Her thumbnail tastes salty, like skin. It sits between her teeth, grinding nervously against the bone as she gnaws away her indecision.
She told them she'd send the site. Said she'd lead them to it, but before she did, she took the test. Took the goddamn test to find out her love language—because, recently it's been hard to tell. How is it that she likes to love? Wants to love?
It says her main love language is quality time. Second, acts of service. And she sees it. She understands the logic, and yet, like any good online test, she feels it misses an element of the bigger picture.
Sometimes, she thinks, to be loved is not as simple as speaking these love languages. Sometimes it's dancing in the nuances; the social batteries and labyrinth of past experiences.
She'd fallen in love once; maybe. Before she moved here—she was fourteen years old. Could see pictures of a perfect love imprinted in the fabric of her mind, adventures and surety wrapped in their embrace, yet nothing she did could break the barrier between her ideas and her reality. She wanted it to be true. Desperately wanted it, but in the end...
She couldn't.
Spencer falls on her bed, staring at her phone screen, reading through the explanations of all the love languages over for the third time.
She wonders what Vincent's main language would be, guessing physical touch. And Ambrose? Probably words of affirmation. She thinks about whether or not they'll take the test too.
Rolling to the side, she grabs a stuffed animal to hold to her chest. Stares at the screen, pretending not to ponder the large pink button in the top right corner that says 'share.' Ignores the fantasies of someone opening it to have revelations pour over them, understanding filling every fiber of their iris, and she despairs at the ache between her lungs. Not the good kind.
The kind of ache that says she's dancing on a tightrope. To fall would be to break his heart again—and it hurts like nothing else every time.
But in letting him get closer—letting that word—that title get involved, would only leave a chasm as deep as the sea is wide in which she would surely fall. One slip of the tightrope—
Her finger clicks the button. Types an email address. Sends.
Turning the phone off, she completely forgets to send the link to Ambrose, who will surely ask about it tomorrow.
YOU ARE READING
Lovebirds
Teen FictionVincent Arthur and Spencer Sofia are relationship *goals* at Hillsdale Central High School. Absolutely perfect and practically inseparable--but with a catch: they're not, and never have been, technically together. And while people (like the owner of...
