When We Met

Twelve

|Martin|

Cheryl Donovan kissed me.

She actually did, and this time, I wasn't in the middle of one of my wildest dreams. It was real.

And I kissed her back. I couldn't help it. She is the biggest spell in the wake of all miracles. Everything about her is irresistible; her eyes, her voice, her hair. Everything.

I couldn't rate my ecstasy on a scale when she reconciled with me. Even though she was drunk, her eyes told me everything she couldn't phrase; an unspoken conversation.

And when we slowly pull away from our second kiss, I look into her eyes for the umpteenth time.

I can tell that she needs to get some rest. The gaze of her eyes speaks louder than what she says. Or what she wants to say.

"Cheryl. You need rest. Come on, let's get you inside."

"Dylan, no–"

I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to her apartment. Her head fits in the crook of my neck and she leans over me like a baby. I smile at the possibility of me carrying her to her bedroom. Jeez, I'm actually doing that.

She hands me the key to her apartment, almost dropping it with her shivery hands. I unlock the door and barge inside with this woman nearly going hysterical.

"And then he adjusted his shirt in a very comical manner." She starts giggling over something that is supposed to be a really hilarious joke.

"Alright, Cheryl. Time for bed. Come on." I open the door to her bedroom and make her lie down on the bed.

Suddenly, she starts chuckling hysterically. Her whole body trembles, and then–

"Holy fuck, I'm gonna be sick."

She claps a hand over her mouth and rushes towards the washroom. I follow her and try not to let her trip.

As she throws up inside the toilet. I pull her hair back and rub my palm against her shoulders in a soothing manner.

She apologizes in between the strokes and I simply shrug it off. Her skin has turned cold against the washroom tiles and her hair is a total mess.

The strangest thing is that she still manages to look irresistible. I don't know how she does that. Even though she is barfing out all the contents of her stomach right next to me, I don't shimmy away from her. Why?

She flushes the toilet and sits back against the wall, her breathing heavy. Those stormy eyes have turned red and her face is tear stricken.

Jesus, why does she consume such huge amount of alcohol if all it does to her is make her sick?

I sit beside her and stroke her hair gently. She places her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes. This feels good, I must say.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that." Her voice is like a croak in the dawn.

"You say that a lot awful times." I joke, my cheek grazing against her hair.

"I mean it. I don't know why I end up like this whenever I'm with you. It's like... There are absolutely no strings attached and I behave like the person I used to be."

"Isn't that a good thing, Cheryl?"

"I don't know, Dylan. Why do you land me up in my most vulnerable state?" She looks at me for an honest answer.
And if I'd known the answer, I would've told her. But I don't. I'm just being me. I can't help it.

"Cheryl. You should stop pulling over the mask of anonymous on your face, okay? Just be who you are. What is the big deal?"

"You won't understand." She groans.

"Then make me."

There is a long and comfortable silence. Her breathing becomes normal and the shivering in her fingers stops.

I slowly tilt my head to find that she's already asleep. A smile skates over my face and I sigh. I'm alone again.

In the moments when I get lonely, which rarely happens, I think about all the girls I've been with.

First, there was Lydia Anderson; my high school love. She wasn't the bad girl of the campus. Neither was she a nerd. I liked her for her sense of humour and optimism. We were together for two and a half years and then it was over as a result of her dad's transfer across the ocean.

Then there was Emily Roden. I was twenty back then and we ran into each other in a movie theatre. It was a simple link up that lasted for about five months.

Since then, I never really fixed myself up for a serious relationship. I became one of those guys who fooled around with girls whenever bored.

This happened until I met Dina Marshall.

The moment I picture her face, my eyes start to fill up with unshed tears.

I shrug it all away. This is what I always do: shut the door close to every such thing that brings me discomfort. I'm not emotionally weak. But some things bring out the worst in you.

Cheryl stirs beside me, which brings me back to reality. Her face is pressed against my shoulder and her body is pulled together in a foetal position.

She must be cold.

I slowly pick her up and carry her back to her bed. She mutters something illogical and I smile.

I drape the duvet over her body and tuck her in properly. She cuddles into the comfort and hugs her pillow close to her.

Well.

Now what?

I lie down on the couch beside the bed and kick off my shoes. It's one in the morning and leaving Cheryl alone at this moment does not seem tempting even for a bit.

And falling asleep on the spot is out of option.

So, I end up staring Cheryl down as she sleeps. It sounds creepy, I know. But once you get into it, you find it almost impossible to back off. Such is her beauty.

Her face is squished between her joined hands over the pillow, and the duvet, which makes her look extremely adorable.

There is a subtle pout adorning her features and I can't believe that I kissed those lips not an hour ago.

Jesus. What are you doing to me, Cheryl Donovan?

I turn around and face away from her. Insanity at its best. Great job, Dylan Martin. Great job.

Well, I hope the sun comes up soon.
***

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Song of the day : Turn To You by Justin Bieber

Lyric of the day : "So when you’re lost and you’re tired
When you’re broken in two
Let my love take you higher
'Cause I still turn to you"

Love always,
Angela :)