No Place Like Home ✔

Fifteen

I've said it once and I'll say it again. I have feelings for Adam Briggs. I've never met a soul quite like him, and I don't think I ever will meet anyone like him or anyone better than him in the near future. The future that once seemed so bleak but seemed a little more hopeful with him by my side. Was I being too hopeful?

I hadn't gone outside to beg that day. Instead, I'd decided to stay at home. 

I'd been sitting on my couch and staring at the James Bond book I'd bought with some of earnings for the past twenty minutes. I couldn't believe I'd done such a thing either. I thought I was done with reading after I'd sold the book two whole times when Adam had bought it for me. But, spending time with him made me want to think the way he did. It made me want to see the world through his eyes. 

I'd finished reading it in three hours. Three hours with five minute breaks where I'd sit and stare at the page with wide eyes after a shocking plot development. It was only the first book and I'd already grown so attached. It made me wonder why I even sold the book in the first place. Greed, that's why. Envy, that's why. Because you're a disappointment, that's why - my consciousness bellowed. 

That day felt quite different than the other few. There was something off. The air seemed a little different, the smell of my room when I woke up was different, I woke up in a mood I'd never experienced before and I was doing things I would've never dreamt of doing. I couldn't tell whether that was good or bad, I just let it happen. 

However, no matter how hard I tried to deny it and push the aching feeling away, I couldn't help but miss Adam. I'd been away from him for barely a day and I already missed his stupid little philosophical rants and his stupid little psychology based questions and that stupid little laugh of his. Stupid little things about him that I liked. 

Liked, not loved. Love is a strong word. 

I say it's strong because it's true.

On the days in which we fight, we fight like it's our dying wish. On the days in which we love, we love like we've never loved anyone before.

Come to think of it, I'd forgotten what loving someone really even felt like. Was love even real or was it just a concept you force yourself to believe? Do you only grow attached to that person emotionally and completely depend on them for your own happiness and label it love? 

I felt like a pathetic little amateur philosopher sitting there and pondering on the theory of love. It was something quite unexpected coming from me. Me? Thinking about love? What are the odds? I laughed at myself. 

Adam Briggs, just what have you done to me?

I decided to step out onto the porch for a minute or two with the book still in hand. When I opened the door, I was welcomed by a warm gush of air. It felt oddly relaxing yet captured my breath at the same time if that makes sense. I doubt it does but regardless, emotions never really make sense. 

And so I stood there like a fool bathing in the fresh air and the warm light of the Sun peeking out from translucent clouds. 

I closed my eyes for a second.

It was only a second.

And when I opened them, he was there.

I closed my eyes again.

I was dreaming, wasn't I?

I opened them once more.

He was still there.

He was staring at me, eyes wide open, mouth wide open. The newspaper he'd been holding fell to the road he was standing on and he took a few steps back. 

I don't know how I looked in that very moment. Did I look scared? Did I look guilty? Did I look regretful? Because that was all I was feeling in that very moment. I questioned how the amalgamation of the aforementioned emotions would present themselves onto my features. Did I look like a fool? Because that's what I was. 

"Adam," I said in a hurry.

"Don't," he interrupted.

How did it happen so soon? How did he figure out so soon? I could've spun the lie a little longer and told him I'd gotten a job and then show him the home I'd supposedly bought with the money I'd been earning. Why did he have to figure it all out?

He looked down at the James Bond book I was holding and let out a scoff. A scoff that didn't sound spiteful or nonchalant - it sounded hurt. He was hurt. I could see it in the tears beginning to form in his eyes. I could see it in the way his lower lip quivered. I could see it in the way he looked away, blinking furiously, refusing to believe what he was seeing. 

"Just don't," he finished, letting out a shaky laugh. 

And so I didn't.

"So it was all a lie?" he questioned, still not looking me in the eye. "You're not really... really homeless? Were you pretending this entire time?"

"Yes," was all I said.

He said nothing. He only turned on his heel and began walking in the other direction. 

I didn't think twice. I didn't even think once. I dashed right after him. Something I shouldn't have done - or should have, it's up for you to decide. Because in the very moment I stepped foot onto that damned road, I missed the flash of the headlights of the oncoming vehicle. I missed the sound of the driver honking the horn in a state of frenzy. I missed the sound of the wheels of the vehicles screeching to a halt, staining the road. 

Yet alas, it was too late. 

I'd missed all that but I didn't miss the rush of pain that was sent throughout my body at the impact. I didn't miss the pain when my head hit the warm pavement below. I didn't miss the feeling of the warmth of the blood oozing out onto the road below me. 

I didn't miss how much my heart hurt when he only kept walking, never sparing me a second glance.

Had he not heard? Had he not realized I had been hit?

That was what I wanted to believe.

The driver stepped outside in a hurry and rushed to my side, shaking me with so much force, they were making me lose my state of consciousness at a faster rate than I initially was. 

Try as you might, stranger, but your efforts will be fruitless. 

"It's not your fault," was all I told them. 

Because I didn't want them to carry the weight of that guilt. If I go, I go with peace, should I not?

I could feel the life leaving my body - slowly yet surely. And so I simply shut my eyes and let it happen. 

Remember what I said in the beginning of this journey? 

They say you have seven minutes of brain activity left when you die. Your brain plays a dream-like sequence of all your memories. 

Remember when I said it has no relevance to my story? Perhaps I lied.

Because all I saw in those seven minutes was you.

You, Adam Briggs.

You.

Only you.