Opia

I did not know how I would apologize to Aliz. It was like a stab in the heart when she had apologized to me because it was not her fault. It would have been nice to be given a warning that she was about to kiss me, but it was my fault for stabbing her in the hand.

It had been exactly a week since the incident. I had decided that I had spent more than enough time thinking how it would proceed. My final decision was bold, but I decided that it was worth it. With a heavy exhale, I pulled a hoodie over my head and started down the street. I stuck my hands in my pockets in attempts to hide the fact that I was a cluster of anxiety.

At that moment, her house was eery and I was cautious walking up the driveway. Her father's car was gone and a very small (yet large) part of him was hoping that she would be, too. I knocked on the front door. No answer. Perhaps, I was intruding but there was no sigh in Aliz's sign that read: NO TRESPASSING ALLOWED. But the front door was unlocked and that was enough of a reason for me to intrude.

"Aliz," I whispered. Her living room was simple, nothing that could be considered as overdone. I didn't walk any further than the welcome mat. I could not. It did not feel right to intrude to that extent. I allowed my eyes to scan the room. She was so quiet that I almost missed her, but her light breathing gave her away.

She was staring at me, her fingers curled around a television remote, but the television was not even on. "Stellan, I—I didn't answer the door for a reason. You could have wait—"

"I'm here to apologize to you. I didn't have to react the way I did."

"But you did. Stellan, you stabbed me in my hand with a fork." Aliz shook her head and stood up. She stood so terribly close to me, to the point where I could feel her breathing on my neck. "I think that you should go."

I did not know what had gotten into me, but I could not help but to embrace her. "Please, accept my apology." Her hair smelled like lingering cigarette smoke and warm apples. Ninety-nine percent of me wanted to kiss her, but that one percent told me to simply stick to the embrace because even then I was pushing it. "Aliz—"

"Stellan, you're forgiven." And then there here hands were on my chest, pushing me away. "Stellan, I—I love you."

I felt like I was suffocating, as if my throat was closing in on itself. How could she? After a little over three weeks of us even faintly knowing of each other's existence? A part of me wanted to return the notion, but I would be lying. How could three weeks be enough time to fall in love with someone?

Her eyes were expecting, waiting. My tongue felt dry. She pushed me, roughly against the door. "I love you, you fucking piece of shit! And then you—you can't even say it back."

"Aliz, really? It's only been three fucking weeks. How can you expect me to feel the same way? I don't even know your last name, let alone a fucking thing about you besides, what, that you write in that journal of yours?"

Aliz turned around and returned to her seat on the couch. "Stellan, I think you should go. There's no point in you being here. You've already apologized, so what is it that you're waiting on?"

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Girls, they were more than I wanted to deal with. Brunettes, they were definitely over the top. They were so confusing, especially this specific one. Because she was the epitome of beauty and deep down inside I could foresee something even scarier. I was digging myself in a whole that I knew would be difficult to climb out of. "I was trying to find the proper words in response to your confusion of infatuation and love, but I'm tongue-tied."

Her hands were shaking around the television remote and it was probably one of the most unsettling sights I had seen all day. "Stellan, I—get out of my fucking house. I don't even want you here right now."

"Fine, I'll go. But a word of advice? You really shouldn't confuse infatuation with love. It puts you in bad situations, like this for example."

I heard an object hit the door as soon as I closed the door behind me and I swore that I would have been hit in the head with a television remote if I had not left when I did. Damn.