Two strangers. One room. And it doesn't end there.
Rhys Hayes has been diagnosed with dyscalculia. He finds it easier to avoid talking than have to reveal his secret: why he can't tell the time, or why he doesn't remember directions, or why he just...
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March 23rd:
✿ Verena ✿
I take a bite out of the pancake, while mentally making a note to stop spending too much money on food. Rhys sits across from me on the bed, eating the last of his plate and looking towards mine.
I slowly move my plate closer to myself when Rhys's phone rings. I eat as I listen to him curiously.
"Hi Mom," He starts.
Is this when I get to hear him speaking nice? No shouting or groaning?
"Yeah, no," He continues, standing up and turning away. I take the opportunity to shove a huge piece of the pancake into my mouth, just how I like it. Suddenly, he turns around and stares at me wide eyed.
"Wha?" I shrug, "It tastes better this way."
He quickly puts a finger on his lips asking me to shush.
"No one?" He says.
Is his Mom dumb or not?
"Yeah, fine, it was a girl," Rhys says, extremely annoyed.
Not.
"Just some girl."
"I have a name, you idiot," I say, eating the last bite.
"Yeah, I'm living with her...... no, I don't know her. She's a stranger.... no she doesn't have the virus."
"Okay..... what does she look like?" He says and I feel his eyes on me. I get up to put my plate away as I hear him say, "She looks uh- why does it matter?.... fine, she looks okay."
"Okay?" I mutter as I sit on the bed, crossing my legs.
"Yeah I should've..... No, I'm okay here. You don't have to worry."
"Bye," He finally says and sets the phone on the side table, before turning to look at me.
"My Mom, she worries too much," He sighs and I nod.
He lays down on the bed beside me as I sit with my palms on the cheeks, reaching for my phone and scrolling through tiktoks.
"Fuck! I didn't mean to say that," Rhys scares me as he suddenly gets up and I drop my phone!
On my lap.
"Say what?" I ask, looking at him curiously.
He looks so nervous, I finally get what he's talking about.
"It's fine that you called me okay looking. Not everyone has good taste. I don't care what you think.... I do a little but not that much. It won't end my life, I think I look fine to go on for a few more years. Maybe even decades if God lets me," I say, "It would be awful to die young, right?"
