"If you don't stop messing with your hair, I'm going to punch you in the face."
"Damn Kitty, alright. I'm just... nervous, is all." Kirstie and I are standing in front of the mirror beside our door, putting finishing touches on my dinner apparel.
"Of course you are! Now get your cute butt down to that boy's car before I go on the date myself." I take a deep breath before quickly kissing her cheek and heading out the door before I can stop myself.
Nervous energy bounces around the staircase as I get closer and closer to the parking lot, and a certain blond haired boy that has me in quite a twist. My thoughts drift back to last night in that alley. It was dark, and smelly and Scott was almost inhumanly focused. The way one gets towards a bag of shredded cheese after too many vodka tonics. Wait...
He was drunk. That's the only thing that makes sense. There's no way he soberly could have 1) been slower than me 2) found me attractive enough to put any effort into and 3) asked me out to dinner because let's be honest here, a severely apprehensive recently de-closeted man still living with his (ex)girlfriend is not really anything to pine after. He probably made the dinner invitation so he could let me down easy. He probably pities me and thinks I'm pathetic and just feels bad.
Just as this thought crosses my mind, I step off the last stair and come face to face with the man I've come to be very afraid of in the past three minutes.
"Hi, Mitchy." He says quietly, walking towards me with a hand outstretched. Scott looks absolutely stunning in a digital grayscale button up shirt and tight, light wash jeans.
"Uhhhh..." My eyes take in the strain behind his smile, and the little wrinkles that form next to his eyes because of it. Do his eyes always wrinkle like that? No, of course it's my fault. He's too nice to just be blunt and hurt me. Would I be hurt? I don't know. Maybe...?
"Mitch, are you okay?" The concern in his tone pulls me out of my head, and I do the first thing that comes to mind. I run.
Again.
Away from the pity pooling in the pretty boy's face and the stress lines I surely caused next to his eyes, away from my fear of myself and who I am that I never knew I was. I get maybe ten steps before steel beams wrap around my waist and arms, lifting my thrashing body off the ground.
"Run one more time, and I'm buying you a shock collar." Scott growls, then begins the short walk to his car. My legs and arms are flailing all around and constantly catching on his body. I pound my heels into his shins repeatedly and grunt as loud as I can, voicing my displeasure in (ironically) the manliest way possible.
Scott wraps one large arm completely around my waist and rests my weight on his hip long enough to wrench open the passenger door. He then puts his other arm under my knees and slides me into the seat, slamming the door as soon my feet are in. Through the darkness of the windows I see him pull his key fob out of his pocket and click the lock button constantly on his way to the driver's side. He's smart, because I would have just unlocked it and run back to my apartment.
Once he's seated in the car, he gives me a dirty look and leans over to secure my seatbelt. I let him, because I refuse to cooperate in any way if he insists on taking me on a pity date. We sit in silence for a few minutes after.
"Dammit, boy, what is wrong with you?" He asks finally. "Am I that fucking repulsive to you?" My head jerks up at this.
"Excuse me? I'm not the one literally dragging you on a pity date, now am I?!"
"A pity d-" One of his hands moves to the gear shift and puts the small car in drive. "Fuck this..." I hear him mumble. He turns on to the street the wrong way if he's looking for any restaurants.
