Hey, y'all! here's the next installment in "A Bully Caged." Please let me know what you think, and I'll have a question at the end of the story that I would love to hear your input on.
As always, all characters are above the age of 18.
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It's Thursday night. Tomorrow is the last day of school for me and Wes. However, that is exactly the last thing on my mind right now. I tousle my hair, look at it, flatten it, and tousle it again. I fix my shirt because of a tiny wrinkle on my shoulder. My teeth are white, but maybe I should brush them again to be certain.
God damn it, I'm a wreck.
Being nervous is about the worst thing on the whole planet. Instead of having to sit and deal with whatever the universe
actually
throws your way, you get to experience the great pleasure of facing each and every potential pitfall and fuck-up
could
come up. Of course, once you're pulled in that direction, you tumble down the infinite hill of anxiety, cracking your head on every rock and tree on the way down.
Usually I don't feel like this, but today is a variation from routine to the umpteenth degree.
Ms. Simmons clears her throat from the other side of my door, making me jump while I'm busy fixing my hair again.
"You'll have to leave in a few minutes, dear!" She says. I'm glad she's watching the time, but I'm already aware. I've been staring at the clock and counting down the seconds all day.
"Thank you!" I say. I can hear the tension in my throat.
The air feels stuffy, like the room's been heated and pressurized.
I'm ready for my first actual date with Wes.
I walk to the kitchen in an automatic, thoughtless way, pushing my heart from my throat, but as soon as I see him sitting at the table drinking tea, I feel it flip. He turns and nervously smiles at me. I smile back.
This was not my doing, for the record.
My car had finally kicked it this morning after a late breakfast, and Ms. Simmons told me that the only way she's helping me replace it is if I take Wes out on a proper date. Dinner and a walk by the water, she said. Nothing too fancy. Tonight. Less than a days notice.
It doesn't matter if we're going to be ordering off the dollar menu though—this is worlds apart from any other interaction we've had.
"Ready?" I ask.
"It's just dinner and stuff," he says, avoiding my gaze. "Nothing to be ready for."
But he's clean shaven, and he smells like patchouli and raspberry. It's a perfume or cologne, and I haven't smelled it before. He put on something new for me. On top of that, his hair was fluffy from being freshly washed, and it looked lighter. He was wearing a white button-down short sleeve shirt and skinny jeans. They're new as well. They fit like women's skinny jeans, clinging to his legs and hips.
"Did you bleach your hair?" I asked.
"Sun-in," Wes said, blushing.
I grab Ms. Simmons' keys from the counter. She's letting us take her car for the night, thankfully.
"Let's go," I say.
Wes nods and gets up. He reaches past me to grab his wallet from the counter, his arm brushing mine.
We're close to one another, and how much taller I am than him strikes me again. Only weeks ago, I dreaded seeing him. Now he looks so small and harmless. His eyes meet mine again, and as he looks up at me, he smiles. It's a genuine, if nervous, smile.
-----------------------
We're sitting across from each other at a vegan restaurant downtown, just having finished dinner. I've never been here, but the plates were large and the servings were small, which generally means that a restaurant is either nice or overpriced. In this case, the restaurant was nice.
"Traffic was good," I say. I can't seem to do anything but spout small talk when I'm nervous.
"Yeah, and the food was too," Wes says, agreeing. We both look around, trying to avoid one another's gaze.
The restaurant is painted a warm white with exposed, natural beams overhead. Crawling plants and vines are placed on various shelves around the dining room, each piece of flora cascading past glowing LEDs. The effect is a subtle green glow that falls over the room. Some bouncy jazz hums in the background. I've never been here, but I like it.
"I've been past this place so many times—" I start.
"But I never thought I would like it," Wes finishes.
"It's different than I expected," I say.
"Good different, though," Wes says.
"Good different," I agree.
The song changes. I recognize this one. It's a cover of Volare. We talk some more, although I feel like the words flow out of me so easily I can't remember what I say as soon as I say it. I pay the bill, and we leave the restaurant.
It's not a long walk to the car, but it's a night to take our time. The dusk air is cool compared to the sweltering heat of the day, but it's mild enough that I'm able to roll up my shirt sleeves. It's a quiet warmth. Leaves rustle.
"It's a nice night out," says Wes.
"It is," I say, and I mean it.
"No clouds, but a gentle breeze," he continues.
"I fucking hate talking about the weather," I say, shaking my head.
"Why?" Wes says. He looks at me as he does, and I can feel those blue eyes on me.
"When people talk about the weather, it's just because they don't have anything better to talk about. I don't want to be that person."
"Sometimes," Wes says.
"Sometimes?" I ask.
"Yeah, sometimes," he says. "But sometimes it's because it doesn't matter what you talk about, it's just about who you're talking with."
My cheeks burn. "Yeah," I say. "I guess that's true. When did you get all social?"
