Bad Habits

22

“Why do people have to make things complicated?”

I pick up a thin twig lying beside a rock in the dirt. I begin to draw random patterns into the grainy ground trying to focus solely on this one thing. If I look elsewhere I lose all train of thought.

“I mean, when I was a little girl I could do anything..or so I thought. I could be whatever I wanted to be.” I continue. “I could be a princess and that’s exactly what I was.”

“..an ya can’t now..beh a princess?”

“I know..it’s silly.” I respond embarrassed.

His hand instantly topples mine stopping it from making abstract lines into the dirt. I try hard to ignore the warmth of his touch, the tingling sensation of attraction eating me alive from the inside out.

His voice is deep but soft, “Yeh can beh a princess if ya want.”

“No.” I finally turn to look at him.

The sleeveless white shirt he wears makes the dark ink on his arms look more vibrant. I follow the beautiful patterns up his toned arms. I catch site of the black sunglasses hanging loosely around his milky neck. His lips are a faint pink. I continue finally connecting with his blue eyes. They are clear, as clear as the mid day Sunday sky just above us. His hair is a mess, fluffy and going in every direction but I like it.

I shake my head slightly to rid my mind of the distracting thoughts. I need to stay focused and not think of him in that way. I’m not even supposed to be speaking to him any longer. He managed to corner me in a vulnerable state.

“It’s..you see..uh..it’s not that simple..” I manage to get out.

“den make it simple.”

“I can’t!” I say loudly. “I’m sorry..” I apologize.

“don beh d person dat makes it complicated.” He says easily looking ahead of us.

His statement brings me to the realization that I’m more upset with myself than anyone else. He is right. I am being the person that makes it more complicated than it has to be.

“Ya should listen ta yer hart yeh kno..”

“I wasn’t aware you knew anything about heart.” I say out loud.

“I’m not who yur upset with.”

“How do you know that?” I ask a bit irritated.

He looks into my eyes, “I did nuthin ta anger ya.”

“You can’t know that.”

“curse I do..”

“So you doing whatever it was you did with the girl at the bar didn’t anger me? It wasn’t wrong of you?” I ask.

“Weh’r not datin princess..” he laughs.

“So you’re not denying it?”

“Will it make yeh feel bettah ta kno d truth?” He asks seriously.

I ponder his question. The jealous curious side of me is jolting to know what happened between them but this new found fearful side of me is closing my ears to the thought. Do I really want to know? Do I want to feel whatever it will make me feel? Do I want the truth?

“Yes.”

“Weh talked.” He doesn’t blink.

“That’s it?” I ask confused.

“Ya. Dat all right luv?”

Relief floods through me when I sense his honesty. I don’t understand it, knowing that I can trust his every word. It’s just a strong feeling or maybe, just maybe it’s hope. Then again hope can cause devastation, heartbreaking destructive devastation. It’s hard to keep myself from going there and I just don’t have much strength left at the moment to stop myself.