Our Little Home

Chapter 4// Mark

I went to my apartment that Saturday night hoping to talk to Trevor about my day with Alina. Of course, and as always he was not here. He probably was at some frat or house party, like the norm. For the rest of the night I couldn't help myself from wanting to know more about her. She was different than other girls I have dated or came close too. Unlike my interviews with ESPN or locals, Alina had a way of opening me up and peeling a layer back of me each time our conversation grew. I damn near had told her almost more about myself but luckily I didn't because she'd think I was a weird ass.

I was turning 21 years old in a few months and wanted to began my actual life by finding a woman to settle down with, graduate school, began a business and start a family. Those were the goals. Listening to Alina's plan on becoming a young adult psychologist and hoping to make a program for children in a degrading community to find a way out made me want to strive for better. Her talking about her future had curiously made me think what ours would be like if we were together. Seeing her light up even for the slightest moment about talking about her ideals was beautiful. Damn, she was perfect. She had the biggest smile planted on her face and she really was so in depth on what she wanted. Under all her attitude, comebacks and hasty remarks I had seen the positivity, care, loving and intelligent traits within her. That's what stood out the most to me disregarding her beautiful self image. She was deep although she wasn't meaning to. I knew she was hiding skeletons but it wasn't the time to bring that up.

She claims she don't know who she is meant to be yet or what she is destined for but I personally already see that she is graciously smart, generous and compassionate. Comparing us both, I feel as if we're both leaders and lead independent lives which at times suck because it gets hard. I can tell she can be vulnerable but like me, with stubbornness she won't admit to it. She backs away, swiftly and likes to change the subject which I find cute, but it won't always fly with me. I need for her to be as direct as she can, unreliability and mixed emotions are what I struggle with now, I can't have her become inconsistent with herself or me. Why was I being selfish? She wasn't mine, not yet at least.

Before going to bed I thought back to my childhood, I remembered all the fighting, yelling, slapping and pushing my mom and dad did at one another. My father, a successful man of his career, owning chains of health businesses, was also a cruel man, a failure at being a husband and father. The shittiest act he could've ever done besides putting hands on a woman would be remarrying a female only nine years older than me after my mom left him. My mother on the other hand was a generous and kind teacher but weak when it came to sticking around for her kids. Since my mom left which was 13 years ago I didn't take many relationships I had with girls in high school seriously.

In college I did the same thing up until I began dating Marissa. Her stuck up ass always seemed to maintain a reputation and I just couldn't handle that. I tried at first to start a personal and private relationship with her but the shit got to her head. And stupidly I got fucked over in the end of it all. I will confess that I began to love or feel something for Marissa, I wouldn't admit it to her because her intentions are highly questionable but I believed that she was going to be who I ended up with after college and soccer.

I hadn't realized I fell asleep that night until I woke up to my alarm beeping extremely loud at 5 o'clock. I had early morning soccer warm ups with the team and just for the sake of it, I wasn't prepared. I tried to recall any dream I have had but nothing came to mind. It's been absolutely years, over ten years ago specifically that I haven't had a dream that I could mentally recall.

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"How was morning practice?" Trevor asked sitting across from me in a booth at the caf.

Since practices officially started with soccer, the caf chef prepared my daily meals for the week which was completely brutal. Coach expected me to eat very little portions and bulk on proteins which wasn't going to happen at my end of the spectrum. Knowingly I should go by the meal plans, I decided to still eat whatever of my liking. I needed to get bigger for the season, not smaller.