Deep in love

Vivica

At first, I didn't notice him. He was breathtaking, of course, and had the face of someone who was sculpted by God's most precious Angels. Cheek hollow, grey spiralling eyes, knife-sharp jawline, and thick, beautiful eyelashes made me wish I could have even just a small ounce of what he has.

If it weren't for my God-awful sobbing, my moans of pain, and my absolutely wrenching heart, I would have noticed him a few seconds before. He always had loud feet, it was something I remembered from when I was a kid. He was so clumsy, and he's passed it on to me.

The pain that overwhelmed me that night was something I had never thought I'd go through ever in my life. The loss of a loved one was hard, although he wasn't dead just yet. My ex-boyfriend, Daniel, had broken up with me after a complete year of being in my life. Some would say it was for the good, but I'd argue differently. He was so cold in those last moments, which ultimately hurt me the most. I hadn't cared too much about him thinking that we needed space, but his words and actions made me feel as if my entire life were the biggest facade.

It's hard being a man with someone like you. I have needs, and obviously, the person who's supposed to fulfil them isn't fulfilling them even after this long.

His harsh tone threw a dagger right into my heart. He wrapped his hand around the grip and made sure to twist it. I thought I'd spend the rest of my days with him. We had our lives planned together.

Although his grey eyes had swarmed me like a bunch of angry bees, I tried to conceal the fact that my mascara was running down my cheeks due to the thick tears that brimmed my eyes.

I inhaled, trying my hardest to fight asphyxiation as I held in a sob that fought its hardest to release from my body. My throat began to close, which ultimately led me to just let it out. I was utterly embarrassed at the fact that he had caught me crying, even though I'm sure he heard me from the other guest bedroom.

Swiping my hand across my face to collect the smearing mascara, I couldn't fathom looking at him again. I knew that those grey eyes would call me out on my shit and probably make a joke about it. So I looked down at the sad tub of molten ice cream sitting between my legs. The chunks of Oreo were drowning inside of what is now milk.

He made no sudden move, probably staring me down. I made no sudden move, wishing that I could just die. The tension was too awkward, why was he the one to catch me crying? Why did my father drag me to this stupid annual trip with his good friend, Oliva? And did it just have to be the same day as my graduation?

I swallowed down the dryness in my throat as I heard his feet begin to move. Then, the refrigerator opened before snapping closed again. He was shaking something, a liquid, as he walked closer to me.

Wait, to me? He never even talked to me his entire life.

My eyes blink repeatedly as my mind tries to process what's happening at this very moment. I lift my head, letting my eyes fall lax against him for the first time all night. He's wearing only dark pyjama pants that hang low on his waist. He's naked on the chest, with only a few numbers in Roman numerals under his right peck. There is a single silver necklace wrapped around his neck that should be engraved onto his skin by how long he's had it.

He is scowling already, ready to chew me up and spit me out for probably interrupting his beauty sleep. I'm sure a guy like him gets all that he can.

He steadily walks to me and stops right beside the brown centrepiece between the couch I'm sitting against and the sixty-five-inch television mounted against the wall.

I can't help but stare, my eyes wide. He tilts his head, letting his brown curly hair topple over. Small laughter erupts from his chest as he looks at me before calming himself quickly and returning to his hollowing cheeks. I've never seen him smile before.

"I was going to ask if someone was dying in here but clearly it's you" he shakes his head, eyeing the pathetic person across from him.

He makes me feel even worse than he did that time I fell into the pool at his father's old home. I didn't know how to swim and it took someone at least thirty seconds to realize it. Safe to say I learned how to swim shortly after that.

I look away from him, tilting my head downwards and looking at the sad tub of molten ice cream again. The Oreos have started to sink and it's even more sad. Tears brim my eyes again.

I reach my hand up, taking my silver spoon and swirling the ice cream in the tub. It's so soupy now. It's no good.

His presence in front of me still swamps me. He's made fun of me already and is now staring at me. I sniffle, thinking of Daniel again. He should have waited longer

"Your mascara is a mess, you know," he says, making me sob once again. It's almost as if this is his goal. He wants to see me cry. He wants to see my mascara smear down my cheeks, tears ruining my eyes. My bodily fluids threaten my nose but I've embarrassed myself enough, so I make sure to hold it in.

I swipe my hand across my face again, clearing up the excess tears. For some reason, I can not stop the tears from blurring my vision.

"And your ice cream isn't ice cream anymore. You've ruined it. I was going to eat some tomorrow morning" he says, his voice in a fixed grouch like always. His voice alone was something that could make tears brim my eyes any day, but now he filled me with both sadness and anger.

Of course, he'd like ice cream for breakfast.

I want to throw the tub at his head. But then he'd catch me and make me pay for literally everything I've ever done to him so no, I think I'll pass. Hard pass.

"Sad ice cream soup," he remarked.

I sigh, bringing my eyes to look at him. "Please just shut up. You don't need any ice cream anyways, I heard you're lactose intolerant" I sob, taking the top of the tub of ice cream.

He shakes his head. "That would be Oliva, not me. I'd say I'm very tolerant" he tells me.

I roll my eyes, adjusting the top over the tub. "Yeah, with a gun to your head" I mumble, removing the tub from between my legs and reaching over to sit it on the edge of the centrepiece.

"Well I wish I had one now to put you out of your misery" his crude remark causes my eyebrows to knit together. Why am I even listening to him? I remove the cover from my legs and fold it in half before letting it lay against the back edge of the couch. Quickly, I turn to head back into the guest bedroom, but with his hand around my arm, I can move no more.