I Am the Screw Up

3219 Words7 Pages

I sat silently in the center of my bed, thinking. My fingernails had not survived my anxious habbits, being bit off and spit aside; Just like I always did when something was bothering me. I was surprised I didn't have a headache by now, with all the thinking that I'd been doing over the past few hours. I was trying to think of reasons not to throw on my boots right now and run out that front door, willing to shearch the entire forest looking for him, but so far I had been unsusessful. Alex wasn't here yet. He hasn't shown up yet and I was beggining to think that for the first time, he might not. No, I didn't like the idea of not being able to see him. I pushed away that thought and shut my eyes tightly. The clouds were getting less and less aparent as the evening sky darkened. It was forcasted to snow this evening so my day would be spent inside. Mom was home early today, she offered to make dinner, but that ship quickly sailed when she caught sight of a coupon for a pizza delevery place. After a failed moment of serenity, I hopped up from my bed and headed down stairs, already half way down stairs when I heard the door bell ring. I didn't have time to tell myself to reactly coolly, to not run and yank the door open, because at the sound of the bell the hope of Alex's return was at its greatest. When the door opened, it was none other than a man carrying a pizza duffle bag and a liter of soda pop. The urge to cry was overwhelming me, but I wasn't about to break down in front of a total stranger over a pizza box. "Pizza's here!" I called over my shoulder in my moms direction, rolling my eyes and sucking up the dissapointment. Mom rushed to the door, wallet in hand and gathered her order. I stepped back, giving r... ... middle of paper ... ...d, his hand touching my face. "I'm great," he told me. "now." That was when I felt something weird, a feeling I've never felt before. And I'm not talking about love or whatever, no, this was way better. Appreciation. Yes, that was it. Someone was actually happy to see me. Me of all people, just me. I could no longer find my words. There was nothing to say, but somehow he had managed the details of my day from my mouth. And that was it. He just watched me as I told him of my day, of everything that was bothering me, and all the troubles I have created. His eyes never left mine, holding me in an unbreakable trance that forced me to unveil all my problem, worries, and complaints I had tried so hard to keep bottled up for so long. I never did figure out exactly why he needed to see me, or how he'd known to show up, but not once was did I feel ungrateful that he did.

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