"Sera tan fácil, para ti, sera tan fácil
llegar a mí corazón, llenarme de ilusión?"
~C N C O
To say the next few days had been exhausting would've been a complete understatement. Señor Iglesias, or Enrique as he'd urged me to call him, given that he cringed at me every time I called him Señor Iglesias, was completely determined to keep every scrap of junk food away from me.
It had been ten years since I'd last tasted chocolate, so can you really blame me for trying to sneak a handful of my father's whites chocolate bons into my room?
But clearly, Enrique didn't have the least idea of what compassion was, for he mercilessly snatched them from my arms, "Deberías de agradecerme, yo me estoy sacrificando para mantenerte a salvo de los peligros del chocolate." He scolded me in a thick Spanish accent.
My afternoons were wasted doing sit ups and push-ups, going over self-defense basics I'd completely somehow forgotten, and trying on outfits I thought were too glamorous for any event, but Madame said otherwise.
It could've been that I was tired by the end of the day, or that something inside me was malfunctioning, who knows, because every night since I'd met that strange boy with deep dimples, he'd appear in my dreams. I was sure it was simply because I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried, remember his name.
The thing that frustrated me the most, however, was that I for some reason couldn't remember his name. That was the only motive why I kept eagerly waiting for Madame to announce another trip to the Ronniepepper plaza, but so far she didn't show any intentions of going. At all.
By day nine, my father woke up very early, and sat in a comfy big chair, a cup of coffee touching his lips, as I headed towards the fridge after a cold morning shower.
"Buenos Días mija," He greeted cheerfully.
"Buenos Días." I replied, not sparing him a glance.
I busied myself making some oatmeal, the healthy stuff, as Enrique had suggested.
"Today's the day," My father finally announced.
"—That you'll do our eyes a favor and shave?" I offered, looking up from my oatmeal bowl."
"No. today's the day you're meeting target 13." He answered, ever so subtle.
"Okay, cool." I began to make my way to the table.
"Are you even listening to me?" He asked taken aback by my lack of interest.
The first time you kiss someone, every part of you screams excitement and fireworks, but the thirteenth time around—that's far gone.
There's no surprise, the rules remain the same, the tactics no different. One of the reasons for this ; no other than the fact that love had never been involved in the plan. That's what made everything so simple, because you it's quite easy to hurt someone you don't feel a thing for, because you just don't care about their feelings. This was no different. This would be no different. So why was I suppose to fake the enthusiasm?
"Oh, Ma chérie!" Madame Favre exclaimed, taking a step back, and handing me a round, small mirror. "You are so going to break hearts tonight!" She smiled gently, her wrinkles adorning her eyes. She'd worked so hard curling my stubborn hair, and adding way too much spray. Then she'd moved on to doing my makeup, which made me feel unrecognizable.
"I hope so." I laughed, letting myself wander for just a moment about this boy I was supposed to meet in less than an hour. About target 13. He was sure to be just as arrogant as the previous twelve had been. Or perhaps even more.
YOU ARE READING
Saccharine and Dangerous «Zabdiel De Jesus»
Fanfiction"You okay?" I asked, shivering as I slipped my wet clothes off, leaving me in my underwear. "Yup. Please hurry or...or you'll catch a cold." The boy , target 13, stuttered, with his hands glued to his crimson red face. "Why are you covering your f...
