Moving On

Moving On (2)

Chapter Two

Three hours later, I was practically hyperventilating. I didn't feel so confident anymore. Why had I said yes? What had possessed me into telling a stranger I would meet them for dinner without even conversing with them for a minute? Christ, the only word I had spoken to him was my approval to his question.

I was dressed in the only slightly pretty outfit I owned. It included a black flowy skirt reaching my knees and a long-sleeved white turtleneck. I paired it with the only footwear I owned other than my sneakers: my ugly black flats.

I was sat on my bed, head in my hands, breathing in deeply, then out, then repeating the process over and over again. I couldn't even cancel. I would have if I had the chance but I didn't get Vincent's contact number to inform him.

And I even called Dani to ask for his number, but she was clueless too. Meaning I had to go to the restaurant, no ifs, ands or buts.

Dear Diary,

I know this was meant to be about my ex-boyfriend, but it seems like I've put myself in rather a twist. I know you will hate my guts for being so stupid so soon (well it has been six months, I'm not sure if that really counts as 'soon'), but I kind of really felt like I should do this.

But of course I regret it. And it hasn't even happened yet. Let me explain. See, this morning when I was so involved in telling you about The Jerk Who Must Not Be Named, Vincent Nicholls, ahem, yes, I know that's a beautiful name, his eyes are much better, so Vincent asked me out on a date.

Who is this guy, Vincent? Best friend? No. Roommate? No. Colleague? Nope. Stranger? Yes. Exactly.

I know, I know. Call me stupid, call me dumb, but really what could I do? I needed a break from all the sadness and I really thought Vincent would help. (And of course, I couldn't really resist his eyes).

So what's the problem right? I mean, if Vincent seems like a good guy, then everything should be alright, right? Wrong. See, the thing is, I'm not good with guys. To put it more straight, I suck at interacting with them. I freeze. Literally. I just freeze, stand still, and stay quiet until they freak out and leave.

Actually, that's what I thought Vincent would do this morning. But I was wrong. His reaction was quite different. Very different, actually. He asked me out. I mean, how is it possible for him to like me? I'm boring. Like extremely boring. All I do is read. And read. And then read some more.

Maybe he likes that. Maybe he's a closet reader. But what's the probability he knows that I read excessively? I've only seen him once, that too today. And the most he could know about me after today was that I'm shy, nervous, and crazily impulsive.

I'm sure Vincent is a nice guy. I just don't know if I'm ready. It's too soon, isn't it?

The doorbell rang, freezing my hand in its tracks. My fingers gripped the pen more tightly as I wondered who could be outside my apartment. I took a deep breath, shut my diary, dusted off my outfit and made my way to the front door.

The only disadvantage of my apartment was that it did not have one of those peekyholes that could be  used to check who's outside. It didn't have the chain lock that stopped people from coming inside either.

So really, if there was a burly guy with a chainsaw coming to murder me outside my door, I would be screwed as soon as I opened it.

The locks clicked and I swung open the door only to reveal a person holding a giant bouquet in front of their face. They were wearing dark blue jeans and a white tee. The bouquet was obstructing my view of their face.