The Stranger

25

After we cuddled for a while, Matt and I ate the cake I bought and drunk hot milk in the living room, with the TV turned on Stephen King's first movie: Carrie.

"I love this story," I confess. "It's so tragic, but also so satisfying. Carrie had realized what all high school students desired to do to their bullies."

Matt shakes his head, amused by my thoughts. "Why do you like tragic stories so much?"

I scroll my shoulders because I don't have a real reason. "Maybe, my life is too perfect," I state jokingly. But I regret saying it immediately, remembering that he hasn't been so lucky. Matt was forced to become an adult too soon, when in reality, he was supposed to have fun and any worries in the world, besides boys, parties, and school. "Sorry. That was stupid to say," I muttered sheepishly.

"Why?" He frowns. "Because I didn't have a normal, boring childhood?" He kisses me tenderly and hugs me tightly. "I am happy you had a normal, boring, serene, childhood."

"I wished for you the same," I whisper, basking in the warmth of his body.

We are in a comfortable silence for a moment, and he lights up a cigarette, before speaking again: " Think about it, if I would have had a normal life, maybe today, we wouldn't be here on this couch, sharing kisses and caresses."

"I would have preferred for you to have a childhood. I am not worth it."

"I beg to differ," he replies. "you are worth thousands of bad years and millions of struggles."

My heart gets excited by his words and starts to beat faster, even though I don't agree with him.

"Are you happy that Carrie killed everyone?" he asks, and I nod. I love great revenge. "I am going to take a shower. Do you want to join?" he adds with a mischievous grin. 

I hum in response, too lazy for a real answer, and he leads us to the bathroom.

*****

"I didn't see Erik," I point out some times later, jumping on the bed next to him.

"He is staying at a friend's house."

"He didn't come to school this evening."

"I know," he replies stiffly. "We had to deal with some problems," he adds.

"The black eye?" I inquire, trying to connect all the information and know the truth.

He speaks looking at the ceiling instead of my face, following with his eyes imaginary patterns. "The fight at the bar wasn't that harmless after all."

"What do you mean?" I ask agitated.

"One of the guys is related to dangerous people. People I know too well," he explains with a hint of resignation in his voice.

"We will have other problems with the law?" I question worried, and ready to wake up my sister and make her work days and nights for a solution. 

"We?" he asks, raising a brow.

"What?" I shout in defense. We are a couple now. We are we, not you and I anymore. His problems are mine too. And I am not willing to share only the good moments with him, but also the ugly ones, even if he doesn't agree. I will teach him to share the burden.

"I like the pronoun we," he whispers, turning around and finally looking at me, and not to the blank wall.

"I like it too," I say and smile when I think about the progress we have made in the last few months.