𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

Olivia is a beautiful girl, she has nice features. Fewer curves than I do. Plump lips and snow-white skin.

"Can you come over to my house? I don't think my brother will let me come to yours. He's overprotective." She says, drinking her water. I look at her and I nod in agreement. Humming she smiles. She grabs a piece of paper and writes down her address before giving it to me.

It leaves me flummoxed. Why did she just send me the address through text messages?

I walked to her house, I didn't care or mind using my car. I felt myself getting suffocated in my apartment. It's something that occurred when I was alone, in a room suffocated with nothing but the feeling of loneliness.

Isn't it funny?

How we try to tell one another that we are fine when in fact, we are all just drowning in the same ocean. One thing triggers us to sink and sink, yet nothing makes us rise.

The house was beautiful. It was big, I'd mistaken it for a mansion if I hadn't known what a mansion looks like. But I do, I lived in one for years. There is a large and almost vicious German Shepard outside to preclude any stranger from entering the property.

Yet, I still do. I am not intimidated by him(at least I assume that is its pronoun). There is no ounce of fear inside the chamber of my heart. That fear had vanished, like the grains of sand inside the ocean. It left, but some of it would always remain. It vanish when I was in the tenth grade, the year my Rottweiler had attacked me for a reason I will unfortunately never know. I spent a few days in the hospital, there are scars on my stomach where the teeth had pierced.

He was put to sleep, gone when I had come home (at least that is what my parents had said). He might be dead. He might've been put for adoption. He might be somewhere else, but I had grown to love him more than anyone. Dead or alive, I just hope (even if he doesn't understand) that I forgive him, I know there must've been a reason behind it and I understand if it was me who had hurt him in a way that I will never know. But I forgive him.

"He likes you." She says, I look at her and I nod. Bringing my hand back from patting the German Shepard.

"You have a beautiful home," I say, and she hums happily nodding when we walk inside. The house was beautiful but so bland on the inside as if though no one lived there. It was just a terrible thing.

"Thank you, it's my brothers."

"Brother?"

"Yes, he teaches at the university as well. I think that you have him for a class, he's a miserable teacher. Always angry." I tried not to cringe. I tried to mask the emotion, utterly sickening emotion inside of me. How awful. The way she spoke. Description something so bland, yet interesting in a way that I couldn't understand.

"Let's go to my room, I don't think that he will be here for another hour. You can stay over for dinner as well. Sometimes it gets lonely in such a big house." I was somehow happy. That I could understand what she felt, her thoughts. It was something many of the children at my high school would find the foreign feeling of loneliness abstruse.