Ten Dates

A lot can go wrong on a date.

It always starts at the same point, though - when I meet the person I am going on a date with.

It can be me. The problem one. Or it can be the guy that smelled like a cesspool. Or the one that admired my disinterest in how I look. Or the one that compared me to a fat penguin. Or, of course, it can be me.

Like hell it is.

My mother sees it differently. And being the stubborn, intrusive person she is, she won't quit until I hang on a man's arm. And it apparently does not even matter who that man is. Otherwise, how could she throw me to men like that, right?

To get her out of my back, I agreed to ten dates.

Ten evenings. That is survivable, I thought. Then I found myself in an acute need of rescue. Ten times.

What I did not realize is that when someone needs rescue, it simply requires a doctor.

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Warning: Mature language!
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I open my eyes. They lock with his and thousands of words of unknown meaning start sparkling in a silent conversation our minds won't be ever able to decipher. I don't mind, though. I am too lost in the two blue depths of his eyes.

In that moment, I know it.

I have been falling down through these blue skies for too long, I am out of my strength to keep myself in the air. I was never supposed to pass through them undamaged, ignoring the storm coming my way could never save me from its lightnings.

I crushed.