Two weeks with Mr.Selfish

Part 15

Part 15

My date should have been wonderful.

Nate picked me up in his modest car – even jumped out of the driver’s seat to quickly open my door for me. He bashfully smiled down at me while I slid into the car’s comforting warmth and it was so gentlemanly, so genuine, that I nearly had no idea how to react. I laughed and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ while he closed the door and hopped back into his own side.

The car ride wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t awkward or tense – it wasn’t anything, really. A relatively short trip into the bustling downtown area filled with relaxed small talk and light laughter between the two of us.

He opened my door for me again when we arrived to the restaurant and held his arm out to me, inviting me to slide my own through his as we walked into the quaint Italian bistro we’d agreed on. The wool of his deep grey pea coat provided some sense of security as we walked in-step together towards the glowing front doors. The security of his arm was foreign to me – I hadn’t felt at ease with another male in years. Not with Duke, even in our short relationship and certainly not with Zayn.

The air of the restaurant was wafting aromas of rich foods around us and carried the quiet sounds of intimate conversations of other diners and the soft tinkling of glassware as people enjoyed their meals. It was a lovely change to be given the opportunity to eat at such an establishment – especially when I’d been used to living off of generic corn flakes and cups of instant noodles. And especially because the last time I’d been in a restaurant, although much more affluent, I’d been served a small serving of chilled fruit.

The realization that my date wasn’t a wonderful event was brought upon the memory of the fruit cup. The memory of Zayn, more so. Because as we sat at our table, ordering a generous appetizer of breadsticks and stuffed portabella mushrooms, the thought of Zayn – his voice, his face, the way his mouth curled when he was smirking at me or the scent of cigarette smoke in his clothes and cinnamon on his breath – everything about him was distracting me from the wonderfully kind young man situated before me.

Nate ordered a plate of fettuccini with a side of garlic bread. And although I laughed and commented on how delicious it looked or how I was going to sneak a little bite when he wasn’t looking, the thought that his dish looked so similar to Zayn’s that fateful first meal we had together was running through my mind wildly. And when my eyes fell to his hands, which would reach for another breadstick or grasp his fork as he twirled the noodles around the ends, Zayn’s hands came into my mind. Zayn’s hands were much longer, stronger looking and stronger feeling than Nate’s. I knew the feeling, especially after the circumstances hours prior to the date when his hands had gripped my arms. When his lips, much fuller than Nate’s and decorated with a gleaming black bar, had crushed themselves against mine in a desperate, violent kiss.

I was sure that I was losing my mind.

I felt awful as we left the restaurant. It had been a wonderful dinner, with easy conversations floating between the two of us and little flirtatious jokes appearing at appropriate times. Nate looked handsome in his fitted sweater and jeans, but the entire time the thought of Zayn’s body swallowed in the perfectly fitted shirts and hoodies and jeans flashed through my mind.

The entire time it was Zayn on my mind, not Nate. And I felt absolutely despicable for being such a terrible person. I allowed this nice boy who genuinely took interest in me and paid for a lovely dinner to take me out – yet the entire time, another person, a much crueler, callous boy was burned into my thoughts.

Nate walked me to my doorstep. He smiled at me as we stopped together, and I wasn’t sure if it was the biting cold air that tinted his cheeks a light pink color or the timid nature he exhibited. It was cute, almost, and I felt for the first time nervous.