《Ｌｏｖｅ Ｔｈｅｓｅ Ｄａｙｓ》

13. Twenty two

April came, and with it, the twenty second anniversary of my birth. All the thrill I had for it slowly dissipated with the passing of the last month, and my enthusiasm was replaced with a bad feeling.

"It's going to be amazing, we'll drink wine and sing Taylor Swift all night. All that, plus the awesome cake we'll make for you" Leela said while we enjoyed a break from class. We were left alone as some of the boys went to the toilet and some others went to grab snacks.

"We will spend at least three days at your house," Darcy warned, "so get used to that idea."

"Yeah, it'll be great. We can have a sleepover the night before, just the girls" I offered, in urge to get myself excited for the days to come.

My relationship with Luke was as weird as ever, but I felt scared of the future, specifically, of my birthday, because I knew he wouldn't do half the things I did for his because he didn't care half as much as I did. I was frightened by the imminent shock of disappointment already breathing in my neck.

Every year, I get moody around the day of my birthday. Annually, I get that feeling that people don't really want to be there, that they don't love me as much as they claim to do on that special occasion, they just feel entitled to do so, and I get more annoying than ever. I become the worst person to be around. I know what people might think, they're probably like 'girl, just take the fucking compliment and go', and yes, they're right. I'm a total ass, I know, but I promise it's over as soon as the next day so, bear with me for a little.

"I want to go to the bathroom, you guys want to go?" Leela asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"No, I'm good" I said.

"I'll go" Darcy responded and they walked away.

I was standing there in the middle of the hallway, waiting for someone to come, when Luke appeared. He shyly walked up to where I was and sat next to me with a little distance between us. It was one of those days when I did not know what to say. What was there to say even? He still hadn't mentioned his girlfriend in front of me, but I knew her name was Mia. We talked a lot lately, but it was like we both knew there was a topic we were purposefully omitting.

He approached me like one would approach a butterfly. He didn't know exactly how to move or act, even less what to say, so he opted to successfully drive the conversation as far away from her as he could. I could say he was trying not to hurt me, but it's more likely that he was trying to avoid an uncomfortable situation.

Me on the other hand, I was starting to feel delusional. Something inside my heart told me that it wasn't over yet, and I convinced myself it was my gut, when it was most likely my desire. I wanted to believe that our story had a second part, one when his story with her would be transitory and, eventually, he would return to me. I needed to hold on to the idea that, one day, I would get to finish what I started. I even started seeing someone, this guy Mark that I mentioned before, but even after talking almost every day and having a few dates, I knew I just wanted Luke to see that I could move on too. I wanted him to see how I could also replace him, that I wasn't alone, like him. I hated the idea of being the one left empty-handed, the loser.

I went out with that guy and quickly realized he was the most boring man I had ever met, and he was also quite stupid. He never understood any of my jokes and I always had to explain them to him. Mark was the kind of guy you run from but, in my case, it was rather him or nothing, and nothing wasn't an option in this competition of who could be happier without the other, which Luke was currently winning.

As if being dumb, slow and boring wasn't enough, he was also a crypto guy. Yes, you got every right to judge me, I wasn't in my senses.

Days passed and I noticed a pattern of behavior in Luke that I had only seen in myself before; he was struggling to keep himself from touching me. Perhaps he wanted to express affections but he wasn't sure if it was appropriate. He found himself standing close enough for our arms to touch, or he started playing with my stuff in the table as if he did not know how to get my attention or what he wanted it for. More than once I noticed him playing with his own fingers like he was abstaining himself from reaching out to me, and, whenever we joked together, he would playfully smack me. One day he smacked my head with a plastic bottle like three times in a row, not hard enough to hurt but often enough to make me question what the fuck he wanted.