Nineteen

Chapter Sixty-Eight

I sit down and wait for him to speak. He sits up straight and doesn't say anything until I grab my shoes again.

"Okay," he huffs. "I'm telling you this mainly because I need to say it out loud and arrange my thoughts. I've been going crazy lately. I can't even sleep right," he says.

"Whenever I had you in the orientation, I thought you were nothing more than a freshman and I was just attracted to you because you were new."

He rubs his hands up and down his jeans; a nervous habit, I've learned.

"I was interested in you. I didn't know why, but I wanted to know more about you," he continues until I speak.

"What? Did you-"

"Let me finish, Emory!" he yells and grabs onto the ends of his hair.  He's uncomfortable, and I'm making it harder for him to say these things he's not used to saying out loud.

I just realize he isn't wearing a hat, and his flannel is missing. It's an odd look on him, but I haven't known him for no more than a month.

"I was nervous that day. After I left I spent the rest of the day wondering where you were, what your favorite color was, what classes were you taking, what will you wear. Stupid shit like that. When you came to the garage and I seen you with that boy I told myself you weren't my type, I could do better than you."

I'm slightly offended by this, but I let him continue anyway.

"I seen a a few copies of novels in your back car seat, and I've only read a few, but I picked my favorite one and read it over and over and filled the pages with color. I figured if I done this and gave the book to you, you would love it and read it like I did."

He rubs his hands over his jeans again. "Once I did, I thought the feeling would fade, but it didn't. It got worse. I wanted to know where you were all the time. When you were attacked, I felt like shit. I felt like I was the one who got the shit beat out of them, and I wish it were that way."

I am frozen. I'm not upset at hearing this stuff, and I know exactly why.

"I've had a few girlfriends, but none that I actually cared for. They were merely objects that I used. I keep myself up at night thinking about you, and it drives me crazy because it's a foreign feeling."

I feel the same way about him, and I've been trying to hide it.

"We would not be good together, and I'm not saying that we should date or anything. I'm just saying I have no idea what this power is you have over me, but it's driving me mad."

I think about him a lot, too. I just don't realize I do it so often.

"Emory?" he says.

The angry boy that I know is nowhere to be found. In front of me is a boy who said words that he would usually express as poison, but he used them as a way of relief. Instead of hateful remarks or yelling, he's sitting in front of me with a pained look, bearing feelings he doesn't understand.

"I feel the same way about you," I say.

He doesn't move when he replies. "You could never feel the way I feel about you. It sounds crazy; we've only known each other for a month."

His tone is cool, lacking all emotion from a few minutes ago. The sweet and unguarded Collin is fading away, no matter how hard I try to hold onto him.

"Not even a month yet," I try to joke. He takes my hands in his.

"I'm sorry for being a jerk."

It's like this person in front of me is a stranger. He showed emotion and apologized all in one night.

"It's okay."

"I'm hoping we can hangout and see where it goes," he says. 

I don't want to deny him, but I also want to see what happens. I shake my head and agree with him.

He looks down and awkwardly plays with his hands. "I don't know what else to say."