The Numbers We Defy

Chapter 8

We rushed to his apartment. It was pretty close but we were still soaking wet. 

I became suddenly aware of the fact that I was wearing a white shirt. A very thin white shirt. This morning I thought I would look cute in my ripped boyfriend jeans, which were more masculine, and my white sleeveless top, which was more girly. Most of the clothes I wear is like that. I like mixing different styles to create a vibe that's more...me. I'm not exactly a girly girl, but not a tomboy either. Something in-between. I believe that grouping people into categories is stupid. Humans weren't made to be put into boxes. Personality traits aren't a yes-or-no kind of thing. I use clothes to reflect that. Clothes are underrated. They can show you to the world if you let them.

As philosophical as my logic this morning was, I definitely made the wrong choice wearing a white shirt today. And a lacy bra. 

I looked around for a mirror to see if he can see anything. His apartment, which he rented for a few weeks, was basic. There was the living room, which connected to the kitchen. The furniture was mostly white and gray. It looked like an attempt at a modern interior design, but somewhere along the way someone got really lazy and just put whatever they found.

I found the mirror near the doorway. My hair was in wet and messy waves, which I found suited my face better than my actual hair. My shirt was a little see-through, so I draped my hair over my chest. Hopefully that would cover it. 

Turning away from the mirror, I glanced to look at Liam. 

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"A bit," I admitted. 

He grabbed the blanket on the couch and handed it to me. He then turned and headed towards the kitchen. 

I didn't want to sit on the furniture and get it wet, so I stood there in the middle of the living room.

A few minutes later, Liam appeared with two cups of warm tea. 

"My hero," I joked, grabbing the tea. 

"You're welcome. Why are you still standing?"

"I didn't want to get your furniture wet," I explained. 

"Well, it's not like it's mine anyways," he joked.

He had a point.

I did not realize how little furniture there was. There was a sofa with a coffee table and a small breakfast table, but that was pretty much it. 

I sat down on the sofa. Liam sat down next to me. He didn't have much of a choice. The breakfast table looked pretty small. I'd be surprised if he managed to fit into one of the chairs. 

It was silent for a few minutes. 

Then, out of nowhere, he asked the question I feared the most.

"Maya, how old are you?"