I Bet Adonis Was Kind Of A Prick

He sat there like a leaning tower or masterpiece, one crisp and folded slack leg folded over the other. With an elbow angled on the arm rest, he tilted his head slightly, and Autumn hair tumbled down his shoulder the way the tree in my aunts yard did when I shook it that one cold November. The one where it snowed and there wasn’t a single car on the highway. The night Eddie kissed me under the blinking neon sign that spelled J-NIOR’s DIN-R.

“It’s not polite to stare,” He said suddenly.

Batting his eyes twice, he turned to slowly look at me, and I noticed splashes of green and yellow surrounding the black center of his pupils. They were dark and a little mesmerizing, cold, but inviting and full of cunning. The dark and ominous of glance of a man who’s far too aware of the his own attraction.

“Sorry, I forgot I was in public.” I said. “It’s been months since I’ve gone out and-…”

When I get nervous, my immediate instinct is to talk until I’m not any more. To push through the fear and shame, carry that heavy stone we call anxiety uphill and set it down at the very top. Any awkward moment or unbearable faux-pas gains a bit of character once you own up to it, and the majority of people will treat you kindly if you’re humble enough to admit your flaws and lay them so vulnerably at their feet. Others may give it a push, but from the top you can watch it roll back to the very bottom where you no longer are. Once you carry your mistakes and accept them, you can never be crushed by them.

“You talk too much,” He said laughing and smiling handsomely.

And I felt a crush start to develop.

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