Philophobia (Anger is Bliss)

chapter 6

The day is almost over. I'm waiting at my bus stop. I'm thinking.

I don't want to feel that. I know I've always been alone, and I know I've sometimes been desperate for love, but I don't want this. Having a crush on someone is too much energy and emotion. I don't want to keep thinking about him, or about how he touched me earlier, or about how I wish this was purely physical—because it would be so much easier if it were just that. But I feel something. There is something. I don't know what it is but it's there.

But it's okay. I should just stop thinking about him, because it honestly does nothing but make it worse. It reminds me of how pretty he is and how I know it might already be too late and it makes me even angrier.

The bus arrives, it's 6:12 pm, so it is rather empty compared to seven in the morning.

The bus driver closes the doors and I sit at a two-sitter seat—which I never do because I don't want anyone to sit next to me, I usually just stand, but all the single seats are taken and I don't feel like standing, right now.

The bus driver doesn't go and opens the doors again. Unbothered, I don't look away from the window. This happens sometimes, it's no surprise.

I hear the familiar voice salute the bus driver and immediately turn my head to him. He's walking toward me but he's looking behind me. He looks at me, smiles, then looks back behind me with a stone-cold face and sits next to me.

When I open my mouth to tell him to leave, he grabs my hand and looks at it.

"Be quiet" he says.

Oh yeah? Be quiet? Does he want a punch in the face?

I freeze and try to stay calm. I hate it when people touch me, especially without my permission—obviously. But I don't feel uncomfortable, just shocked. That was unexpected, (surprisingly) not unwelcome.

"Why the hell are you here again? Are you stalking me or something?" I say, almost whispering.

"I have a home to get back to as well, not everything is about you, Andrea," he says.

I blush.

Even though his words aren't the nicest, his tone isn't harsh. His voice is soft, like he is trying not to offend me. And, he said my name, too, for the first time.

Holy shit he just said my name in a sentence with his own voice and he knows my name is Andrea. He knows and he called me it. He said my name. With that annoyingly pretty voice of his. I hate it. I hate it.

"Or maybe it is," he adds with a smile poets probably wrote about.

Maybe everything is about me?

Is he flirting with me?

"Cool." Cool???? "But why would you sit next to me, I literally told you I hated you this morning...uh." What's his name again? It's something quite basic but I can't remember what it is.

"...Ethan" I complete hesitantly.

No, it was something prettier-

"Do you really not remember my name? And you have the audacity to tell me you hate me," he laughs.

I scoff. "I don't have to know your name to hate you anyway" I retort. Am I a middle schooler? "I'll just call you asshole, it fits you better."

Everything is happening so fast I don't even have the time to comprehend it.

"Oh, so we're getting nicknames for each other now? Things are moving a bit fast, don't you think?" he says, smirking.

At least we agree on that.

He looks at me, still holding my hand delicately, making sure not to hurt me. My skin is probably colder than his considering how hot his hand feels in mine. I hate it so much but it's so good.

Opposites don't attract in my logic, alright?

He gets closer, our faces are centimeters away and I feel his blueberry breath as he speaks. Is that what he was chewing earlier? He likes gum?

Even his smell is beautiful, are you kidding me?

"These guys behind you were staring at you. When I got inside the bus, one of them was about to come sit next to you, that's why I came," he mumbles.

Umm. Excuse me, what?

"What do you mean they were staring at me?"

"In a weird way."

"What does that mean?"

"Like you were a," he looks at me, hesitating, "piece of meat."

He looks down at my hand still in his, he strokes it with his thumb. He seems angered by those words. And it angers me. I can't help it. I, again, get mad. I'm not sure if I'm mad at him or not. Maybe what he just said triggered me, or maybe I'm afraid.

"I'm not a distressed girl you have to save, whatever your name is, I don't need a knight" I mumble back, "also, you didn't have to take my hand and analyze it like that, it's just a hand. It's creepy."

"I wasn't analyzing it, I was just holding it, and I'm aware I'm not your knight, but I want to be your friend and I will get there," he declares.

Be my friend? Why? What is going on?

"Why do you even want to be my friend in the first place? I clearly said that I disliked you, and I don't even remember your name" I say.

"It's alright, you'll change your mind. And don't worry, you'll remember my name."

I want to slap him. "Oh yeah? And how exactly will you change my mind? I'm curious."

"I'll show you I'm worthy of you." He said what now? "I'll become your friend. Like I said."

I smile, almost amused, "why?"

He thinks. "To be honest I don't really know...I just want to be. If you prefer to call it a crush, then let's do that." He clears his throat. "Also, my name is Ethen not Ethan" he comments with a smile.

Crush? Crush??? Did I hear that right? Did he sound almost nervous, too? That beautiful beautiful boy just told me. You know what? Never mind.

"Oh, it's the same thing, shut up," I say, looking away, clearly avoiding it. It is only one letter, but it changes the pronunciation. It sounds weird. Ethen.

It sounds like trouble more than anything else.

He notices and giggles. "Cute," I hear in a whisper. I think.

I don't think it's physically possible but I might be blushing.

I look at my hands and see blood on them. I have been stressed all day trying to avoid him and I've been picking on the skin of my fingers nonstop. I don't have any band-aids even though I usually do. I wonder if he saw that.

Doubting, I cover my hands with my white sleeves again, hoping not to kill my shirt in the process.

"What are you doing?" he asks, confused.

"Nothing."

"You're going to stain your shirt."

"It's fine" I reply weakly.

He sighs. His left hand moves toward mine and takes a hold of it. I freeze.

"Relax," he says, "I'm just holding your hand."

I'm literally speechless. I turn my head to see him. Is it normal for people to do that? Holding hands is something special to me, it's not just something you do with anyone. Especially not the guy I've been avoiding all day because he is that close to making me believe in love at first sight or whatever idiotic name they give to it.

I watch his face, his eyes are closed and he is blushing. Blushing? Because of me??

What is happening?