Caught

Chapter 18 - Little Boy Blue

I feel like a middle school girl. I want to sprint up to my bedroom, throw myself onto dozens of pillows and whip out a bright pink diary to write down every emotion I've ever felt. If I didn't think my neighbors would hear me, I'd squeal right now. I'd squeal. Do men squeal? Can men squeal?

'Oh, shut up Felix'. I scold myself.

I'm being so stupid. I'm acting crazy. I'm acting obsessive and lovestruck and a bunch of other words that aren't good.

Words that aren't good. Just listen to me! Ridiculous, completely undone.

'Dear diary,' It would go, 'Tonight I had my first kiss. The most romantic kiss you could ever imagine. Exactly like the movies! The air smelt softly of urine. I was wearing my best vent-shredded T-shirt. My hair was a disaster. And there she was, standing across from me, reeling from a chance encounter with her ex-boyfriend. Yes diary. Ex-boyfriend, emphasis on the ex. I didn't think I could do it. Watching her there, next to that old bathroom stall, I could hear my heart thumping in my throat. When I leaned in, I remember worrying that I wouldn't do it right at all. That I'd forget to open my mouth, or open it too wide and swallow her whole. But I didn't! I did not swallow her whole! We kissed for an entire 3 seconds (I counted) and when we pulled away, she looked – dare I say – quite pleased. Pleased! Imagine that. Ali Shaffer. My first kiss.'

Jesus Christ. I'm pathetic and insane.

And I'm still standing in the middle of my driveway.

It's been a solid five minutes since Ali has dropped me off at my house, and I'm standing in my driveway like an insane person – the kind of insane person who pretends he's writing about his first kiss in a fake diary he doesn't even have.

Good Felix. Good for you.

"I need to go for a drive." I say, and the statement gets lost in the cool, winter wind.

There's no way I'll ever fall asleep tonight, or at least not for another hour. Driving always helps me calm down. Anxiety getting bad? Go for a drive. Dad being a dick? Go for a drive. Panic attack? Maybe... maybe don't go for a drive.

Lucky for me, my mom's van is still parked outside of the garage. She must have gotten home late. Probably out to some work thing with my father. Boozing and schmoozing. Pretending to understand what a 'going concern' is. I gave up my going concern a long time ago.

I walk over to a small flower pot placed neatly beside our front entrance and stick my hand in the shallow dirt. It doesn't take me long to find the spare keys to the van.

If I go inside to try and look for them, there's a chance my father will still be awake. He'll likely want to talk to me, and that's sure to ruin this good day I'm having. No. No, no. I'd much rather stick my hand in some dirt and go key-fishing.

When I settle into the driver's seat of the van, I decide to put on some music. Some good music. Nothing like that horrible indie noise Ali listens to.

Leave it to me to get a crush on a girl who loves Suftjan Stevens and nothing else.

That's the least of my worries though, isn't it? More like: leave it to me to get a crush on a pathological liar with a revenge fetish. Yeesh.

But I can't help it. I tried. I tried focusing on all the bad things about her, all the red flags, all the ways she's proved to be so wrong for me. It doesn't work. I find myself getting distracted by how much she makes me laugh. How brave she is. How smart.

Being around her is invigorating. She makes my entire life before her feel incomplete.

God that's lame. I'm so lame. Incomplete? What the hell does that even mean?