Pink Pansies ✺ A Pedro Pascal A.U.

Chapter 21: Art Curator or Nearby Neighbor?

Sitting criss crossed in my bed, my eyes drifted over to the wilting bouquet on top of my dresser. Stems curved like old spines and pink petals scattered around the bottom of the vase. I had watered it a few times and added some plant food to try and elongate their lifespan. It was my poor attempt to keep the physical reminder of that day alive but I was starting to realize they wouldn't last much longer. I thought about drying them and hanging them up, but somehow it felt like too much work. So instead, I stared at them and wondered if it was a metaphor for the direction things were going in.

A week had passed and my monthly sickness was nearly behind me. After Pedro ordered from my favorite Thai restaurant we ate and watched a movie on my laptop. He doled out some more pain reliever, shared some of the sweets he brought and gave me a massage on my lower back.

He sprinkled me with kisses throughout the night. My whole being invariably reacting to the sensation of his scruff against my skin, the soft movement of his lips against my own or the way he tasted. I couldn't help the goosebumps or the soft whimpers, or the tingling spark that began in the pit of my stomach and managed to reach my extremities, making me shiver with delight. He teased me once or twice, but let it go once I acknowledged how hard he was. Pedro refused to let me do anything about it though, said this visit was about me not him.

It was heavenly and I had never had someone tend to my needs in such a compassionate and selfless manner. The whole thing felt domestic, like we had known each other much longer than we actually had. It constantly surprised me how comfortable I felt around him, and with a newfound understanding of the parameters of this thing we had I was hopeful.

That was, until he left.

I didn't know if it was period brain, or regular anxiety brain, but I couldn't stop thinking about the time he spent when we weren't talking. If he had taken a bit longer to respond to a message I sent, my mind instantly went to this idea that someone else, someone prettier or more suited to him held his attention.

A part of me knew it was irrational. He had in fact disclosed to me that his schedule was "full enough as it is" but I didn't know how to stop myself. I felt this constant undercurrent of tension and frustration anytime my mind would drift there. This feeling was what I wanted to avoid all along. In hindsight, I think my games tried to accomplish a subconscious goal of not having the interest feel one-sided, with me carrying all the weight. 

I didn't want to fall if he wasn't falling too.

I tried to plan a date, giving some initiative for the first time. My motivation lied somewhere between a test and a genuine interest in seeing him, but he said he couldn't. He was busy with work. Nothing more than that, which was a bit uncharacteristic for him, and my heart sank deeper than it had in a long time.

Maybe the conversation about the degree of seriousness was not what I needed. It was reassuring in the moment, and I felt solidified in my place in his life...but things felt rocky now and I did everything I could to avoid feeling unsure or like a second thought in most areas of my own life.

So, after staring at the bouquet for far too long, and starting to feel resentful that was how I was spending my Saturday, I pulled out my phone and opened the dating app. I didn't dare look at the messages on there, too afraid to get sucked into what used to be my favorite game as it was now a form of self-flagellation. With a deep breath that didn't satisfy, I hovered over the option to see other potential matches.

The idea of matching with another person just for the immediate yet quick lived rush of dopamine and adrenaline didn't feel like a sufficient way to address how I was feeling. Maybe it was what I wanted, but definitely not what I needed.

I opted for a walk around my neighborhood. 

January was nearing its end and it hadn't rained for a few days, but the sun remained in hiding leaving the air crisp. I slipped into a pair of tights before putting on my long denim skirt, then squeezed into an olive colored turtleneck and threw on an oversized thrifted sweater, tucking the bottoms of both into the waistband of the skirt. I put on my chunky tennis shoes, grabbed my headphones and tote bag and locked the door behind me.

Walks always managed to clear my head. Not only was I still preoccupied with Pedro, though it seemed more pronounced now which put me in a foul mood, but I was also stressed about the upcoming exhibition at work. I only had two weeks before the show and being in that space was incredibly draining. I knew the end result would be worth it, and putting the concept together was exhilarating but the pre-show logistics always proved to be messy and chaotic.