leaked (l.h.)

1

t.w.// abuse

Tyler," I say, skipping to my where my boyfriend sits on the edge of my twin sized bed. I smile widely as I sneak up behind him, climbing onto the lumpy mattress and wrapping my arms around his neck. "I love you."

My bedroom is nothing more than ordinary. It's small, but I tend to make use of the space in a way that gives the illusion of it being much bigger than it is. My bed, made neatly with a white fuzzy cover and pink throw blanket, smells like Tyler most days. The hardwood floors, white painted dresser and fairy lights that cover each corner of my little oasis is my home. When I'm not at rehearsal or in the bleachers at one of Tyler's basketball games, I'm here. Or Target.

And today, My Mom and Step Father are out on their monthly night-out. So it's just me, Tyler, and that damn game of Fortnite.

"Babe, shh," he says, gently pushing me off as he clicks the buttons on my switch. "I'm almost done."

I let go of him, sitting at his side as I watch his thumbs move almost like a well-oiled machine. Choreographed, like a dance that'll end in fatality on the other players. I like playing Fortnite almost as much as he does, but I've got the common courtesy of putting my phone and switch down when I'm in his company. I guess he doesn't.

Brown, curly hair falls down in front of matching brown eyes as he plays. His face, covered in carefully placed freckles with pink tinted cheeks from the chill of the early May weather. His eyelashes flutter towards me as he notices me staring, and as I reach forward to move the curls out of his eyes I watch as he moves his tongue between his lips. He does that when he's focused.

"I can't wait for our date this weekend," I say, begging for some sort of attention from him. He leaves in May, and I know that our days are numbered. I just want him to spend time with me and away from any sort of electronic distraction before I go completely touched starved. "Can you?"

"Huh?" He raises his eyebrow. He goes to open his mouth to say more, but decides against it. Instead, he mumbles an "Oh, yeah."

Tyler used to tell me that I was the most beautiful girl he had the pleasure of knowing. And I never had a doubt that he meant it, since I've heard it countless times from boys before him. I'm not ugly, and I'm certainly aware of my effect on people. But despite their constant compliments that may or may not sound creepy as hell, I try to keep myself grounded. I don't want to be all beauty and no substance.

"You were going to say something," I sit up, shaking my head as I give up on conversation with him. "I wish you'd tell me. You know,
like how you used to tell me things."

I walk to my vanity, painted white like all the other furniture in my room. But if you look closely at the sides, the paint is chipping. I guess that'll be something I should work on in the future.

I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I sit on the edge of the bench my step-father had made me. I listen to the soft creak of old wood and loose screws, picking up my hairbrush and slowly running it through my thick hair. It's black, darker than any other hair I've seen before. My eyes, almond shaped and brown are nothing like my Mother's. And I guess this is why they think I'm adopted - since my Mom and Step Father are white and I am not. But I am a product of a failed marriage between an Asian man and a white woman. My Father didn't want me, and I guess my Mom was stuck with a child who looked nothing like her. That is, if you look past the messy freckles across my nose. Perhaps that's the only thing we have in common.

"Okay, I'm done." Tyler mumbles as he throws the Switch on my bed. I look at him through the reflection of my mirror and watch as he lays back. He's never had trouble being comfortable in my home, and although I wish he wouldn't wear shoes in my bedroom (I've told him this more times than not) he still seems to act as if it is his own. "But I did have something I wanted to talk to you about."