Just Knowing You

Chapter 29: Otis

Why have I done all these things to keep me from her?

She's the best thing that's happened to me in a while, and I really wish I wasn't so selfish as to keep pursuing her. I'm aware I might hurt her again, and there's the sweatshirt.

That sweatshirt from days ago when I made out with her in her room; it scared me. I don't know if it's hers, or if it's some other guys. That's why I need to come at this from a new perspective. I need to be her friend.

The hurt I've caused her is irredeemable in my eyes, but if I bring our relationship back to the beginning, maybe I'll have a chance... somehow.

That kiss on Sunday meant something and I'll be damned if I waste it by giving up. If I wreck it so help me god I don't know what I'll do with myself.

My whole life doesn't revolve around Genevieve, but the past month has sure been a whirlwind full of her—her face, her dumbass jokes, her weird as fuck conversations, her everything—it makes it that much more comical that I've been resisting this whole time.

I haven't found the willpower, since meeting her, to not care about her.

She's just a high school girl, there's lots of those. There's also girls out in the real world that we'll both be entering soon enough and I can't keep thinking about Genevieve all day and night, but I tried to push her away, and that didn't work.

I wish I could just be in her little world and live in a place where we didn't have to worry about whether or not we'd last, if she really does like me, or if this is even worth it. But, I have to be present and figure out if I regret the kiss, and if I don't... what does that mean for us.

Fuck I feel so cheesy talking about things like this, 'us'? There is no us. Who the fuck do I think I am? Shakespeare?

Well Shakespeare wouldn't currently be looking at cameras deep in thought trying to figure out all this shit in his head while calculating the price versus quality of each camera.

He'd be sitting, writing, and being all deep and shit.

Why am I even talking about fucking Shakespeare?

I've been a photographer for a long time, not professionally obviously, but it's a hobby of mine I've lost. I don't know when the last time I've have a working camera was, I think the last one I had was my dads. His was dope too, but it stopped working when I moved here and I've never had the time or money to get a new one.

It seems like the right time now, though and I thought I should take it back up again.

The bad part about mulling over all this shit in my brain is that it literally makes me exhausted. All I want to do right now is go home and sleep, but I think I've secured my camera and I have some more plans for tonight.

I grab the leather strap as I pick up the vintage technology and run my fingers over the buttons looking over everything to make sure it's not damaged.

For a camera that might be a couple years old, it's perfect, without damage and on clearance, it's a miracle no one has snatched it up by now.

I walk over to the front of store with a half smile on my face that I'm finally doing something I haven't had the courage to since my dad left us.

"Just this then?" The cashier looked over the tag and prepared some brown paper to wrap around it with a paper bag to carry it.

"Could I also get a roll of film?"

"Yeah, for sure." The lady smiles at me and turns around to grab a film roll hanging up in the wall before tossing it in the paper bag. "That'll be $79.99."