ALL WE SEEM TO DO IS TALK ABOUT SEX

4 - lauren

...when it's just hanging off your back.

i drive to her house despite knowing that it's very unlikely that she'll get inside my car. it's highly unlikely, given the statistics, that a person with ocd would be uncomfortable in cars; but, given the state of mine (only just about holding itself together, chocolate wrappers and crisp packets strewn all over the floor), i don't blame her.

it's weird, i've never been as worried about a date. it's the first time i've ever been nervous about taking a girl out. usually, it's a movie, some popcorn, maybe a short walk, then something in the backseat of my car and a small cheek kiss at her front door. i don't usually call girls after the first date, but it's not really as if they mind. they're not in it for the long run either.

am i a bad person?

possibly.

it's a debate i've had with myself many times in the past; it's always to no avail - i reach the conclusion that, yes, i am. how can i not be?

am i blaming my mental health condition? i could do. but i won't. i'll blame me instead. yeah, i'm an asshole. so what? there are worse things to be. then again, maybe i'm a nice asshole, an endearing asshole, given the fact that i'm possibly freaking out about taking out the most amazing girl i've ever met. it's only been eight hours. my brain is struggling to cope. she's amazing.

so, i'm in my car, disgusting and old as it is, outside her doorstep. it's slightly alarming that she was willing to happily tell me where she lives, despite only knowing me for a day. but maybe i should learn something from her incredibly trusting nature.

i could be a serial killer. but i'm nowhere near cool enough to pull that off.

i should have thought of something else to do with her, but watching the city lights go off just seemed like the perfect thing to do. it seemed like something she would appreciate, like something she would understand.

so, i cleaned my car, sorted all my shit, prepared a blanket and pillows (because it's still slightly cold in late february), and drove to her house. her door, which didn't look at all scary before, is now the most intimidating thing i have ever seen. and i've got to knock on it, so she knows i'm here. but everything is so much more difficult to do, to say.

what are you supposed to say on a first date? hey, my name is lauren, i'm a dumb fuck, nearly eighteen, and would like take out your sixteen year old daughter. why do i have blankets in the car? i wanted to make sure she didn't get cold. i promise i'm not planning on driving to a side street, spending a few minutes with her then bringing her back. i don't think she's like every single other girl i've ever taken out on a date. i won't bullshit you with all the "she's special" shit, you don't look stupid, but i truly think she's different.

how likely is it that they'll believe that?

shit, they'll probably be able to smell my reputation from the moment i walk up to their door.

i can imagine her dad, asking how many girls i've taken on dates in the past week, how many times i've said the same things in the past month, how many girls i've fucked in my car, how many girls i've kissed in the movie theatre, how many girls i've taken to the park, how many girls i've walked with around miami. how many girls' parents i've met, how many girls' little sisters i have played with.

the answers make me sick, so i would expect nothing else from them.

i'm just about to give up, just about to start the car, turn around and leave. but i know i can't do that to camila. i know it would devastate her. if i know her like i think i know her, she's likely stressing over what she's wearing, how long it will take me to get there, what time i'll knock on the door.