The Untitled Diary of a Girl Named Bones

“Close your eyes.”

“No.”

“Close your eyes or I will stop driving right now and sit in a parking lot until you do.”

I pouted.

“Are you going to shut your eyes?” Tom smirked.

“Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

“That’s a good girl”, he patted my arm laying on the console in between us.

Reluctantly, I shut my eyes, only knowing that we had been heading for one of the more upscale areas in town, full of luxe apartment flats and wealthy private-schooled heirs to fortunes.

“Where are we going?” I whined again, hoping he’d crack.

“You’ll see in about three minutes,” he didn’t even sound annoyed with me. Boy, is he patient or what?

As is my usual retort, I crossed my arms and pouted, with my eyes shut.

He chuckled quietly.

The car slowed. A bubble of excitement formed in my stomach when I realized we were pulling off the main road into what was most likely a parking lot. The car halted, and the engine switched off.

“Keep your eyes closed, and don’t move.”

Before I could protest, he had already unbuckled, and exited the car. I sighed, but gasped when the passenger side opened, and a small gust of wind attacked me. Great, now my hair was probably toast. Bill would be mad.

An arm rested on my wrist, and Tom pulled lightly.

“Can I look yet?”

I could see the amused smirk. “No.”

I pouted more, but carefully got out nonetheless. Tom sweetly shielded my head from gracefully banging it on the door frame. He turned me around, and put his hands over my eyes.

“Okay, look!” He moved his hands.

I gasped very audibly. He had brought me to the swankiest restaurant in this part of the city. I turned around and hugged him hard. I looked up at him, and he was grinning. His lip ring sparkled, and I had the urge to do something drastic.

So I kissed him. Full-on and deep, and being the tease I am, I pulled back as soon as it got slightly heated and said, “You have reservations, Mr. Kaulitz, you better get in there.”
He whined in response. I giggled.

“After you, m’lady,” he bowed, sweeping our hands in front of us.

“Why, thank you sir!” I stepped as daintily as I could, and we walked into the little parlor area of the restaurant. A hoity looking small man, with a clipboard that was bigger than he was, asked in a strange accent, “Do you have reservations?”

Tom smiled his ‘winner’s smile’ yes, two for Kaulitz.

The weird little dude looked down and rang a bell. A flustered-looking waitress bustled up, and ushered us to a secluded table in the back. She took our beverage orders, and hurried away. Tom smiled at me, inaudible asking “So, how’d I do?”

I leaned across the table and kissed his cheek, and he grinned like, well, one of my close friends. I smiled back at his cuteness.

We exchanged some idle chitchat until the waitress returned with our drinks and took our food orders. We talked about childhood memories, Bill’s weird habits, and my friends’ tendencies to wreak havoc. We talked about life, school, decisions and strange situations. I felt like I’d never run out of things to share with this boy. The talking went on for over an hour, I barely even noticed the waitress return with our food. I ate (the food was actually delicious, now that I think about it) somewhat mindlessly, totally focused on Tom. His actions, his mannerisms and his voice. It was an intoxicating effect. Until I could sense something subtle that was wrong with him. His mood had shifted ever-so-slightly. He had begun fidgeting a little, he was looking less at me, and more over my shoulder and past my head. I ignored it, thinking he was just tired or something. I mean, this had to have taken some effort to get reservations at a place like this.

I ignored it, until it got to the point of worrying me.

“What’s the matter, Tom?”

His gaze snapped back to my eyes for a second, but again back down to the marble design on the table.

“N-Nothing.”

I sighed. “Really, what’s the matter?”

“Seriously, nothing!” he chuckled nervously, still not looking at me.

I was getting mad. “Tom! What is going on, and why aren’t you looking me in the eye?”

He sighed. Uh oh. Bad sign number one.

A look of empathy passed across the table from his eyes to mine. Bad sign number two.

He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table, and reaching across with one hand to hold my now clammy hand.

And there we have it: Bad sign number three.