"We need to talk."
"That's never a good way to start a conversation—it always ends bad."
We were seated at the dining table, eating Heather's delicious meal when she suddenly asked to talk.
"But we do need to talk. About... you know, last night?"
A blush bloomed at the tips of her ears, clearly talking about our steamy night. I was hoping to avoid that topic, especially if it involved dating. So it was best to cut to the chase.
"Okay then, last night was not a mistake, and if you want, we might do it again. But I'm not interested in dating—not with you or anyone else. If that's a problem, then I'll move out."
Her eyes widened, caught off guard by my honesty. But I figured we're both adults—no need for unnecessary drama.
I continued to eat, waiting for Heather's response. She seemed lost in thought, her food untouched. I frowned at the look of disappointment on her face. Don't tell me she...
"Heather, can I ask you something? It's personal, so if you don't want to answer, I won't hold it against you, okay?"
She snapped out of her reverie and gave me a blank stare before nodding.
"Did you... ever have a girl—no, have you ever dated anyone?"
The room grew quiet and tense after my question. Heather made her face as blank as possible, which ironically gave me the answer. She was trying to hide.
"Was I... perhaps your first?"
"Of course not," she replied defensively, but it seemed like she was telling the truth. I sighed in relief. If I had been her first, things would've gotten complicated.
Heather hung her head low. It seemed I had unintentionally humiliated her. Now I'm starting to wonder if I have some kind of aura that makes me seem like a douchebag.
Now what am I supposed to say? I guess I have no choice—I humiliated her (unintentionally, I might add), so it's only fair to do the same to myself.
"Have I told you about the time I found out I was into girls?"
Heather shook her head, her ears practically perking up as she gave me the attention of a curious cat.
"I was thirteen and had a friend, Daryl. He was a year older and had the hormones of any teenage boy exposed to internet porn at an early age. So, it's safe to say he was rather eager to—"
"Don't tell me he..."
"What? No, it's Daryl we're talking about, not some degenerate lowlife. He wouldn't do that—he was rather sweet, caring, and kind."
"Then what?"
"Would you just let me finish without interrupting?"
"Sorry... but at least now you know how it feels to not be able to say what you want without being asked a question every two seconds."
She pouted and started gulping down some wine. I ignored that.
"Anyway, one day, me, Sarah, Daryl, and some other kids were playing spin the bottle, and it—"
"Let me guess, the bottle landed on this Sarah girl," she practically growled with jealousy, "and you fell in love, but she didn't feel the same." Before I could get a word in, she kept going.
"Look, Eva, I don't need your pity or anything. It's true I've never had a girlfriend, but that doesn't mean it's the end of the world, or that I need you to pity me and tell me your sad past so we can bond over rejection."
She quieted, breathing hard, her face flushed with embarrassment, anger, and madness. Her freckles flared to life in this state. But I didn't say anything.
I was also quiet, but my silence was more deafening. She was about to speak again, but the look in my eyes told her to think before saying anything else stupid. And totally untrue.
I clasped my hands like in prayer, placed my elbows on the table, leaned in, and rested my chin on my hands. I gave Heather an intense stare, and she flinched.
I exhaled. "First of all, don't ever be jealous of anyone, especially not Sarah. She means the world to me, but not in the way you think. Never like that."
Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she opened her mouth to say something, but I gave her a stern look, and she quickly shut it.
"Second of all, if I ever decide I'm ready to get back on the market, you'll be my first choice and no one else. But I'm not ready. Not until I deal with my own bullshit, and I think you should do the same."
I had a lot to do—amends to make, new dreams to achieve. Who knows, maybe a more exciting future than the one I had dreamed of as a young girl.
That's what I want: to kill the child in me and be reborn as the 2.0 version—the childish side I could be proud of. But as of yet, I haven't dealt with enough problems to allow myself to mess around.
"And lastly, don't interrupt my stories, especially when they're getting to the good part—particularly with your wrong assessment blinded by the pity you think I have for you.
So, Heather, let me make this clear: we've only known each other for two days now—or is it a day and a half? Whatever, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we don't know each other well enough to feel pity, so please, don't be a bitch with me yet. You haven't earned that right."
I'm not normally this aggressive or forward, but there are advantages to being isolated for an extended period. You stop giving a fuck.
But I felt bad, especially with the way Heather looked at me.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have acted like that. It's just... you're really pretty."
"Eh, what does that have to do with your behavior?"
She blushed and said nothing, her eyes wandering anywhere but to me. I was lost, but I accepted that I was living with a weirdo—not that I had any complaints.
I cleared my throat to get her attention. "Can I finish my story now?"
She nodded, but her face kept getting redder by the second. Is she going to get embarrassed over every little thing? I wanted to ask, but I really wanted to finish my story.
"During the spin the bottle, it landed on me and Daryl," Heather's eyes widened, understanding where this was going. "I remember how excited he was—he practically jumped me for a kiss. I stopped him because it was one of those closet games. We got inside, and the others timed us for ten minutes, an—"
"Did you ki—" she interrupted herself, realizing she was interrupting again. At this point, why bother pointing it out? Her eagerness was clearly a childish side she never realized as a kid.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, and I just shrugged.
"We got close to each other. We were both nervous, but only one of us was eager—can you guess who? Daryl. Anyway, we kissed, and while it felt good for him, to me it was sloppy, wet, gross, and uncomfortable. I pushed Daryl away, but he wanted more. I got angry when he tried to kiss me again, so I punched him so hard his nose started to bleed.
He ran out crying, and... Are you laughing?"
Heather covered her mouth with both hands, trying to stop herself from laughing. She already had tears at the corners of her eyes, but when I asked, she shook her head in denial.
I eyed her suspiciously, "And my mom—"
"Hahaha, hahahaha..."
I sulkily left the table, heading to my room, leaving my laptop behind without a word. I heard Heather on my heels, but I shut the door on her.
I could hear her unable to contain her laughter from the other side of the door, apologizing between fits of giggles. As for me, I let a small smile slip. Why? I don't know, maybe it was because I was just happy to have made someone laugh with my silly story.