breather | s.m

4

| 4 | F O U R 

Today is Sunday and Sunday is okay. But I feel as if I am waiting the entire time. The hours are seamless and long, turning with the roll of rain over the house. And I hate this. This waiting feeling. You shouldn't be this important to me yet, but I still find myself hanging on our previous interaction, moments slowly fading as if the rain were eating them away.

I'm on the couch with Olive, on my back, staring at the ceiling. Rain drums over the roof like a thousand fingertips. I curl and uncurl my toes, my body stiff and unmoving, feeling my skirt around my legs and my hair down my shoulders. I roll over onto my side, staring at Olive through pieces of my hair. She's looking ahead, eyes on the television screen.

I'm bored, I tell her, and she risks a glance at me. She seems significantly more involved in whatever is playing.

Find something to do then, she tells me bluntly. I give her a frown and she sighs. Sorry. I'm super into this show. We could do something when it's over, if you want. I've got some finals to study for, that's all.

It's fine, I tell her, rolling myself into a sitting position. I blink the head rush away, taking a deep breath through my nose. I walk into the kitchen, my bare feet padding on the tiles, digging around for something to eat. There isn't much. Being young and broke was a lot less glamorous than they made out in the movies.

My phone buzzes and something grips at my stomach, which I grudgingly try to ignore as I pick it up and glance at the screen. And it's you, I think. Probably. It's not a number I know.

Hey, it reads. It's me.

Specific, I type back.

What, are there a lot of strange boys you met at bars texting you?

You never know. I could be quite the catch.

And I can imagine him laughing at this. I watch the three dots wiggle until another message pops up. Let me find out tonight.

What's happening tonight?

It's a surprise.

I grin, biting my lip. I hate this. This girlishness. I try to remain cool and collected but I still find myself here, an absolute stereotypical girly mess. Olive would really hate this. I tell him, Surprise, huh? Now might be the time to tell you I'm not much of a surprise kind of girl.

It's good. Promise.

Fine, I type. If you say so. I'll take a risk and believe you.

Great :) I'll pick you up at 8?

Sounds good, I type, and I tell him my address. What do I need to wear? Give me a hint at that, at least.

Pretty casual, he says. Just what you'd wear out to the shops or something. The three dots do their wiggle again before disappearing, then appearing again a moment later. I was going to tell you something about the dress code but I think that might give it away.

What is it?

Nothing ;) I'll see you at 8.

I tell Olive about my date and she's not entirely impressed.

What, you met him at a bar? That's never really a good sign, dude. You don't know anything about him.

He lived in Canada, for a while, I retort. Olive rolls her eyes.

Oh, great, so you know he's sort of polite and into maple syrup. Pivotal information.

That's racist.

A little. But he could be lying. You know literally nothing about him, or where you're going. If there will be people there. I mean, he could be taking you to a fucking park in the middle of nowhere. Don't you think these things through?

Olive, stop being such a shit, I bristle. But even as I'm saying it I know she's somewhat right, even if she is overreacting. I really know nothing about Simon at all. Or where we were going.

Olive's expression softens. Look, I'm sorry. But I'm only looking out for you. That's what friends are for.

Friends are for getting excited about dates with you, I tell her.

She sighs again. I know. It's just - after everything with that happened with Carol, I'm a bit uptight, you know?

That sobers me. Olive's sister Carol had nearly been abducted on a date once, from a guy she'd only met twice. I look down at my shoes. And I was getting in his car, with no idea where we were going.

Olive stands, putting her hands on my shoulders. I'm sorry. That was totally out of line of me. I hope you have fun.

Thanks, I say, going to my room. But it was too late. It was already ruined, just a little. It is all I can think about as I change into jeans and a top. Afterwards I lie on my bed and stare at nothing. I think about Carol. I think about her sobbing in our apartment and I don't want that to be me.

I close my eyes, breathing in. But that couldn't be you, right? I can trust you. Couldn't I?

I open my eyes at the sound of a knock at the door. 

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Hope anyone who reads this enjoys it! Shoutout to @bloomstheflower for being such a lovely human being <3 check out her s.m story! It's super epic!

xxx