Aerial

The Thirteenth Chapter

"I can't accept these."

At precisely three minutes before seven o'clock on the evening following the magnificent disorientation on the beach, you pulled your bedroom curtain aside an inch or two to peek down and find Harry's van idling outside of your duplex. He had made it a point to casually toss the word 'date' at you several times before you'd parted ways the evening prior, his proposition still lingering heavily around your head like an anchor rooted in thick cherry pie filling as you skated home with the stars burning six-point holes in your back.

While he waited for you to either reveal yourself or break his heart completely, his lanky frame remained coolly perched against his passenger door clad in an open leather jacket with an eerie aura of calm relaxing his shoulders and liquefying his muscles. You could just make out the tips of his curls as they met the blue moonlight, the paint on his car providing a backdrop of a thousand blushing rose petals. Flirtatious cigarette smoke snaked around his shadowed face and the confident echo of pink wisps were visible in the nearby streetlight.

Your fingernails were nearly chewed off. The delicate chain of your necklace became tangled from the constant toiling. The bobby pins holding your hair from your face summoned a gripping headache.

You had spent the hour or so beforehand carefully preparing yourself; a pleated emerald green skirt and a white cardigan closed demurely with delicate pearl buttons, a pout highlighted in sheer baby pink and a subtle sweep of mascara defining your lashes. The sight of his mystical and intimidating shadow pulsed your heart to smack against your ribcage, your hands thinking faster than your brain when you snapped the curtain shut to block out the image. It didn't work though, the remnants of his blueprint were scorched into the backs of your eyelids. Cotton candy smoke choked your mouth when you opened it to scream.

The rolling of dreaded thoughts went something like this: on one hand, going on a date with Harry could be a disastrous calamity and the impetus he might need to give up this demented mating call. But on the other hand, the massive and explosive shattering of his metallic walls have paved way for a more alluring and honest version of the person you struggled so hard to understand. The date could possibly go well and then your confounded feelings about him and this entire situation would continue to disarm you. Both your personal and professional lives would develop lumps of complications and you're not sure if it's a mess you want to be involved in. Not to mention that you don't like what he's capable of; his sardonic attitude when he doesn't get his way or when he's angry about something. His distractibility and how easily he wrote you off in the first five minutes of meeting. His temper, his arrogance, his coldness. His addiction to women and sex and how he used it as merely an escape from any bona fide feelings or self-reflection. However you swing it, it's only a matter of time before your heart is broken.

The word 'Clyde' inflated inside of a creamsicle bubble as it scraped past his teeth and lips, his tongue working to suck it back into his mouth to chew on the relics.

You checked the time on your watch and found that ten minutes had passed while you lost yourself in debate. The dull rumble of his engine reminded you with cool allegiance of his persistence and patience, but instead you shook your head and strolled away from the window to disrobe and change back into your pajamas. It was better off this way. A relationship founded on hatred is sure to end in the same exact manner.

Luckily for the sanctity of your working relationship, he expertly side-stepped any awkwardness and showed up to practice the next day in spectacular spirits. The corners of his mouth nearly tapped his ears when you entered your shared dressing room, surprised to find him already there, blinding you with a sunny dimple and greeting you with a soft line of 'don't worry. I'll get you one day, Cherry.'