16. Questioning
Part of my 100 themes project. I had this since last year, but due to irl issues, I could not find the time nor energy to post it. Now, I feel a little better and things are a little better so it’s all good. Here you are~!
Also I was avoiding tumblr and its horrible toxicity for a time. But I’m back now, just still avoiding all that insanity.
Nadezhda’s friends just couldn’t understand how she could’ve fallen in love with, well….a man like Greg. He wasn’t exactly attractive or unattractive; rather plain, to be exact. He definitely wasn’t as cultured as she was or as smart (in some ways) or even really all that likable. What did a girl like Naz see in him, they’d asked her? Even he’d asked her that.
She had to ponder it herself because the answer wasn’t something you could tell people outright. Sure, other men she’d dated would’ve been considered perfect matches for her; intelligent, attractive, cultured and knew how to navigate society and politics more than her current guy. But there had been nothing there; no sparks to speak of.
She’d liked them well enough, sure. Even the girl she dated, she’d liked her too, when she thought it might be more to do with the gender of a person rather than who they were. Still, nothing had really made her feel romance. Of course it was ridiculous to expect sparks all the time, or love at first sight. Real life didn’t work like Hollywood told one it did. Still, she expected something more than just mere affection for a person she was supposed to be romantically involved with.
Yet nothing more than friendly affection ever came of any of her previous relationships. When she’d met Greg, it was something more than tepid feelings. The others had all been too much like her; there was nothing interesting or mysterious or thrilling about them, since she knew them as well as she knew herself. They were predictable, everything she could figure out in an instant; they might all express it in different ways, but when it came down to it… it was all so boring.
Greg, on the other hand….she found it somewhat intoxicating to be around him, even knowing he wasn’t on the right side of the law. There was always this undercurrent of danger and unpredictability with him; and she liked it. Which was why she couldn’t tell anyone; it wasn’t just Greg’s personality she was attracted to; it was the danger.
It was exhilarating to be somewhat involved in whatever mess he got himself into, even in a cursory situation. It wasn’t the best thing to discover about herself; that she just couldn’t be bothered with down to earth, ‘normal’ people. She craved excitement in her life, and settling for anything less was not her style.
Perhaps she was more like the Hollywood rich than she’d initially thought.
“I mean, seriously. Does he even have any good points?” One of her friends asked, as Nadezhda had been lost in thought.
“Several, and I mean he’s willing to try things that-”
“Okay, stop talking. I don’t want to hear about any of that.”
“You asked. But I don’t know. I just live in the moment, you know.” Naz replied. It wasn’t really an answer and they both knew it. Naz sighed.
“Okay, Charlie for example. Good guy, but I could tell you exactly how he’d handle any given situation. I could tell you who he’d hate and why.”
“That’s a bad thing? Isn’t that a sign of true love or something?”
“It bored me. Charlie was nice but it was boring to be with him as anything more than a friend long-term.” Naz said. “Maybe I’m defective or something.”
“I dunno. People have done crazier things for love. Do you think you’re crazy?”
“Aren’t we all? But yeah, I like him. Actually, I think I’ve found my type.” Terrible as it was, it was true. If she didn’t die or somehow have a lasting relationship with Greg, the next person to come along had to be someone similar to him.
“I guess I can stop giving you a hard time then. Also, what is your type, then?”
“Dangerous people.” Naz said in a deadpan tone, earning a laugh from her friend before steering the conversation off of herself. Of course, her friends thought she was joking and the irony was that she’d only told the truth.
She needed a drink.
