Listen To Your Heart ~ Book One.

Listen to your Heart~Part3

"Damn...fuck dude. I got my snot all over your shirt. Sorry dog."

"Huh?" (I glance down. Sure enough, my shirt was a mess. Damn.)

"Well... you can't wear it like that." (She says.)

(She pulls my shirt off and tosses it onto the floor, giving me a once-over.)

"Damn. You're a hunk of meat...but you can tell you're an older guy. How old are you?" 

"I'm 27 years old."

(She laughs, sticks out her tongue, and flashes a loser sign at me.)

"Fuck...you're old!"

"I can't change when I was born."

"No... No, I suppose you can't."

(She moistens two fingers with her tongue and slowly trails them down my chest to my stomach.)

"Still... not bad. A muscular chest and tight abs. "Do you exercise?" 

"Yeah, I run sometimes."

"Really? How many miles a day?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"How far the cops chase me." 

(She notices the small grin on my face and playfully punches my arm.)

"Smartass!"

"Yep," I reply, wondering how I could talk so easily to someone I hardly knew.)

"Can I ask you to do me a favor?"

(I shrug) "Sure."

(She wraps her arms around my neck, sliding herself completely into my lap.)

"I need someone to talk to, and when I say talk, I mean someone who will genuinely listen to me. Don't talk or lecture me. Don't judge me, and don't offer advice because I'll probably just do the opposite. Just listen. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

(She rests her head against my chest once more, starting to talk. She shares stories about her life, her unexpected rise to popularity. The never-ending stress of her tours, along with the countless interviews and photo shoots. The chronic pain in her knees, the sleepless nights caused by night terrors. Her friends treating her differently, struggles with body dysmorphia, and reliance on antidepressants. The abusive relationships she experienced and how she found it easier to talk to her therapist about them rather than her close friends. She has struggled with depression and anxiety throughout her life and was diagnosed with Tourette syndrome during childhood.)

(I sit there, arms wrapped around her waist, listening. It brings back memories of my own reliance on medication for epileptic seizures, and I can't help but wonder how someone her age manages to handle so much crap.)

(She takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh.)

"Thank you." (She says softly.)

"You're welcome."

(Suddenly, without warning, she lifts her head and swiftly brushes her lips against mine before pulling away.)

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm not usually this impulsive, especially with someone I don't even know."

"That's okay."

"Just, okay? Wow, thanks for making me feel like I'm thirteen years old all over again."

(She looks away, and I sit there wondering, what did I say wrong? Then it hits me.)

"Oh...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say your kiss was just okay. What I meant is that it's okay for you to kiss me...if you want to."

"Oh, so you're saying you enjoyed my kiss?"

(What was it about this young woman that compelled me to blurt out the first thought in my head?)