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iv. WHO CARES IF WE'RE UNDER THUNDER SHOWERS
(billie marten—heavy weather)
It was already early in the morning on a mundane Wednesday. The headache was just an indistinct memory in my mind now. I couldn't remember the dull pain I had felt on Monday morning, when my memory seemed to be filled with your (Felix's) stunning smile as I laid on my disheveled bed.
It was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen that would put Olympus Goddesses' beauty paled in compare to you. I was enchanted once more, I had no choice to be bewitched by your smile. That familiar tug that pulled my heartstring in every possible way you could imagine had come to mock me again.
I had panicked when you finally caught up to my entrenched posture. I could still hear your voice; deep, velvety, the most tempting predator that had ever bared their sharp teeth. What an alluring invitation for a weak prey such as myself, a hopeless mouse trapped and hanging dearly for its life, the future unknown yet predictable.
I was certainly surprised when your voice had mellifluously reached my ears. Your voice was addictive, the kind of lullaby that would lull me to sleep if you ever speak to me before bed or if you ever call me at one in the morning because of insomnia.
And I was definitely mortified when you caught my brazen stare. I knew my cheeks were probably tainted in red by then and there were no time for me to looked away, so I had only stared at you wide-eyed and frozen. But, God bless your soul, you were oh so nice. You had kept that smile plastered in your face mannerly.
And I told you my name, which only made your smile broaden. I had wondered what made you smile even brighter than the sun scorching the earth.
"Were you interested in my drawing?" You still had that smile, but it had taken a turn and somehow it looked fake now and had left a stinging sensation in my heart.
"Oh, uhm—" I had stammered, probably looking foolish in front of you. "Yeah, I was just, uhm—"
All of a sudden you cut me off midsentence, straightforwardly, calling out my name which only made the inside of my stomach lurched. "You don't want to be friends with me."
Your eyes were as sharp as the words you had thrown out from your mouth, slicing open a scar in my heart. That onyx obsidians of yours excavated mine without mercy. I didn't understand what you were trying to say to me, were you trying to reject me when I hadn't even started to make a move?
"Why?" I had drawled gently, a slight shake at the end.
"Because I'm going to die."
If you hadn't said it in a solemn expression, white-faced and grimly, I would had guffawed and choked in tears at your joke. But you weren't. You were deadly serious and I saw no witticism in your eyes.
"The second the clock strike at midnight and Sunday changed into Monday, by the last day of this week," you had paused for a moment, to search for my expression. "—someone will come and kill me."
Up until now, I still couldn't bring myself up to believe you. But the dread ghosting in your eyes kept haunting me, keeping me awake at night. And I wondered who would possibly kill someone as lovely as you?
