Forever, Yours ➹ Timothée Chalamet

7 | It's Become A Dance

VERA

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LET'S TALK ABOUT RED FLAGS.

Meant to be a symbol of warning. A giant, literal (and metaphorical) red flag that is supposed to tell you to stay away from a person or a situation. It's like this: If you see a red flag at a beach, it means you shouldn't swim. If you see a red flag by a person, it means you shouldn't stay—much less fall for them. That's what a red flag is.

Or in other words, it's something I made the stupid decision of ignoring.

"I'm sorry," I stammered, sinking into my chair, "what?"

Toni warned me about this, and I brushed it aside. That very moment in the basement, I knew something was up with him, yet I made the mistake of blaming it on his eccentric personality just because he was cute and I was desperate. I can't believe I mistook a red flag for a red heart.

Timothée leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms against his chest as he stared me down.

"I'm a thief," he said bluntly, his voice harsh and uncouth, "that day you found me in the basement? You were right, I was there to steal something."

"What?" I stammered again, using a one-syllable question to make up for my loss of words.

"I'm a thief, Vera," he said.

"I don't understand."

"It's easy to understand," he snapped, leaning forward, "you write, I steal. It's simple, it's life, it's—for God's sake, will you stop staring at me like that?"

It was only then that I realized my eyes were widened in horror, my back pressed up against my chair, and my mouth hanging slack open. A list of impossible and crazy things were starting to form in my mind, all of them trying to make this situation seem like a simple run-of-the-mill-type thing, but no, no, no, was this definitely not that.

This was not a red flag.

This was a stop sign.

"I have to leave," I stammered, grabbing my bag from under the table. My fingers were already starting to sweat, and I nearly dropped the handles in panic. "I have to go."

"Vera," Timothée said calmly.

"I'm going home."

"Vera."

"I'm sorry, but I should."

"Vera."

"Please stop saying my name like that, you're freaking me out more than I already am."

"Vera," he said again, rising from his chair and placing his hands on the metal table between us. He didn't look like he was fooling around anymore, and the sharp glare in his eyes told me he never was. "Sit."

I sat.

I shouldn't have, but the way he said it was like flicking on a button and making me feel controlled. A robot. A puppet. I hated it, and I wanted to get up and leave, but now his eyes were stuck on me and I couldn't feel my legs anymore.

Slowly moving back into his chair, he never moved his gaze, a curl falling over his eyes as he watched me silently.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I choked out into the thin air, splitting the quiet like a knife.

He frowned. "Why do you think?"

My mind was running wild at this point, painting stains on perfect memories that shouldn't be touched. I took one look at him, the boy in front of me, and for the first time I didn't see someone I admired. I saw someone I feared.