All Lights On Us

C14: No Promises

Klara POV

No, no, no, no, no, no.

My brain is on fire. He can't. I won't. I would I? No.

"Woah, Klara calm down," Bishop lowers his head so that he's closer to my height.

"But Bishop. You. We. What?" I stutter as my chest moves fast with my rapid breathing.

"Klara stop panicking. Jesus Christ, what if I was actually proposing, this is how you would react?" Is face contorts with irritation but I'm more focused on him saying he's not proposing.

The panic attack dies down and my veins fill with relief. It's not the time. Not now. But not never either.

"We have so much shit surrounding us Bishop, now is just so not the time. We're in High School still. There's just too much," I close my eyes and try to calm down fully. 

He rolls his eyes and opens the ring box with one hand. Very none-proposally, which I'm positive he did on purpose. His attitude turns my own slightly sour.

"Your point is proven Mr. Ego," I snap and glance down at the ring. "Damn it." 

I want to frustrated at his irritation, but I can't. The ring is beautiful. The silver band is engraved as a rope with tiny diamonds embedded within. The two sides meet at the top to form a figure-eight knot – the same knot I learned to tie in fat-camp. A dust of diamonds shower the outer layer of the knot. 

My throat clogs. All I want is to kiss him and accept the ring. But it means so much more than that. 

"It's promise ring," he says sheepishly. 

I nod. I know. It's a promise to tie the know, literally.

Bishop takes the ring and slides it on my ring finger of my left hand. Tears threaten my eyes but I continuously swallow them down, not wanting to ruin my makeup. Silly, but I'd rather my eyes didn't burn and look like a raccoon's for the rest of the evening. 

"Do you like it? Hate it? Come on, Klara. Give me something."

I rapidly nod my head a smile up at him, allowing my burning eyes to be seen. He then knows my silence wasn't one of distaste and happily grabs my hand with his and guides me to a table set up in the sand. 

A red cloth had been placed on the round table for two, two long white candles sit on top to light the plates and silverware. Candles are places sporadically in the sand – lighting our way. Bishop pulls out my chair and I sit while helping him to push me in. 

"This is a lot," I can't help but point out. 

He finds his own seat before sticking a finger into the collar of his shirt around his neck. He pulls at it slightly.

"You can take that off you know," I suggest.

Bishop pulls his eyebrows together and shakes his head.

"No, don't worry about me. This night is about you. I want to talk about you, what you like, where you want to go in life. All of it."

I look out at the water. It's the most relaxing thing to listen to and watch. Conversation has never been my forte. 

"I like a lot of things. Most of which have to do with you," I confess. 

He shakes his head. 

"No, I want to hear about what you liked to do before I knew you. What did you do to pass the days?"

"Well, I told you that I like to record my poems. That ate up a lot of my time, which is why I started in the first place," I muse. "I would write the poems in my worst depressed or angered state of mind and then make a beat to go along with it to distract me from the world."