Seeing Shane Gray ✓

twenty three | wait

*.*.*.*.*.*

October 31

Listening to my Linkin Park playlist and humming along to 'Numb', I sit cross-legged on one of the kitchen chairs and wait for mom to get back home. I didn't want to leave Marla alone at home but Shane made me promise I'll talk to either of my parents today about diabetes. Honestly, it's not something I'm looking forward to. The past couple of interactions haven't been all that positive.

I lick the chocolate off my lower lip and stare down at the bar in my hand. Ever since I told Shane why I don't eat chocolates anymore, he's been getting me more and more of them. Today, when I asked him why he kept doing it, his answer was somewhat cheeky but totally honest.

'I want you to associate me with chocolates so eating them won't remind you of Carter but me instead.'

'Are you trying to replace my brother?' I'd teased.

'I'm trying to replace your bad memories with good ones.'

His logic was pretty flawless and made me giddy insight. The mere thought of Shane does that to me now. It's the smallest of things, the slightest nudge of our arms when walking side by side, the smile he has on his face when our eyes meet, the blush that creeps up his dimpled cheeks when he says something seemingly romantic and cute.

Sitting face to face in the small Gloria Jeans cafe, I'd asked him about his plans for college.

'Are you even sleeping these days?' I'd asked. 'You look like a raccoon.'

'I was going more for a panda look but raccoon works too,' he answered.

Leaning over our mugs -- mine of iced latte and his of nutty mocha -- I'd smacked his wrist.

'You can never be serious, can you?'

'I'm a terrible person.'

'You sure are.'

'Well, aren't you sweet.'

'I blame it on my non-insulin-producing pancreas.'

Shane laughed but the conversation drifted away from what I wanted to ask him. Yes, he was good looking as hell. What I wanted to focus on more was the circles under his eyes and the slightly reddish tinge to his eyes.

Now, being back in my kitchen and away from Shane, I kind of wish I hadn't let him subtly change the topic. I hate to admit it but there's hardly anything I know about his life aside from the fact that his mom wants him to study IR and his dad wants him to play football. I don't know if he has any siblings or why he's friends with someone like Carlos, where he lives or what he does for fun.

Yet, for some reason, I like him.

I like him and I'm more than willing to admit it to myself.

The sound of the door opening reaches me through the music and I turn down the volume, looking up and straightening in my seat.

Mom comes around the corner, merely glancing at me before stepping towards the fridge. It's the same old routine: she'll pour herself some wine and down it before pouring herself some more that she'll take to her room and not leave it for the rest of the day. Her sunken cheeks and darkened eyes, the already large coat hanging off her shoulders ... she's losing weight without even knowing it.

"I have to tell you something," I cut to the chase.

Mom stops with her hand on the door of the fridge. Her eyes revolve to meet mine and I avert mind, jumping off the chair and stuffing my feet into my fluffy slippers.