#onehundredlovers

[onehundredlovers]

16/100

I fear your lips as much as you fear the worsening crack of the spine of your favourite book. It surprises me how well the pages are still holding together even after repeatedly reading it to me for days on end. You are much of a cynic as I am a idealist– an odd combination, our friends would say. We both secretly enjoy our back and forth wrangling over the littlest of things, only you and I are both too stubborn to admit. You know the only way I’d give up an argument was to succumb to your touch. I’d run my fingers through the valley between your shoulders, tugging at the bronze curls you always hated as you bring your chapped lips against my neck, sending electric currents through my veins and flame to my lungs, enough to bring me to life.

Marker drawing by Mónica Gomes

[onehundredlovers]

Visit Original Link

11/100

“Do me a favor and stop being marvelous, ok?” I teased.

Isobel rolled her eyes at me and stuck out her tongue. 

“Oh please, Milo, you flatter me too much,” she replied in her signature sarcastic tone.  In the golden afternoon light that managed to creep its way inside the metro’s abandoned warehouse, she ran around, pirouetted, tumbled, and cartwheeled in that order. 

“So why’d you choose this place? I mean, are you not afraid of getting raped or murdered in here while you work?” 

She turned to face me. I continued to walk towards her. Inches apart, I could the feel the fuzzy warm air around her on my cheek. 

“One, it’s secret and nobody ever comes here. Two, fear is for sissies, and like I said, nobody wanders around here. And three, this isn’t work, this is my love. Plus, I paid the kids who live nearby to spread stories about this place. You know, urban legends and all. Demonic possessions going on. Witch sightings. The usual. ” she said, and then she pranced away. 

“Genius idea. So am I her first visitor?” 

“Mm-hmm.” I stole a glance at her just because. 

“Isobel, your works are amazing,” I said as I casually ran my fingers through the  colorful cement wall. Everywhere, there were splashes of color, abstract figures, textures, landscapes, and nudes. “So when are you opening this place for public viewing?”

“No idea. Probably soon.”  

I watched as she moved cans of white paint to one side. She looked so stunning in her denim over-alls, untidy ponytail, and black worn out converse. 

“Hey Milo, get over here and help me wipe this paint off my hands. It’s starting to stick. Be quick.” 

“Ok, love.” 

“What did you just call me?” Isobel shot me a suspicious look. 

“Nothing. Here, take this.” I hurriedly unbuttoned my long-sleeved, plaid shirt. I thanked my 7am self for not forgetting to wear something underneath.

“There, it’s almost gone. Thanks again.” she muttered. 

She and I continued to walk around, unspeaking, until we decided to sit at the center of it all. We were surrounded by colors, and all were illuminated in that golden hour. In that moment, I was hers. And I knew she figured it out long before I did. 

“Isobel,” her name escaped my lips.

“Say my name again, but with a little less love in it this time,” she teased. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to do all sorts of things to her. I want her. 

“Bitch,” I smirked, trying to save face. 

“Better. Infinitely better. Let’s get outta here, Milo.” 

The sun was beginning to set. Stretches of flamingo pink, orange, and indigo painted the western sky. We heard the wind howl, and from the east, a storm was kicking in. Under a blanket of purple-pink sky, the abandoned industrial site began to look as if it were an apocalyptic setting. I liked the idea of it, Isobel next to me when the world ends. 

“Where do you want to go now?” she asked. Isobel caught my dangling hand and interlocked our fingers. She rarely did this. 

We arrived St. Mary’s Garden shortly after the sun had set. Luckily, there were streetlamps everywhere. On the benches, young couples shared kisses. Near the pond, children, supervised by their parents, fed the ducks.  

“Way to end this day.” she smiled faintly at me. She loves this place. It reminded her of her parents, she told me. 

She led me to the swing set where she held out a seat for me.

“My king,” Isobel curtsied slightly, suppressing a giggle. 

I played along, taking her hand and giving it a quick kiss. 

“Many thanks, my loyal subject.” I chuckled as I took my seat. 

“Boo, I thought I was your queen.” she said as she sat on my lap. 

“Well, in this life you are.” I brushed away strands from her face and stole a kiss on her cheek. 

“Promise me, idiot.” 

“I promise, so when are you going to love me, Issie."

"Hold on." she paused, looking at me intently. "Done." 

It took me a while to let her words sink in. And before I knew it, she was already kissing me. 

[onehundredlovers]

8/100

“Thanks for dinner!” I called out to my office mate, Kyle. Handsome guy. successful, smells good, this could work out. Maybe. Or not.

He honked twice and drove off, back to his fancy-ass apartment in the city. For a minute more, I stood there staring at the void he just disappeared into.

Kyle Sandrino has had his eyes on me even before The Split. Everybody at work noticed those subtle flirty signs. How he’d casually brush the back of my neck every time he’d walk by my office cubicle. How he’d bring me my favorite kind of coffee every Friday. And when news of my breakup broke out in the office one afternoon, he sat next to me the entire time without saying a word. They all thought he was involved, that he caused it.

Snapping back to reality, I took my keys out of my purse and let myself in. Luckily, my parents just left for their Euro-trip this morning so I have the whole house to myself. I ran upstairs to my room, quickly undressed, and lied carelessly in bed. I’ve been mindlessly staring at the ceiling for a full minute when I felt paper underneath my bare back. Rolling over, I discovered a crumpled letter envelope with my name scrawled on it.

From the looks of it, it’s from Jacob. I recognize the enlarged “H” in my name. My parents must have brought this in right before they left. They’ve always rooted for him. Still, I had no idea how they felt about the breakup. They never asked me about it.

My heart began to pound a little faster than it’s normal pace. It’s been 5 weeks since The Split and the last I heard from him was when we broke up. Is this news about a new woman in his life? A “Finally I’m Over You Bitch” speech? I secretly wish it wasn’t. Even after we parted, I still held on to the idea that he’s still out there, waiting for me to call him, to take him back. The thought had always comforted me.

I got up, bringing the letter with me to the bathroom and ran myself a warm bath. I lit some scented candles to calm my nerves. For half an hour, I sat there staring at the rectangular piece of yellowish paper as I held it against the light of the candle nearest me. To burn or not to burn, that was the question.

To burn would mean to completely annihilate the last remaining connection I’ll ever have with my first sworn love. To read would mean to carry the weight of what the message would bring. Be it regret or envy. I don’t know which. Dare I?

But without a care, I proceeded to open the envelope.

Dear Helene,

Last week, to take my mind off you, I decided to visit my grandmother down south. She asked about you, why you’re not with me that day. So I had to tell her we aren’t together anymore. What she told me after is the reason why I’m writing to you now. She looked at me lovingly and said, “That’s why you lost the light in your eyes. Your lighthouse has gone missing.”

Helene, you were the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. I remember having the biggest crush on you way back in freshman year. You stood there, near the drinking fountain, in your ponytail and geeky glasses and I thought you were the most beautiful creature I set my eyes on. And then I remember you looking at me, knowing that I do. That I do like you. You are the lighthouse of my life and I confess that since you walked out of it without notice, I've only been living for the idea that everyday you still think of me as I think of you. My world, Helene, had been gray without you. 

Jacob

Before I could feel anything, the phone rings as if on cue. I rush to my bedroom and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” I nervously wait for Jacob’s voice. He probably timed it all. He knew how long it’d take me to process everything. He always knew.

“Helene! I couldn’t reach you on your mobile so I decided to call your house. I just....I just can’t stop thinking about tonight, and about you.......” My heart sank after eventually realizing it was Kyle who called. I wanted to hang up.

“Helene?”

Startled, I quickly composed myself. “You were saying, Kyle?” I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Oh I just wanted to come over, hang out for a little while.”

“Okay, come on over.” I hung up. I found myself in tears.

[onehundredlovers]

7/100

 “Tanya, where the fuck are you.” I scanned the crowd but there was no sign of her.

The smoky, purple atmosphere in Sid’s crowded apartment started to irritate me, so I decided to leave the party and drive around town just to clear my head. For the first time in my life, even in a place full of people, I felt absolutely lonely. I need to find Tanya soon.

“Stupid, stupid, that was so stupid of you, Ethan.” I silently cursed myself for scaring her away for some reason.

I tried to recall the moment.

4 hours earlier, Tanya and I were chilling in Sid’s worn out couch, helping ourselves to some nachos. We were talking. Yep, just talking. No harm there, right. We were talking about Anne Hathaway when a cute girl in a tight green dress walked by, off to refill her cup. I noticed Tanya look at her like a normal guy would.

“So you’re into girls now, Tanya?” I teased.

“Nope. I look at pretty females because I want to know what they’re made of, so I can be pretty too. Are they made of nice perfect legs, or bleached hair. Pretty pink lips, and rosy cheeks?” she said so coldly, without taking her eyes off that chick.

What the fuck. Tanya’s the most beautiful girl I know, inside and out. Well other than my mom of course. But the point is, she’s utterly amazing in her own damn right. So maybe she isn’t the reddest of all rubies, still, I’d marry her thirty times over. Yep, no lie.

“Hey, hey. Look at me, Tan. You are the best girl I know, truth be told. And there’s no need for that kind of thinking, ok?”

She turned away and ignored me. Hard.

Tanya’s been my best bud since elementary school. I’ve learned to decode her, the faces she makes when she’s feeling a certain way, the way she smacks her lips when she’s pleased or displeased. It’s kinda hard to tell, sometimes. Still, I know that when she ignores, she actually cares the most.

I continue to drive around town, checking every alley she might find herself in. Oh Tanya, how you like to play with Danger when you’re upset about something.

“If I were Tanya, where would I be at this hour. Scratch that. If I were lonely, angry Tanya, where would I be at this hour.” I think out loud.

Her house isn't an option. She’s wouldn't go home tonight, she told me. Maybe her friend, Erika’s place? I sigh heavily.

The streets were empty. And wet. It rained hard a few hours ago so maybe she wouldn't have gone that far. I go with my gut.

Eli’s Diner, the run-down place squeezed between two busy cafes. I parked right in front of the window where I see her. It’s 4 AM and she’s the only customer there. She’s fast asleep in one of the booths. Good, I plan to stay up with her until she wakes up so we can talk things through.

I sat quietly across her. This is the first time I watch her sleep. She breathes so lightly you’d almost believe she’s lifeless. I tuck her copper curls behind her ear. I’m guessing she washed her face in the restroom earlier because I see no trace of makeup now. Damn you, Tanya. Why won’t you ever think you’re pretty.

“Your girlfriend, lad?” the lady at the counter asked, lowering her retro reading glasses to get a better look of the two of us.

“I wish, Ma’am.” I smiled weakly.

“Well she wishes too.” she replies casually, returning to her newspaper. I raise an eyebrow at what she said.

“Excuse me?” I whisperer as I stood up and find myself a seat at the counter

“Yes, boy. She comes here all the time. Why, she’s my favorite customer. Tanya. Tani, I like to call her. Always orderin’ coffee in the afternoon. She’d sit here by the counter and write. Yes, we’d exchange stories from time to time.

“At 2 am she came burstin’ in. I ain’t got no idea why she’s crying. An’ she was like, ‘Oh Nelly, he kissed me, can you believe it? Why would he do that.’ Oh boy was she distressed. Why’d you kiss her, lad?” she whispered.

“I honestly don’t know. I was caught in the moment, I guess. I’ve liked her way before she met her douchebag ex-boyfriend, Paul. He doesn’t deserve her. I mean, he’s the main reason Tanya’s being so hard on herself lately. She’ll never think she’s good enough for anybody after Paul constantly compared her to other girls. After Paul cruelly pointed out her insecurities. And-and made fun of her in front of his friends? Can you imagine? It’s not fair. He broke her spirit. I would have taken better care of her, I swear.” I hissed.

I glanced at Tanya. She’s still fast asleep, calm, and peaceful. So very different from her hysterical self right before she left me hanging at Sid’s place.

“Ah. I see. But be careful, boy. She may like you now, but she ain’t ready for anybody yet. She likes you now, yes. But she won’t trust you while her heart’s still broken. Give her some peace of mind, lad.”

“Ok, maybe I will. I still like her, you know.” I sighed.

I sat there at the counter longer than I needed to. I didn’t go back to check up on Tanya. She didn’t need anyone to look after her at the moment. Maybe not for a while. Nelly looked past me as we both hear a yawn.

“Oh, hello Nelly. Sorry I slept over, again,” Tanya croaked. It settles me, hearing her voice sound more cheery after what happened earlier.

Oh right. She didn’t recognize me from the back because I took off the jacket I was wearing at the party and left it in the car before I came here. But soon enough, she noticed my car parked outside.

“And hello to you too, Ethan.” she said monotonously.

I turned around to face her.

“There you are, Tanya. Have coffee with me.” I smile weakly.

[onehundredlovers]

6/100

L:

John’s band isn’t anything big, only famous enough for their new single to be played on a small-time local radio station. Sure, he does have a mild celebrity status around town, but regardless, he never liked listening to the music they make.

“It’s like taking countless pictures of yourself, or kind of like admiring how you look in the mirror for hours,” he says.

I will never understand John’s absurd modesty. He has a real knack for playing the guitar, picking out drum beats of a song he’s heard only once and could write lyrics off a table napkin. The guy has huge talent, I only wish he’d see for himself.

I roll my eyes at him, turning the radio off.

J:

I adjust the rear-view mirror enough so I could take a sly glimpse at her.

Windows down, the wind blows against her short, bleach blonde hair, revealing hints of dark brown. She always thought her brown locks were boring and opted for a blonde do after discovering the wonders of hair bleach.

Leigh-Ann Bradley is wild, sarcastic and extremely intelligent, always getting into trouble for her crazy wit and lack of filter. She is the life of every party. She is a firecracker.

L:

We’re driving along the familiar streets of Scottsdale, running last minute errands for my cousin Alex’s annual New Year’s Eve party.

John pulls over in front of the apartment building and unloads the trunk of his black Impala. I insist in helping him carry the beer keg to the elevator as he gives me a funny look.

J:

Leigh gives all her might lifting the keg, all five-foot nothing of her. “Easy, tiger. You don’t wanna rip those sexy tights,” I laugh as she blows her bangs and flips me off.

L:

Finally reaching the roof, John carefully sets the keg along with two others. I catch myself lingering at the sight of his lean arms peeking through his short-sleeved button down. I shake my head, placing twelve packs of red plastic cups on the lawn table across from him.

J:

I fiddle through Alex’s laptop, making a quick playlist for the night. I watch as Leigh helps herself to a handful of tortilla chips smothered in dip.

L:

"Jesus-fuck, Alexander. What the hell is this?” I grimace at the yellow-green mush, feeling my stomach turn.

"Guacamole. Mom’s recipe," he beams.

"Clearly this shit isn’t your mom’s work of art," I say, downing the tang left in my mouth with a cup of Bud Light.

Aunt Gracie is a real whiz in the kitchen. I remember racing Alex to the table for the freshly-baked snickerdoodle cookies she made every time I came over to their house when we were little. I smile at the memory.

J:

Leigh shoves the bowl to me as she cocks an eyebrow, challenging me for a taste test. I play along, dipping a piece of chip in the mixture. “It’s not so bad,” I say, watching Alex fist pump in triumph.

"Gross," I mouth as Alex turns his back, mimicking a puking gesture as Leigh convulses in a fit of laughter.

L:

God, he’s adorable.

J:

Her giggles resound, enough to light up the whole room and drown out the loud, booming music.

This girl really is something.

L:

It’s 10:30 and the party’s in full swing. I make my way to the table to pour myself my third cup of beer, making sure to avoid the second keg where two already drunk guys cleaned the nozzle off with their mouths.

"Leigh-Ann,”  I hear a slightly familiar voice call my name. Clearly this girl doesn’t know me well enough to realize I only go by Leigh now.

I turn, only to be taken by surprise.

She’s beautiful. Her caramel, sun-kissed skin contrasts my pale color; unlikely for someone who’s almost never left Arizona. Her dirty blonde hair falls lazily on her shoulders as she towers over me. She has a little black dress on and royal blue pumps that accentuates her modelesque figure.

I glance at my own outfit: the usual tank-top-shorts-and-tights combo, suddenly feeling insecure.

“Rhiannon, hey,” my voice cracks. I manage a tight smile. She smiles back, revealing her pearly whites, free from the braces she wore back when we used to be friends in eight grade.

Rhiannon Taylor has been the subject of John’s love songs for the past two years. They met at this very party last 2012, with Alex being the middleman of their relationship.

I was there, seven months ago when she broke up with John, calling him to say he’ll never be good enough for her. I was there to pick up the broken pieces of his heart she mercilessly broke.

J:

I lose Leigh in a sea of vaguely familiar faces. I reach for my phone in my pocket and check the time. 11:54. I have six minutes left to find her. Six minutes left for that long overdue kiss.

I comb through the crowd once more only to find Rhiannon, weakly smiling in my direction. I wave at her. The quickening pace of my heartbeat and the all too familiar feeling of butterflies in my stomach are gone; replaced by relief of knowing I have moved on.

L:

Ten.

The countdown starts.

Nine.

I find myself alone even with a little over eighty people with me on the roof, waiting for the first wave of fireworks.

J:

Eight.

Seven. 

She’s nowhere to be found.

L:  

Six.

I was never a fan of New Year’s kisses and resolutions. I think kisses should be given at any time of the year, hell, any time of the day, as well as coming to a firm decision to change for the better.

Five.

I spot John by the deck, looking rather tense.

"Being kissed by him right now won’t hurt," I thought.

J:

Four.

I see her standing by the stairs, leaning on the rail. I desperately call out her name.

Three.

She hears, finally walking towards me. I push through people drunkenly cheering and chanting.

Two.

I feel a slender arm wrap around my neck. I turn to face my captor.

One.

“Rhi—,” I felt her warm lips press against mine. I tried to brush her off but instead of pulling away, she kisses me eagerly, hungrily, in defense.

L:

“Happy New Year!” The crowd bellows.

A few feet from me I see the boy I desperately tried to fix, back in the arms of the girl who tore him apart.

I feel hot tears streaming down my cheeks, flushed from the alcohol, as I stumble down the stairs, slamming the metal door behind me.

[onehundredlovers]

5/100

Home from the pub, I fumble through my purse for the key as we reach the door. 241D.

Sierra and I have been sharing this place since her mom bought it for her as a graduation gift two semesters ago. Not only is this an apartment filled with handed-down furniture and still bare walls: this is a piece of her she chose to share with me.

"Home sweet home," she murmurs. I plant a gentle kiss on her cheek.

The clicking of her stilettos resounds as she made her way in. Wandering towards the kitchen, I grab a bottle of champagne from the cupboard and retreat to the bedroom. I find her carefully combing through my vinyl collection, in an earnest hunt for the right one to play.

"Best Coldplay record ever written," I declare as she pulls out Parachutes from the shelf.

"Next to A Rush of Blood to the Head, no doubt," she argues. "But I know it’s your favorite." It is.

The soft crackling of the LP and clean guitar riffs fill the air. The only light in the room save for the lamp by the bed are her full moon eyes. Planets, more likely. I pop the bottle open and take a swig, not bothering to get a proper glass.

"That’s one way to drink it," she smiles, snatching the bottle from me. We take turns, like two kids sharing a lollipop.

Her auburn curls nestles loosely in a bun as she gives me an incomprehensible, slightly buzzed look.

Suddenly I am consumed by the thought of never being good enough for Sierra. She is growing into a sophisticated, big shot lawyer; far from the nerdy sorority girl she was back in college. As much as it pains me to admit, I’ll never understand why she chose to settle with me; an unsuccessful journalist, still hoping for her own stroke of luck.

I shake the thought away.

"Liv," she slurs, enough to wake me up from my daze. "Y’know I’m crazy about you."

"Is that you or the booze talking?" I laugh.

"Remember that day at the library, sophomore year?" She says, drunkenly recounting the story of our very first meeting.

"Yeah, you used to have this ridiculous pixie cut." Her fiery hair was even redder then.

"And you were the resident campus dike," she snickers.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t fall for my classic moves," I say smugly.

Going back to six years ago, I recall working part time at the university library on weekends as a sophomore. I remember clearing out Sierra’s 40-dollar overdue fee in exchange for a drink with me.

She bites her lip in defeat. “You were pretty damn smooth back then, miss.”

"I still am," I mutter, rolling my eyes at her before drowning myself again in cheap champagne and Chris Martin’s falsettos.

"Hey," I turn around so I was facing her. Refusing to let her fall asleep, I slowly lean in towards her, grazing her alcohol-infused lips with mine. Her eyes fluttered open. "You were sleeping."

"Just resting my eyes. But I appreciate your creativity in waking me up." She smiles, a small laughter escaping her lips.

Her hand instinctively held the small of my back, tracing an undecipherable love note before I finally drift off, wondering why I ever doubted us in the first place.

[onehundredlovers]

4/100

THALIA & JAMES

“You’re pretty,” I tell her as I snap a photo of her looking out the window. I really think she is, even in semi-darkness. Even when she frowns at me after I say so.

Dull red creeps in from outside. Thalia looks like she’s in flames, and I wanted to sigh. She looks so stunning with her dark, wavy hair falling perfectly on her left shoulder. I’ll never understand why she thinks she’s not pretty enough. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have used the word ‘pretty’ on her. She isn’t just pretty, she’s a force of nature. She’s made to burn hearts and behead men. She wasn’t born to just sit down and be pretty.

I notice her studying me so I look away, wondering what’s on her mind.

“Thanks for the lilies, and for today.” she says.

I smile back at her.

I go back to eight hours ago. We’re on a train, but I don’t tell her where we’re going. Not a lot were traveling today so we practically have this car to ourselves.

“Why so serious, James? It’s my birthday. Wait, I have an idea.” she grins devilishly. I already see where this is going.

Never minding the two or three other people we were with in that car, Thalia ungracefully prances towards the nearest handrail and pole dances so awkwardly and sexily at the same time. I let out a laugh as the others clap for her in amusement. She’s really something else.

I am awakened at the sound of her giggling.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“You.”

I say nothing because there’s nothing else I could say. I knew I wanted to be with her that night I watched her step out of my car and go back to her apartment. I knew it the moment I felt the urge to pull her back in and take her wherever she wanted to go. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to keep these feelings from her during the past seven months.

“Do you love me?” She teases as if she just accessed my most recent thoughts.

Of course I love you, Thalia. I wanted to say. But she teases, so I play along.

“Give me a moment to think about that,” I say. I pretend to evaluate her. “No,” I finally answered, including a cheeky smile for full effect. She doesn’t have to know. I tell myself.

Thalia bites her lip and smile, “Good.” I sense her disappointment in my answer, or so I like to think.

She gets out of the bathtub we’ve been sitting in for the past hour. Arctic Monkeys starts playing. I know exactly what would complete this scene. Candlelight. I go to her bedroom to grab the box of candles she keeps under her bed. I light each one in the tub, making the entire thing glow from the inside. A make-believe camp fire.

She’s thunderstorms Lying on the floor Up against the wall She’s thunderstorms

This song’s for her. I wanted to relish the moment.

We sat on the floor, facing each other. She looks so beautiful in her black lace camisole and skinny jeans. I feel brave enough to say something stupid.

“On the day we first met, at that writers convention remember, you were wearing something like that, cotton,denim, and lace.” I begin but I lose control of myself. “Why not opt for the next best thing: skin, skin, and skin.”

My eyes widened in disbelief. She mirrors my expression. Beyond stupidity. I wanted to cringe.

“You, sir, are very charming. I don’t trust you.” she laughs. I feel a bit less tense now.

“Well in my defense, that, fair lady, was far better than ‘Ooh baby, come on strip for your daddy.’ But no, I’m not asking you to undress for me.” I reply. I added an accent to emphasize, and hopefully to distract her from what I just said. She laughs.

“Tell you what, I’ll race you to the bedroom.” I tell her.

After blowing out the candles, we run. But for the record, I slowed myself down for her. I know she hates losing to me. When we reached the bed, she let herself fall to one side. I took the liberty of lying next to her, hoping I fall asleep so I get to stay. But I feel Thalia’s eyes on me even when I can’t see her.

“Well I can’t sleep knowing you’re next to me.” I act grumpy.

“Why so?”

Maybe it’s time I start being honest with her.

“Firstly, you smell like that.” I reply.

“Like what?” she looks puzzled.

“Christmas morning. Hence, I’m compelled to stay awake and wait for the first crack of dawn so I get to be the first one to open the presents. I want to be the one who experiences you first.”

Thalia says nothing. I can’t read her expression so I begin to panic internally. Was she disgusted? Did I say something misleading? How did it all register to her? The worry consumes me, it must be showing through.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, trying to keep my cool.

“Nothing. I’m just really really tired. Thanks again.” She turns her back on me. I’m wounded.

“OK then,” I reply sadly.

I get up, thinking she needed the rest of the night to herself. Why did I overstay my welcome? What was I thinking? She didn’t want me. I just have to accept that.

“Happy Birthday Thalia. Good night,” I finally say before planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you.” I whisper after closing the door behind me.

[onehundredlovers]

3/100

THALIA & JAMES

“You’re pretty,” he smiles coyly as he takes a candid picture of me. The camera flash hurts my eyes. I scowl at him.

All lights are off. We’ve been sitting face to face in my empty bathtub since we got back. It’s already dusk. Red light from the neighborhood starts pouring in. I like how he looks from this angle. Red makes his eternally soft gaze more piercing. Red makes his shapely lips more inviting. I shake the thought off.

“Thank for the lilies. And for today.”

He smiles without showing his teeth. I shiver without warning.

It was earlier today when out of nowhere he briskly walked in without knocking, threw the lilies on the couch, grabbed me by the wrist and whispered into my ear, “It’s your twenty-second birthday and I am kidnapping you. Don’t say a word. Let’s go.”

I laugh at the memory.

“What’s so funny?” He asks.

“You.”

Silence. I’m not surprised.

James was barely the talker. Everything he ever said was either necessary or magic. Some days, he’d say absolutely nothing to me. He’d come over, read a book with me, and leave a few hours later. Though sometimes I’d wake up to my phone buzzing. Only he calls me at two in the morning. Half-asleep, I’d listen to him talk about his little sister and what she did that day, or what he was planning to write about next. 2am James sounds more enlivened, more soulful than his 2pm self and I’ll probably never understand why. I sense there’s sleeping, secret passion in him and I’d like to wake that up.

But tonight he’s half-drunk, and I’m half-hopeful the words I want to hear start spilling out.

“Do you love me?” I ask playfully so he ‘ll think I’m only kidding. Only I am not.

“Give me a moment to think about that,” he says smoothly,. Without removing his eyes on mine, he narrows his gaze in contemplation. He’s studying me.“No,” he says finally and grins.

My heart sinks, but I bite my lip and smile. “Good.”

I get up and get out of the bathtub. I play Arctic Monkeys on my laptop. He follows and disappears into my bedroom. Minutes later, James comes back with the box of candles I kept since freshman year in college. He lights them all and carefully places each one in my tub. We both sit on the floor. We are bathed in red and orange and moving shadows.

She’s thunderstorms Lying on the floor Up against the wall She’s thunderstorms

We sat there for the longest time. Neither of us speaks. We look as if we’re both waiting. Waiting for what exactly?

I watch him watch me. He’s wearing the dark blue long-sleeved shirt I gave him last Christmas with the sleeves rolled up, dark jeans, and no shoes. He always visits my apartment barefooted, carrying his shoes with him inside. Though I never bother to ask why. I soon lose myself in my own thoughts when suddenly he runs his fingers down my bare arms. Only when he opened his mouth to speak did I find out we were thinking similarly.

“On the day we first met, at that writers convention remember, you were wearing something like that, cotton,denim, and lace.” He was speaking carelessly. I catch myself feeling excited. “Why not opt for the next best thing: skin, skin, and skin.”

He seems just as surprised at what he said as I was. This is a different James and we both know it.

“You, sir, are very charming. I don’t trust you.” I laughed.

“Well in my defense, that, fair lady, was far better than ‘Ooh baby, come on strip for your daddy.’ But no, I’m not asking you to undress for me.” He laughed with me.

I feel the urge to pin him down and kiss him right then and there.

He lets out a yawn.

“Tell you what, I’ll race you to the bedroom.” And so we did. We blow out the candles and make a run for it. Like little children, we push each other aside till we both make it to my bed that fits the two of us. I lie down as he settles for the spot beside me.

Lying next to me with his eyes closed, he looks serene. Sleeping with James never crossed my mind till now. I began to imagine how he’ll look in the morning, bare and beautiful. Feeling guilty for my thoughts, I shut them down.

He opens his eyes and feigns annoyance. “Well I can’t sleep knowing you’re next to me.”

“Why so?”

“Firstly, you smell like that.”

“Like what?”

“Christmas morning. Hence, I’m compelled to stay awake and wait for the first crack of dawn so I get to be the first one to open the presents. I want to be the one who experiences you first.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. I can’t speak. I can’t think. All I know is I can’t fall for someone who just told me a bunch of nice things today. I can’t fall for someone that quickly again, much less for a friend. Besides, James won’t think of me that way. I’m just a friend to him. I calm myself down, slowly suppressing the inner turmoil that’s building deep within my chest.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. I notice how he gives me the same look he once had when he saw me fell off a bike: panic. This is strange.

“Nothing. I’m just really really tired. Thanks again.” I turned my back on him.

“OK then,” he replied. His voice was shaky and far different from his confident tone a while back.

I close my eyes as he gets up.

“Happy Birthday Thalia. Good night,” is the last thing I hear before I feel something brush against my forehead. I feel hot tears stream down my cheek as I hear the door close behind him.

“Come back, James. I maybe in danger of falling in love with you.” I whisper before I sink into sleep.