The Psychology of Falling in Love

XXXI. February 21st

I groaned at my third alarm, swiping at my phone blindly in a feeble attempt to hit snooze one more time. Claire's head was buried into my chest making cute little sounds, almost like soft snores. It was at least 6:30 by now, and if I did not wake her up, there would be hell to pay. But my muscles were so lax, languid against the sheets.

My playful 'fear' of retribution won out over my wants. I sighed and gently shook the sleeping blonde. Her face twisted into a look of displeasure and she whined. With a giggle, I tugged gently at her ear lobe.

Claire opened her eyes, bleary with sleep, dull with the lack of full consciousness. "Wha'?"

"It's 6:30, Sweets," I murmured to her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Time to start the day."

"Fuck-" She rolled over and launched out of bed, ripping the blanket off of me in the process. I blinked with confusion as she muttered to herself and dashed around the room.

Sensing her urgency, I disengaged my comfortable body from the bed and moved to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast for the day. I set up Claire's coffee for the day with a reusable k-cup. After a few moments of quick knife work, I grimaced at my awfully sliced green apples and badly disrobed orange, putting the disappointments into her lunch container. A different beast appeared next: the bread bag with the knot I tied it in yesterday.

"Why the fuck did I do this?" I grumbled, finally unhooking the knot. I huffed and slammed the bread into the toaster.

"Coffee," Claire grumbled. I motioned over to her travel mug.

"I'm so sorry, honey," I muttered as I buttered her toast. "I didn't think about the drive and the traffic."

"It's fine," she deadpanned.

I tried my best to not let that get to me. She was barely awake, facing the possibility of bumper-to-bumper traffic. Of course she's aggravated, but not at me. I soothed myself as I packed away the last of her breakfast and handed it over to her.

I stood there, leaned up on the counter, as she flitted through the apartment and then left without a single goodbye. My heart was trapped in my throat and my stomach was tied up in knots. She's not upset at you. I stared at a speck of marred paint near the baseboard, my entire focus tunneling in on it.

A hand framed my jaw, fingertips pulling my chin downward. I was so heavily focused that I didn't hear her come back. She looked...ashamed. Guilty. Before I could open my mouth to speak, I felt her thumb swiping under my eyes. Was I crying?

"I am so sorry," she whispered, kissing my tears away. "I am so sorry, my love. I'm not mad at you. You did everything just right."

My jaw clenched. "I'm making you late."

"No, I'm making myself late," she replied easily, pinching my cheeks. "Thank you for letting me sleep in. Thank you for making my breakfast and my coffee. I love and appreciate you."

"But-"

"No buts," Claire said firmly, gazing into my soul. "I'm not her."

She isn't. She's so much better.

"Get to work," I nudged her.

"Aria Marie - Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?"

I looked into her hazel eyes. They held adoration, true love- not expectancy. I nodded. "I would like that."

"Be ready at 6. Casual, nothing fancy," she kissed my cheek and backed off to leave. "I love you!"

My smile came back. "I love you, too."