The Definition of Me

Chapter 18: Here, There, Anywhere

"Where do you want to go next?"

"Away from here.." I chuckle sarcastically.

Liam slowly presses on the accelerator, and we move less than ten meters away from our parking spot.

"We moved away from here" He grins, knowing these small jokes he makes always me get annoyed. It's like when you tell your math teacher 'write it out' - write out the problem you want to copy from the board to your notebook, and the teacher writes 'it out' on the board instead. (Shoutout to Mr. Goodman and his Friday trigonometry class)

"And we're technically still here," I tell him, knowingly.

"Rosemary..."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter where you'll be... here or... here... because.. the life you're running away from.. it will still be here once you come back."

"What if I don't want to come back?" I ask him, fading any sort of expression from my face.

"If you think a couple thousand kilometers will change anything then you're wrong." He bombs me with his hard truth. I didn't want to hear it. I knew he would say that I knew that the things he said were also true, but I refused to believe it.

I didn't want to be a crybaby. Why does everything make me cry? Why me? But I couldn't help the sobs I was letting out and the tears slowly forming in my eyes, blurring my vision.

"I just don't want to come back here." I cry out, wiping my face with my shirtsleeves.

"Come here" I hear his voice crack, and he leans towards me from his driver's seat and puts his arms around my neck. I could hear him breathing into my ear and I could almost feel the pulsations of his heart beating against my back. He seemed so calm, so put together, so organized, so stable, so know-it-all... Why haven't I met him sooner? He kept it together when I couldn't and let me be the little spoon when everyone kept telling me to toughen up. I didn't need to know his past or where he went to high school to know I... well... I liked him, and his presence stayed constant when everything else was tumbling down on a depressive teenager that I was. Or that I thought I was because of the circumstances that tumbled on me in the first place.

I turn to look at him, his face inches away from my mine, his eyes never taken off of me, his hair messily brushed with the help of my hands. He slowly moves closer and lays a kiss on my cheek before coming back to his seat.

His right-hand touches my left as they meet in the middle to intertwine, and we slowly start driving again. He kisses my hand but keeps his eyes on the road, and it reminds me of the many romance movies I've binged watched that had that same scene all planned out. Except ours wasn't. It wasn't a Hollywood with us. It wasn't filmed. Although I wish it was. I wish I had Eva's polaroid camera to capture this moment, when I felt the warmth of his lips on me, or when he looked at me and smiled at me, and cried with me, and comforted me, and hugged me. He seemed like the only reasonable thing, the only reason to stay here, in this moment, in this place, in this world that I called my home even when it didn't feel like it. I wanted it to last forever, that infinite moment we shared together. When his right-hand touched my left as they met in the middle to intertwine.

"So where do you want to go?" he asks again, moments later as he kisses the back of my hand. His kiss feels so gentle and his hand feels so soft. I also secretly wonder what lotion he uses because for the past couple of days I haven't been able to take proper care of myself. I have been a mess, in short. Hair always in a ponytail, body wrapped up in a blanket and Netflix on tv, or body wrapped up with hoodies that give me the same feels as blankets, and make me look like a 12-year-old tomboy. (As a side note, I was a 12-year-old tomboy once.)
I haven't done much about my makeup - only some mascara. My freckles, which I am used to hiding, are on full display for everyone to see. My cheeks turn pink very easily. My mom used to say it's a circulation thing, but for me, it just looks embarrassing. It looks like I am embarrassed all the time. And yet it doesn't stop Liam from always squeezing them when I stare at him for too long. Which is what I am doing now. I can't look away because then I'd think about something else, something less gentle and soft and comforting. Something divorce- or father- related. Something unhappy. But Liam makes it seem and feel everything but.

"Anywhere..." I sigh, goosebumps running down my spine. This boy.

"Anywhere..." he repeats, grinning childishly as he starts the ignition.

***

Hi, everyone! Thank you for the support and the patience (which is beyond my comprehension how such dedicated readers like you wait for such a busy, time-consuming writer like me). I decided to try out something different and post more frequently, but shorter chapters. That way, you guys will stay updated and I won't be as stressed out about writing a two thousand word chapter every time. Let me know what you think of this idea! If you don't like it, also let me know why! xx Thank you

With loads (and loads and loads and loads) of bookworming love,

Barbara xx