He drove one of those super old cars from the 50s. It was beat up and rusty, and the stereo was kind of jacked up, but I didn't mind.
Now, people may think I'm crazy.
But I had only known this guy for about 6 minutes and I had this strange feeling when I looked in his eyes.
They were a deep gray with hints of blue. And there was a gold astric star (like this *) in the middle.
It could have just been the whisky, but I actually thought I was in love.
I was speechless.
Trying to make conversation is very hard when you're in a stanger's car and think you might already be in love. Luckily, he asked the first question.
"So... Viv? What kind of music do you like?"
I giggled like a hormone raged idiot.
"Umm... well... I kind of listen to alternative, metal, screamo... so nothing mainstream really," I answered still giggling.
This was the first and last question we had time for. As we pulled onto my street, he asked me which house was mine.
I thought for a minute. I DID NOT want him to see my house. My mom could barely pay the mortgage. And my dad was in Chicago looking for a job nearly 24/7 (he would always come back late too). The house was literally falling apart.
Paint was chipping, the flowers were all dead, the grass had turned ugly brown, and 2 of the windows were broken, and we couldn't afford to fix any of it.
"Umm... You can just drop me off--"
And that... was the exact moment when he kissed me...
At that moment, I felt alive.
But now looking back on it...
I feel dead...
