Pedestrian |✓

|46| m a r s h m a l l o w s

Movies could never do justice.

This very moment, it was more than just my heart pounding heavily inside my ribcage, sweaty palms, butterflies that swarmed my stomach or the shallow gasp that escaped my parted lips.

It was definitely more than that. It felt like all the wind inside of my body left then suddenly came back with so much force that I almost got knocked down on the floor. It was that intoxicating feeling of blood rushing through my veins as my heart drummed in a rhythmic fast pace that warmed cheeks despite the cold. It was that unexplainable feeling that ran through me.

I didn't know what to do. For a second I was tempted to slam the door to his face and bolt, securing myself underneath piles of thick duvets. Then, I felt this burning urge inside me - it was this bright, tingling fire that was crippling in my heart that made me want to jump the space between us ans wrap my arms around his neck - just like where it used to be.

But one thing that I didn't expect to feel and to settle, was the anger that surged inside me. It was full venom - poisonous and unforgiving. And the victim? It was more me than him.

"Anna," he whispered in recognition as if he couldn't believe I was really standing in front of him.

My throat tightened at the sight of longing and affection that flashed through his eyes. Unlike what they say in most books and how they depict it in movies, he still looked very much the same.

He didn't have a wrinkled shirt or hair that hadn't been through a hot shower. He didn't have dark bags under his eyes. He looked the same. The very same half-disheveled, half-combed back brown hair that I've ran my fingers through for alot of times already. Same warm hazel eyes that I always loved looking at. He even opted for his usual get up - printed blue tee, faded jeans and Chucks. Only this time, he was clad in a thick jacket and a navy blue beanie.

And seeing him like that, somehow hurt more. How come he was okay while I was in shambles, trying to balance myself up as I stuggled not to fall to deep into the abyss he put me in.

But at the same time, seeing him again, it made me want to end both of our misery by kissing him with all I could give. But the moment he reached out his hand to touch me, I quickly back away. Afraid that his skin would send my heart deeper to a dark oblivion of pain.

His lips parted slightly at my refusal as he hastily retracted his hand and shoved it inside the pocket of his jeans.

"I-I'm sorry. Uh, I didn't mean to, I mean, um," I spluttered out frantically. Embarrassed, I avoided his hazel eyes that lingered on my face as I fidgeted with the door handle.

He glanced at my hand that was tightly wrapped around the gold-colored door handle before meeting my gaze. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "Maybe we could um, I don't know - talk?"

Talk.

He wanted to talk.

He wanted to talk after three days.

I lifted my head to look at him. He still awkwardly stood there, a hand shoved inside his pocket as he waited for my reply. I pursed my lips and sighed tiredly. Mentally preparing myself for the words that would come out of my mouth. "Who told you I was here?"

"Patrick."

Of course. I chose to ignore what he said and shook my head. "What's left to talk about, Austin? Tell me."

My voice sounded tired, resigned. As if it lost all its energy and everything was sucked out. And I guess, I was - more resigned than tired. Because if you're tired, you could rest for little then come back bouncing again, but what I felt, it was different.