Aurelio's Dilemma

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

Aurelio sent Leslie a pic of the card and still she couldn't recognize it. She said that it wasn't hers and that she hadn't left it, but as soon as she'd return from the reunion she'd meet up with him and figure out what the hell was going on. After that, she stopped responding.

Which left Aurelio in his room, staring at the card, still as a board. Confusion level way past maximum. Eventually he escaped his shocked trance, threw his phone onto his bed, then stood up. From stillness to hyperactivity: he bit his nail while he frantically paced the room, unable to stop moving for a milliesecond. His mind whirled. The world was reduced into one thing: this incident, this card, this utter bullshit.

How the hell didn't Leslie know about it?

It was her handwriting. Her signature. Her words. Unless...it was a prank? A sick, terrible prank. But why, who, how? No one could obtain the pic and the note in Leslie's exact handwriting, and no one had access to Aurelio's bedroom easily like that. There were no signs of breaking in, and his mom worked from home during the summer anyway--she would've noticed if anything weird like that happened.

So the entire thing made no sense. Again.

Turning around, Aurelio glanced back at his bed, hoping and not quite hoping the card had disappeared and none of this had really happened. Both scenarios would draw a conclusion about his mental state, and neither was a comforting one.

It was still there. Aurelio shuffled over. Sighing shakily, he reached a hand out to the nightstand's drawer and opened it.

The intention was to place the card inside and forget about it. To avoid it, really.

The intention definitely was not to find a pack of cigarettes in there.

Aurelio frowned and narrowed his eyes. "What..." he mumbled, then he scooted entirely over and, with jerky movements, picked it up; a few cigarettes were missing, and one was sticking out of the open lid.

Okay.

Okay, cool.

First, he'd forgotten his dad smoked. Then he'd spontaneously walked to his uncle's house and found his key in his pocket, and he still didn't how the hell it had ended up with him. Then this weird feeling about Blair, then his feelings for Leslie, then forgetting Leslie had a boyfriend. And Blair accusing him of smoking and breaking up because of it, even though he didn't have the slightest recollection of that.

Now this card. Now the cigarettes in his drawer.

Yeah, no.

Aurelio couldn't even avoid this shit anymore even if he wanted to.

Because all these issues he'd stashed aside in his head--all these little problems deposited on top of his biggest one--were glaring at him now, taunting him, telling him: are you happy now, you fucking idiot?

Aurelio let out a long breath and stared down at the items in his hands. He could wallow in the confusion till sunrise, and it would still be there. Still festering, still drilling into his sanity. And you know what?

He was sick of that. Sick of his own pattern, his own habits, his own self.

So he needed to talk to someone he trusted about this. Someone mature and patient enough to handle a situation as haywire as this, without overreacting and thinking he'd lost his mind.

Leslie.

Her first. Maybe she'd help him clear his mind and find an explanation for all of this. And if this didn't work, then, as much as Aurelio dreaded it, he'd have to tell his parents. And therapist. He hoped with all his heart that things wouldn't get there.