She had no clue what it be that was required of her to do. She was a lost creature and her brain was playing tricks on her. She had long given up on her heart. It always failed her, she did not see why this time be different.
She has long realised that “love” was not meant for her. She did not know how to love, nor did she know how to be loved. She knew only the endurance of torture and the infliction of torture. she inflicted it in all unawareness till she broke their souls and left them with bleeding and scarred hearts. There were moments of regret, on a rare occasion, but still there were some.
What could she say, apart from that being something vulnerable made her feel a little awkward and not “quite” herself.
She speaks of her parents, how they fight and the way they are all starry eyed the next moment. She tells him how they hold hands, still act like teenagers at times, despite their constant tantrums which they throw at each other.
He tells her that his house knows not of such, they do not express emotions. His mum hates him, he says. She does not believe it, adds that no mum hates her son. But he seems to be convinced otherwise.
She feels she understands him at certain moments. The way his hands crush the fingers while trying to express something, the way he acts in the most uncomfortable way, the fingers stiff and knotted up. She wishes at times he would find his peace, or whatever that he is looking for, which would bring him happiness.
He runs his fingers through her hair, for the first time noticing that it is naturally curly and that she had not done anything to it. The fingers straining to her cheek , she merely smiles, not moving, not knowing what be his reaction if she does. He just looks at her, says nothing, just his fingers on her skin, making their strokes. She liked his touch. It was gentle.
His hands were softer than she had imagined them to be, and his mannerisms much gentle for a creep. She would later tell him so. He clarifies that he is not a creep but a freak. She ignores the google search for the difference. Whatever he be, he would be the same for her. The guy who she had no clue of. She never knew where they be headed, what they meant to each other, his constant fear of hurting her, or getting himself hurt, his doubt of himself, or his presumption that she believes him to mess things up for both of them, all was a mere blur, a confusion she was not tempted enough to analyse.
There be only a sense of smoke that floats, the smell of trouble in the air. That sign of danger ahead, the hurt, the torture and the scarred hearts.
She does not want him to fall in love. Not with her.
And she is glad that he will not.