bare [h.s.]

Bad Decisions

"Was she okay?" He asks, but my eyes are focused on the road.
I shouldn't have gotten into the car, and Ally's face as we sped off
was a mixture of
hurt, disappointment, hate.
She didn't move out the way
as Elijah backed the car out of
the space.
It was almost like
she wanted to be hit.
Almost.

"She'll be fine. She's dramatic," I say flatly, but I don't believe
my own words.
I'll stop by her house tonight,
I tell myself,
and make up for my
bad decision earlier.

Elijah's house isn't too far away.
It's a small but cozy home,
a perfect size for him and his dad,
he tells me.
As we get out,
I expect him to
open the door for me,
but he doesn't.

"Welcome to my lovely, well, decent home," he says,
kicking a pair of black boots
away from the door.

"Is anyone home?" I ask,
peering around the corner.
Only pieces of furniture stand
before us, organized neatly
to fill the room.
Only furniture, no one else.

"No, just us. Is that okay?" He asks from behind me, and I'm hesitant
to move further.
My throat feels dry
and my stomach twists in knots.
Why did he bring me here?
I don't know this guy,
what was I thinking?
I wasn't thinking, obviously.
If I was, I would be with my best friend inhaling cheese pizza and sobbing on each other's shoulders.

His hand touches my shoulder
and I dare not look at him.
"Is everything okay?"

"I'm not comfortable--"
I begin, and his face turns a shade
of white before my eyes.

"Oh no, this isn't what you think.
I thought we could talk a bit.
You know, get to know one another better?" He explains,
and I let out a sigh of relief
while my cheeks turn red.

And we do exactly that.
Discuss futures,
childhood memories,
what makes us tick.
I study his face,
how his eyes widen when
thinking of what he enjoys,
how a little crease forms
on his forehead
when remembering a bad memory.
And as he talks about the past,
I can't help but wish to be the one who makes that little frustrated crease fade away.