Christian Westbrook, an emotionless seventeen-year-old who is far too mature for his age, is trapped in a life with his aunt and uncle. It was never his intention, but he didn't have an option. His life has been irreparably altered, and he longs for...
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(STRESS RUN)
"River, slow down," I tell him.
"Stress run is exactly what it is a run," he says as he comes to a halt to wait for me.
I catch up to him and take a deep breath, my legs wanting to give out when I stand next to him.
We were on this stress run because River asked the cute ginger head girl on a date and she said yes. You would think that's great but my brother is simply an overthinker and has no idea what to do for the date.
"I see . . no reason . . . for this," I tell him, heaving as I try to regulate my breathing.
"Well that's because you haven't been on a perfect date," he says beginning to jog lightly in respect for me.
I jog slowly alongside him, "Just take her to a movie or something it's just the first date,"
"But what if she's like really classy and wants dinner,"
"Then go to dinner afterwards," I say, "I'm sorry, I am just not seeing the problem here,"
"I don't know, I just really fucking like her," he says stopping again but jogs on the spot.
I stop with him but don't jog in the spot, I smile slightly, "You're making me believe all boys act like this, stop it," I joke.
River is the type of guy who will never be scared to communicate his feelings when he gets close to you; if you go on a few dates with him, he'll profess his love to you and leave +the ball in your court.
He feels it's best to get it over with; if you like him back and believe you can return the same passion he provides, there's no use in wasting time; if you don't, don't waste his time making him believe you're madly in love with him.
I agree with him in certain areas but not others; I don't believe you should rush into a relationship with someone who seems to love you back. But he'd disagree because River is a really sympathetic person. The person who would bring you fruits while you were doing your schoolwork or offer to pay for your ice cream. Acts of service are his love language.
"She's gonna love whatever you do, I'm sure," I tell him.
He takes a deep breath and smiles with a nod, "You're right,"
"Can we please go home now?" I beg, feeling the scorching burn in my legs that would undoubtedly be sore the next day.
"Sure, but I need to get some snacks from that store a few blocks down," he continues, making me groan in frustration.
