This Love Must Go On

Leon

Leon

I wonder, why my stomach feels as light as an empty bag of chips. The fair assumption was that I had left my dismal avocado and egg toast at the breakfast table and turned away from the little one warm greetings of the day as if I had to stop the storm and lightning. Today it was all about being quick and slick. I squealed the tyres on a virgin road instead of attending a conference with some famous writers which Maximo kept much information about. As insanity overrode my mind, I decided not to miss the right turn and under any circumstances, avoid taking help from the GPS lady enlightening me with the new directions, that still would lead me to the same spot.

What was devastating in all of this was that this insane woman stretching her legs with a good gamboling at my place, with a glass of vino, left its bearings on me by targeting my deepest insecurity ( women, like my real insecurity?! What the heck.) Sometimes a slow burn pain during the afternoon and in another minute a sudden bubbling broth of depreciation hinged around my chest.

Case in point: Amy, as named by Maximo.

Moments later, I wilted to rest my hands on the arctic black marble of the table. My hair follicles shone with sweat and it would drip down my face if I didn't stop it. Stop what? Stop looking into the mirror or use my knuckles to break every reflecting surface that my eyes spot?! For I couldn't face myself. Because this was not me. My face colour was graduating from blaring red to electrifying blue like the flashlights on a police car. I felt much, much more internal havoc than the visible tremors.

I'd done all I could. Now I just needed to pray that whatever I did today should be the last hope that ought to trump the chances of the final disappearance of Amy from my bungalow permanently. With no single strand of hers to be found anywhere. Not even in the broom's hair!

I took out the neat oatmeal-hued box with a white bow tucked in the centre and anxiously put it back in my jacket pocket. At the same time, I felt my phone ringing and thereupon I declared that my phone was hijacked by none other than Maximo himself. Sorry, Max. This was going to be the first time that I hid something from you.

Was I too ashamed to share my location details with him? Oh, no. But, yes. Here I was, creating my own story and fighting up against the overthinking spiral.

Suddenly it came to me that I was in the packed public toilet and the man behind me gave me a humble look, "You can do it, brother. Get the girl."

I shook my head and exited the toilet.

With a footfall of legions of people chiming in for the Saturday morning brunch, I couldn't find the path that led me to their restaurant's best private section.

Finally, I sat across from Paige Langdon. A twenty-three-year-old model. And my potential date.

Some plus things going for her were: She had appeared in a couple of well-known skincare ad campaigns. Lately, she had walked for D&G's spring collection. And was pictured hanging around with celebrities in Coachella. So it went without saying she hadn't recovered from the achievement and that she wasn't behaving properly.

"Is it too hot here?" I raised a question.

"This place is more lame than I thought."

I gulped and seated comfortably, distributing the heat evenly.

"But I think your presence makes up for it."

In a quest to petrify Amy, I decided to receive ego hurt in bulk. There's nothing I hated more than having to hitch a girlfriend. I still wasn't prepared to manoeuvre my friend's sister into something called a situationship. And by the way, she was way too forward.