The Heartbroken - S01 E133

Story 2 years ago

The Heartbroken - S01 E133

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 133

“But–but you’re just so… gay,” I said.

“In what way?” he nearly shouted.

I struggled not to laugh, biting my lower lip down. “This picnic, the delicious hot choco…”

He shook his head vehemently, glaring at me and pointing a finger at my face. “I’m not gay.”

I finally laughed, unable to contain it anymore. The look on his face, defiant and serious, was priceless. “Your–your face–you look–” I tried to speak, but my words died down on my throat as they were interrupted by my laughter.

When I finally calmed down, I noticed the irritated look on his face, and it nearly sent me on another laughing fit. “I’m glad you find me amusing,” he said flatly.

“I find your femininity amusing.”

“Oh, you don’t find me manly enough?” The irritated look on his face was replaced with a rather serious look, eyes completely focused on mine. He leaned closer, not stopping until his face was only inches from mine.

His proximity made it impossible for me to breathe. I drowned in his blue eyes, my smile disappearing. I looked away from his eyes but I only ended up looking at his lips. I blinked and before I could do something I know I’d regret, I elbowed him hard.

He jerked away, letting out a smalloof. “What was that for?” he cried, rubbing the spot where I hit him. “My riiiib. This is going to bruise tomorrow.”

“Stop being a p---y.” I looked away and said, “You were too close. You were getting in my Anti-Seth zone.”

“Right,” he muttered. “You’re too violent.”

You’re too perfect.

He grabbed a cookie from one of the containers and started nibbling on it. “Will you ever tell me why I had to drag my ass off my bed? I know you didn’t call for no reason.”

I refrained from pointing out that he didn’t have to get out of bed. It was his choice, after all. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I had a dream.”

He kept quiet, waiting for me to go on.

I took a deep breath and told him everything about it. I told him about my visit to the hospital and how I felt about it. I told him about the dream that unsettled me enough to wake me up. I told him about the images that kept bothering me when I tried to fall back to sleep. He listened attentively, sometimes looking at me, sometimes looking out into the ocean.

When I finished telling him about it, I said, “I told you it wasn’t anything important.”

He shook his head. “Seems pretty important to me.”

“Not enough for you to do all this.” I gestured to the blanket and the food and everything else. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Well, we’re talking.”

“We could’ve done that over the phone,” I reasoned, holding my mug in my hands to warm myself up.

He nodded, tearing his gaze away from the ocean to look at me. “Yeah, but you sounded upset. What else was I supposed to do?”

I didn’t answer, too busy reminding myself to breathe.

He shifted in his seat and grabbed the guitar. He started strumming something familiar. I couldn’t place it at first. He was looking at the fretboard, eyes downcast, head tilted to the side. I watched him, transfixed.

When he began singing, I realized the song was Collide by Howie Day.

Why did I always find myself loving the way he sang, even though his voice was far from anything special? It felt like each word was ripping through me, breaking down the walls I’d put up around me.

His eyes flickered up to mine and he grinned, still singing.

The sight sent a shiver down my spine, sending tingles through me as the butterflies continued to flutter about uselessly, not just in my stomach, but everywhere. I could feel them in every crevice of my existence, from my chest to the tips of my fingers.

Images of him flooded my brain. I remembered that drunken, childish smile he had on his face when he came to my house looking for a place to sleep.

The way he cheerfully smiled when he said we were going on a picnic, a basket in one hand.

The sad look on his face when he told me about Sam.

The innocent look on his face when he was sleeping and the way his face lit up when he saw that I’d prepared breakfast.

The vulnerability reflected in his eyes whenever Sarah was mentioned.

The way his eyes crinkled when he grinned so widely, making everything–every single thing–seem dim in comparison.

The way he would kiss me, gentle and patient, never rushing anything, making me feel like everything was real, real, real.

I thought about all these things, almost involuntarily as his voice filled my head. I couldn’t believe that there was ever a time when I thought badly of him, when after all, he was the type of guy who would rush to my house just because I sounded upset.

It was impossible to ignore now, right here, with my heart jumping like a f-----g gymnast to the rhythm of my perpetually misaligned thoughts.

I was falling for Seth Everett.