His Paper Heart ✓

•19|His Heartbeat

AS I RISE FROM THE LONG SLUMBER, I notice the air is cooler and damp, smells of wet grass and the woody fragrance of Gray's cologne. I don't move, everything is blurry. I shut my eyes for a while then lever both eyelids up with a sigh. The first thing that spins into my foggy memory, is the conversation with my mother, then, Gray, his sister, the party. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and sigh again. The room is dark, letting the little flecks of faux stars on the ceiling illuminate. I knock something off my nightstand as I search for the lamp. I flip the switch and the bright, white light gracefully meanders through the room.

My ears resonates to the squeak of my bed as I sit up. My heart basically skips a beat when I see Gray's broad shoulders, leaning against my door. His hands are buried in the pockets of his hooded jacket and his eyes are narrowed at me, as if wondering what is wrong with me. Everything is wrong, i think. I exhale deeply as I put on the tube on once again to breathe properly.

I blink. "Gray, what are you doing here?"

"Pick you up for the event at Bambino so imagine my surprise when I show up here and find you snoring in that little bed of yours," he says.

I kneel on the bed. A cold weight settles in my stomach, convinced that this is my only chance to meet his sister yet I can't go to that event. And why is he wearing jeans, a jacket and combat boots to a formal event?

"My mom said I can't go. . ."

"When did you start lying to me?" he asks.

"I have nothing to wear."

"We'll stop by a boutique first, come on."

"You probably haven't seen your sister in a while and I don't want to be the third wheel so," I whisper, playing with the hem of my shirt.

He doesn't speak, he just attentively stares at me, causing a strange feeling to creep up my neck. I stare down at my hands for a long moment, and I can feel his gaze still on me, waiting for the truth. But I am dominated by profound sadness and it feels one word out of my mouth will break me down into an unending sea of tears. "The truth is," I say as I look back at him, my voice is soft, a bit strained, like someone has punched me in my gut and I'm still recovering. "They'll laugh. . ."

". . .and everyone wants me to be used to having a tube in my nose but I'm not. It makes me sad. Very, very sad. I am sorry but I wouldn't want to slow you down." Fire in the form of tears sting my eyes. He stays silent. I sit back down on my bed, breathless and he is still silent. "Say something," I whisper.

"I'm disappointed," he says.

"I know. . ."

"But I brought tacos." he leans down to the ground and pulls up a grocery bag. "I bought about twenty of these babies," he adds.

I laugh. "Twenty tacos?"

"Well the food truck guy thought I was hot and decided to ask me out by giving me free tacos so," he explains. "Shouldn't I have taken it? You think I'm leading him on?" he walks to my bed and slowly lies down beside me, placing the grocery bag in the little space between us.

"Definitely," I nod, "but hey, if you keep being a man whore we'll get free food."

"That is so shallow and so true," he says. I erupt with soft giggles as he digs into the bag and takes out two tacos and hands me one. "Did anyone ever tell you about how weird your laugh is?"

"Shut up!" I playfully roll my eyes. I stare at the side of his face for a moment and ask:

"Did you bring some of the good stuff?"