My boyfriend Eric and I had just come back from the movie theater, making idle conversation in his car to dispel tension. It was technically our fourth date, but we'd been together nearly a month. Before that, I'd waited nearly a full semester before he got up the courage to ask me out. I'd known of course-call it a woman's intuition-that he'd wanted to go out. His eyes had lingered on me in conversations where I was mostly quiet. His chair at our lunch table had through no small effort on his part changed so he sat next to me. He'd invited me over to study a few times a week, claiming he needed help with one thing or another.
It was laughable. He was certainly the smartest person in our school and should've by all means been in college when he was thirteen or something. The idea of him needing help from me, in any subject, was hilarious were it not so sweet at the same time. Here was a boy who regularly attended lectures north of the city about... whatever it was he studied for fun. He could rattle off five differences between Prokaryotic and Eukaryotic cells like he was teaching the damned course.
I wasn't a slouch, sure. My lowest grade had been a B minus in middle school, the same month I discovered that boys (get this) wanted to date me. I know. I was shocked too. So I went through prepubescent mania and then my grades went back to steady A's and B's. Sort of like my breasts at the time, actually...
What was I saying? Right. Fourth date. My breath smelled like nachos. Something was stuck in my teeth, right in the smile zone where he'd be able to see it. (And feel it, if we made it to first base before I could locate a toothpick.) His blonde hair, cut short and styled up a la Charlize Theron. Okay weird comparison but seriously, look it up. She totally slays.
His blue eyes were fixed on his phone as I slipped off my heels and pulled on some fuzzy socks with my dress. He was wearing a black suit, leaning against the wall of my bedroom casually, and I knew the only reason he was on his phone during our date was so I wouldn't get freaked out by him watching me take off my shoes. As if I cared one way or another. It was sweet, though, and demonstrated a bit of his neurotic mind.
I excused myself quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind me and opening the medicine cabinet eagerly. Listerine. Pour. Swish swish. Spit. That fixed my breath. When I checked myself in the mirror, I brushed my silver hair out of my face, tried giving it the mussed look an Instagram model might've had. But I wasn't convinced it work. My boring brown eyes and lips that weren't quite full enough and left something to be desired. The rest of my body had developed a slew of more womanly attributes, my face was an exception. I smoothed the wrinkle from my galaxy blue dress and breathed, leaving the bathroom.
I clicked the light switch off and moved across the hallway again towards my bedroom, the heart in my chest flurrying like snowfall. Butterflies in my stomach and a swollen tongue in my mouth, I reentered my domain and found Eric examining a bookshelf my mom made me keep my YA novels on, so they didn't clutter up the "family" room (Read as: Wannabe Better Homes & Gardens showroom of doom). Most of them I hadn't read since an angsty period last year, when I first died my hair a fluorescent green. It was changed within a week to a simpler shade of black, then blue, then the silver it was now.
Something about his interest in what I liked to read made me smile. No other boy in this room had looked at my books. Well, accept my cousin Antonio. But he was gay, so it didn't count. I pointed to a few and rattled off how I got them.
"Goodwill, Goodwill, Barnes, Christmas gift, My Nana died, Yard Sale..." I surmised, getting through the entire top shelf quickly. I saw his sharp eyes (like sapphire knives) processing and cataloguing what I said.
"I congratulate your collection of obscure teen fiction, and applaud a noticeable lack of quadruped/girl/vampire books." He acknowledged in a deep chuckle that turned me into putty in his hands. I giggled in a way that felt almost disgustingly girly. His eyes roved boldly over my face, taking in a genuine smile and... no popcorn kernels!
"Is there anything you'd like to show me?" He asked, a smirk implied but not summoned with the question. His eyes were full of fun, mischief. I gulped.
"Is there anything you'd like to see?" I asked him, barely managing to get the words out straight and without stuttering or spitting or saying them too fast or slow. Eric grinned suddenly.
"Something did catch my eye. What's in there?" He asked, one hand pointing squarely at my bottom dresser drawer. It was painted matte black with silver knobs like the rest of my dresser, maybe a little dustier since it was closer to the ground. My heart skipped a bit.
"In- In my dresser? Just some clothes." I lied, trying to keep my cool, failing. I felt an unladylike sweat forming on my brow. Girls don't sweat, right?
"No. The front wooden panel of the dresser is dusty but the handles are almost polished from regular use. Proximity to the floor makes it inconvenient for keeping clothes you wear often: So it must be special clothes. Swimsuits, dress pants, running pants, but those are all hung in your closet. So there's something else in that drawer." He explained, basically sherlocking out in that slow, deep voice of his. Any attraction I'd had to Benedict Cumberbatch seemed trivial. As far as I was concerned, Eric did it better.
I tried to change the subject, but it was clunky. "So did you see my chess set in the corner?" I pointed weakly, but I couldn't look away from his eyes, drilling into mine. His intensity was startling. He gave my words a moment to hang in the air before he pulled them down with godlike ease and force. Like Zeus hurling a thunderbolt.
He said my name in a whisper. "Alison. Go open the drawer." Instructions. I sat there and didn't move for a second, then I got up and walked to the piece of furniture. I tried to understand why I was obeying him. It just seemed like the natural thing to do. I was very embarrassed as I knelt to open my drawer. None of my friends or boyfriends had ever seen its contents before, and I was worried he'd think I was a freak.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped, I'd thought he was still sitting on the bed. But here he was across the room behind me. His fingers curled around my shoulder, pulling up. I stood, confused. Both of his hands rested on my hips. This was the closest he'd ever stood to me. The closest we'd ever been.
