are we almost—"

I hushed her, put my hand over her mouth. "Spoiled surprises are no fun." I instructed her to wait as I pushed upon the door, giving her strict directions to walk in without walking into the glass. "Go ahead," I said. "Open those pretty eyes of yours."

I watched her intently as her eyes fluttered open. She looked around the place, and I could not read the expression on her face. "You brought me to . . . a restaurant?"

"Not just any restaurant. I brought you to an Italian restaurant. And wait—there's more!" I smiled and gave her a small peck on the cheek. "It's my treat." Grabbing her hand, I said, "C'mon. Let's get seated."