Page 87 of Love Me Like It's Real
I love this too. I can’t lie to myself anymore. I could stay here forever and that’s probably the most dangerous realization I’ve ever had.
Because it means guaranteed heartbreak.
But I don’t care. I’m already too far gone to stop it. I’ll just have to live with the consequences of my actions. And I can worry about those tomorrow. For tonight, I just want to be with him. To do this again. To do this until we can’t anymore.
TWENTY-SEVEN
HAYWORTH
“Is there L-O-V-E brewing in Maplewood?”
That’s the question of the day, according toMaplewood Matters. Because apparently the several self-proclaimed love haters were reported making out and being super affectionate at the latest Anti-Valentine event. Of course, I was the first one to be mentioned by name and they even got Felix’s name this time around.
“No there isn’t,” I tell Mom for what feels like the hundredth time but she’s also asked once.
But when it feels as if all eyes and ears are on you, it’s no surprise that I feel as if the world is hanging on my every move waiting for me to slip up.
And I almost did. Last night. When it was just Felix and me and nobody else in the world. When it felt as if we were connecting at a deeper level. When we brought pleasure to each other like we never have before and when it felt so different for no apparent reason. None I can explain anyway. None I want to begin to explain.
“Would it be so bad if there was?”
I stare daggers at Mom but she only chuckles in response.
Great. Now even my stares have no effect.
“Has anythingMaplewood Matterswritten ever been right?”
Mom shrugs. “I don’t know. They seem to be on point for most things.”
“Well, they’re not on point about this.”
“Would it be so bad if they were?” Her eyes pierce me with the intensity of all the hints and questions unasked.
“Yes,” I say.
“Really? Why?”
“You know why.”
I refill my cup of coffee and Mom dips a biscuit in her cup then chews it with her unwavering gaze.
And that’s exactly why I hate this fucking blog. Not only does it not care for the truth, it doesn’t care about the effect their lies have on the rest of us. On me.
“So you’renotin love with Felix Spring?”
Isn’t that the question of a lifetime? I want to say no. Ineedto say no, but it feels like sacrilege thinking it let alone speaking it. It’s as if I can picture his face in front of me, those wonderful green eyes that feel as if they can see all the way into my soul and I can see the disappointment in them, the small, but noticeable pout when I deny anything I feel for him.
This is torture.
This is why love sucks.
Because I shouldn’t be feeling anything close to this after two weeks of knowing this guy.
I drop my shoulders, hold my cup up to my mouth and raise the pitch of my voice.
“OMG Mom. Yes. I’m so in love with the new kid, Felix. I think I’m gonna ask him to the prom!”
“You should. It’ll be fun,” Mom says in a serious tone completely ignoring my sarcasm and I groan in frustration. “Would it really be the end of the world if you were?—”
