Let Love Loose
Two Weeks Earlier
“Look at me,” his husky voice whispers, cool breath caressing my face.
His golden-brown eyes hold mine, my skin grows prickly and warm although it is well under sixty degrees out here. I can’t help but break the staring contest and glance over the knitted cloth that is weaved over his strong hairy arms and torso. My eyes pause at a piece of red string trying to depart from the rest of his cherry colored sweater. I go to pluck it with my dark bony fingers when my ears perk at the clearing of his throat. We make eye contact again.
“Look at me,” he repeats now taking my cheeks gently in his rough hand.
Underneath this heavy coat of his, my skin heats up feeling sweaty and now instead of my body feeling prickly the sensation concentrates in my arm pits. My heart starts stuttering, I hate looking in people’s eyes it makes me so uncomfortable. I usually try to fiddle with something between my fingers so it gives me an excuse to look away.
His thick brown eyebrows raise I begin gnawing on my chapped lip. Frank starts shaking his head, some hair strains flutter on his head in the wind then a huge toothy smile spreads across his tan bearded face.
“God, you’re ridiculous, I love you!” he exclaims.
Frank leans in pressing me against the tall roots of the giant thick tree and presses his soft lips against my cracked ones, not minding at all.
When he pulls away he notices my lips drooped down into a frown. Not a millisecond later he’s frowning too.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” his gruff voice going up an octave.
I shoot my eyes to the ground and shake my head, my braids shift.
Now he takes my face in both his hands and makes me look at him, he has his puppy dog face on, pulls at my heart every time.
“Noella, tell me what’s wrong.”
I grumble quietly and finally reply looking at him with squinted eyes.
“I hate when you do that,” my words are contorted by the slight squishing of my face.
“Do what?” he’s still very concerned finally letting go of my face.
“When you play head doctor!“ I throw my hands up in the air. “Dammit, I know I’m not the most confident person in the world, but you don’t have to blow it up and make me, I don’t know, even more insecure about it.”
He huffs, “I’m sorry.” He shrugs, “I’m only trying to help. . . What if you get an interview with an agency? Eye contact is important when you’re trying to impress people like that.”
I start to picture dressing in a flouncy yet tight dress, strap of a black purse on my shoulder and a manila folder in hand holding headshots and body shots of myself. Shaking hands, interviewer’s hand is dry, mine, always sweaty. They’d ask me my name and I’ll stutter, forget my own name. I break into a cold sweat just thinking about it. Interviews make my anxiety spike. Honestly, I’ve had a couple calls from photographers wanting to do a shoot, but the fear of being rejected and disliked has prevented me from calling back any of them. I do my own self-portraits, only way to get them the way I like. Since last summer my dad’s been on my back about getting a part-time job. That’s how pathetic I am. 18, Freshman in college, still living with my parents and I still haven’t had my first job. I tell dad I’m trying and he doesn’t care for that, but my mother on the other hand will always understand where I’m coming from. . . Even if I am partially lying, I sigh. I don’t know how much more time I can bide.
I look at Frank again directly in his eyes and nod, “I know, I’m sorry.”
He smiles at me and his smile grows even bigger when he realizes I’m making a point of staring into his eyes. Again, he leans in and kisses me, this time wrapping his arms tightly around me. When our embrace is finished, he rises to his feet and reaches out a hand for me to grab, pulls me up and collects our backpacks. Frank grabs my hand again and we walk through the grass field to the maze of trees starting on the trail, trudging through thick mud caused by the heavy rainstorm last night.
His golden-brown eyes hold mine, my skin grows prickly and warm although it is well under sixty degrees out here. I can’t help but break the staring contest and glance over the knitted cloth that is weaved over his strong hairy arms and torso. My eyes pause at a piece of red string trying to depart from the rest of his cherry colored sweater. I go to pluck it with my dark bony fingers when my ears perk at the clearing of his throat. We make eye contact again.
“Look at me,” he repeats now taking my cheeks gently in his rough hand.
Underneath this heavy coat of his, my skin heats up feeling sweaty and now instead of my body feeling prickly the sensation concentrates in my arm pits. My heart starts stuttering, I hate looking in people’s eyes it makes me so uncomfortable. I usually try to fiddle with something between my fingers so it gives me an excuse to look away.
His thick brown eyebrows raise I begin gnawing on my chapped lip. Frank starts shaking his head, some hair strains flutter on his head in the wind then a huge toothy smile spreads across his tan bearded face.
“God, you’re ridiculous, I love you!” he exclaims.
Frank leans in pressing me against the tall roots of the giant thick tree and presses his soft lips against my cracked ones, not minding at all.
When he pulls away he notices my lips drooped down into a frown. Not a millisecond later he’s frowning too.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” his gruff voice going up an octave.
I shoot my eyes to the ground and shake my head, my braids shift.
Now he takes my face in both his hands and makes me look at him, he has his puppy dog face on, pulls at my heart every time.
“Noella, tell me what’s wrong.”
I grumble quietly and finally reply looking at him with squinted eyes.
“I hate when you do that,” my words are contorted by the slight squishing of my face.
“Do what?” he’s still very concerned finally letting go of my face.
“When you play head doctor!“ I throw my hands up in the air. “Dammit, I know I’m not the most confident person in the world, but you don’t have to blow it up and make me, I don’t know, even more insecure about it.”
He huffs, “I’m sorry.” He shrugs, “I’m only trying to help. . . What if you get an interview with an agency? Eye contact is important when you’re trying to impress people like that.”
I start to picture dressing in a flouncy yet tight dress, strap of a black purse on my shoulder and a manila folder in hand holding headshots and body shots of myself. Shaking hands, interviewer’s hand is dry, mine, always sweaty. They’d ask me my name and I’ll stutter, forget my own name. I break into a cold sweat just thinking about it. Interviews make my anxiety spike. Honestly, I’ve had a couple calls from photographers wanting to do a shoot, but the fear of being rejected and disliked has prevented me from calling back any of them. I do my own self-portraits, only way to get them the way I like. Since last summer my dad’s been on my back about getting a part-time job. That’s how pathetic I am. 18, Freshman in college, still living with my parents and I still haven’t had my first job. I tell dad I’m trying and he doesn’t care for that, but my mother on the other hand will always understand where I’m coming from. . . Even if I am partially lying, I sigh. I don’t know how much more time I can bide.
I look at Frank again directly in his eyes and nod, “I know, I’m sorry.”
He smiles at me and his smile grows even bigger when he realizes I’m making a point of staring into his eyes. Again, he leans in and kisses me, this time wrapping his arms tightly around me. When our embrace is finished, he rises to his feet and reaches out a hand for me to grab, pulls me up and collects our backpacks. Frank grabs my hand again and we walk through the grass field to the maze of trees starting on the trail, trudging through thick mud caused by the heavy rainstorm last night.