Care to Command

58 Safe

So, Lucas has gone off the rails.

I feel like Alice in Wonderland and he's in between the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire Cat.

I feel like he's become one of those twin girls that hold hands in the hallway? The ones in blue dresses with a creepy song?

I don't know, I've never seen the movie. That's how much of a chicken I am. I am scared of an image.

And Lucas.

Friday night, I leave this fool, after his... dramatic love confession — which I've only replayed like a million times. And yes, wasted time in front of the mirror, performing different responses.

"You love me? Oh but monsieur, por qué such an... imbecile and random timing, eh?"

"Foo foo, fa la fli, poo poo ko ka ka."

"Lucas, you idiot. Did you have to be so bad at communicating? You sell pitches to clients for fuck's sake. You freaking trained me. You used to be cool. What happened to you?"

I'm just kidding. I miss him so much. And I want him. In every type of way. So much that I make weird sounds at random times of the day when I think of him. Mostly groans of frustration.

On my way to the kitchen, around people, in front of the TV. I did it once in front of the cashier at a supermarket. He thought I had a problem with the way he was scanning.

I need him to do all the right things so I can feel okay around him.

And he is.

But it's too perfect.

And I'm already hyperventilating.

For example. I do my sexy walk as I leave his restaurant on Friday, I get in the car, I even stick my elbow out of the window like a movie actress as Gia drives off. I was just missing cool sunglasses and a badass background music, but I had both in my head.

And what does he do?

He texts me at midnight and asks...

"Are you home?"

So, I worry that maybe something happened. I text...

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

To which he replies...

"Nothing. Just wanted to know you're safe."

And then...

"Goodnight, Layla. Sweet dreams."

Are you kidding me? Who does that? What's wrong with him?

I love him.

So I go...

"Goodnight motherfucker."

It gets worse.

He texts in the morning. 8:47 AM.

"Morning, monster."

Excuse me while I turn into a fondue.

Am I lame? Is this lame? It is, isn't it? I did. I was a pathetic marshmallow being swirled in the chocolate warmths of Lucas. Wee.

"Morning, Lucas." I played it cool.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm in bed..."

"Me too."

I cry internally that I'm not there and think of his weapon that's probably sitting in black briefs that hug those wicked hips. And I'm biting my lip like a pervert, frozen on 'me too.'