Warm

17

I hate goody bags.

For some reason, I can't fit the tiny chocolates embroidered with Laura and her soon to be husband, Edward, into the tiny bag also embroidered with Laura and Edward. It's the same picture of them kissing with her foot raised in front of the bright sun. 

Laura, Edward, and Keanu obviously don't have the same issue as they have 20+ goody bags finished. My pile has 1. We sit criss-crossed on the floor of my apartment, eating fast food breakfast and waiting for the sun to peak out.

Laura and Edward's wedding is in T minus 7 days. 7 days to prepare the tables, chairs, food, lighting, band, plates and everything else involved with a wedding. I can tell Laura is anxious, impatient to start her life with him. I understand her, actually, the impatience that comes with love. Edward, on the other hand, takes things slow. What he lacks, she has and what she lacks, he has. They balance each other perfectly.

Laura pulls my attention, "Don't get too tired. Your wedding is next."

Leave it to Laura to bring an uncomfortable subject up and just let it linger in the air. Even Edward looks up, something he hasn't done in the past hour.

But, surprisingly, I don't feel uncomfortable. In fact, I agree with her. Although I've been with Keanu for about 6 months now, I don't need any longer to know I want to be with him forever. I don't need to be together for years to know that I want us to grow wrinkles together. I want him in my life until the day I die. There isn't a single doubt in my mind about that.

I love him.

He could propose right now and without blinking I'd say yes.

So I don't stutter when I say, "Yes, it should be." I turn to face him, head on. "Don't you think so?"

Keanu chokes on pure air. He has to drink water to calm down.

The knock on the door is a welcomed distraction. "I'll get it."

The second I turned the door knob, a harsh hand is pushed to my mouth, silencing a scream as my back is being held against the wall.

I am ready to kick the attacker with everything I have until I see their eyes. Those hazel coated irises. My lungs shrink to the size of a pea. It can't actually be him... can it?

Once he sees I've recognized him, he dips his head in, hiding his face under a black hoodie. Before I can even process this, Keanu has knocked him straight to the floor, both throwing punch after punch.

I stand in place, shock trembling through my body. Am I actually going insane? So I throw myself on the floor and put my body between him and Keanu's punch. His fist abruptly stops in midair.

"Aurora move!"

"No," I scream. "Don't hit him," my voice shrinking with him. Keanu stares in pure confusion, unsure if he should push me off or listen.

He listens and stands up, allowing me to help the attacker to his feet.

He's not attacking now, instead he keeps his down, unwilling to meet my eye.

My hand reaches out to him and pulls down his hoodie.

My dad would always get mad at me when I tried painting in places that were hard to reach. He hated how I used the ladder carelessly, skipping steps, dropping paint, and making sudden movements. He was always worried I'd fall. And he had every right to be. Because I did fall. My back slammed against the hard concrete and all the air was sucked out of me. No matter how wide I opened my mouth, no matter how hard I gasped, I could not breathe. It burned in my chest and my eyes would widen in fear and desperation.