Sunshine and Dynamite | Wattys 2017

#03

"What on earth are you doing?" I bark as Dylan parks the car by the side of the freeway. He grins at me, hops out the car and approach the old couple by the road with a floral stand. I see them talking and then he brings out his wallet. He looks over at me, grinning as the lady produces a bouquet of sunflowers. He runs back to the car.

"What are those for?" I ask as he enters.

"You, duh," He smile, presenting it to me. At my face, he frowns. "Oh, no! Are you allergic to pollen or something? I'll return it if you don't like them, I just thought because they're sunflowers—"

"No," I cut in, grabbing the bouquet. He looks like he's about to dash back to the booth. "I... I love these, and I'm not allergic to pollen, although I can't take lactose, but... it's just," I'm at a loss of words. "Thank you. I've never received flowers before."

Dylan looks appalled. "Never?"

"No," I admit, blushing as I caress a yellow petal.

"Well," Dylan's voice is soft but not pitiful. It's nice. "Glad to be the first."

I smile carefully up at him. "You've got a nice smile when it's genuine, you know?" He comments.

"And how do you know it's genuine?" I ask as he starts up the car again.

"Your eyes," He says easily, sparing me a quick look as he pulls back into the lane.

I reflexively reach up to my eyes, flummoxed. Your eyes. Simple words, a straightforward explanation, but I don't know what to think of it. It's not a compliment, but it makes my heart flutter. No one's ever complimented them. They're dark chocolate, the furthest from anything 'special'. They're not cerulean or emerald or silver. But just the words 'your eyes' make me feel like he thinks my eyes are special. Like they sparkle, or hold a universe in them.

I turn back around, afraid that if I don't, I'll be unable to look away from him.

He makes me feel special. He makes my heart fluttery and jittery. He makes me... happy. Genuinely.

I swallow.

That makes him dangerous.

-----

"So," He starts up a conversation again, with practiced ease. "Kate and John. They seem to be good to you."

I snort. "As if."

"What do you mean? Kate defended you."

"It's passive aggressive," I counter. "She's only treating me nicely to show off what she has. She's mocking me with her kindness. She's a bitch."

"Whoa," Dylan sounds angry now. "Can't someone just be nice to you without wanting ulterior motives?"

"From my experience, no." I snicker.

Dylan scoffs. "Jesus! You're just jealous."

"I'm not!" I lie.

"I can never get this. People can't be nice now? You... you are taking her kindness as weakness. Maybe you are as immature as my girlfriend said. You're the bitch here."

"Ex-girlfriend," I remind, feeling heated. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know Kate. How dare he say that about me? Immature? I'm not immature.

He doesn't know me. No one does. I won't let them hurt me like that.

"Oh, yeah, at least I've got an ex." He shoots back. "No guy wants to deal with impossible jealousy like that, you know?"

I sink into my seat and look out the window, eyes prickling with tears. I hate that cry so easily. I cross my arms, doubt filling my chest. Maybe I am immature. He's obviously older than me. He would know.