Page 40 of Deep In Love
“I don’t understand how their brains work. Freaks me out,” I admit.
I never know what Mateo is thinking or how he’s feeling. He teases me, but does he like me? Do I annoy him? Does he find me abrasive or hypercompetitive?
We’ve spent the last few days on top of each other—metaphorically speaking. The room is small, the bed isn’t much bigger, and most of our day-to-day tasks are the same. It’s the most time I’ve ever spent with someone besides Amy, and I haven’t spontaneously combusted yet.
I don’t know what to do with the knowledge.
“My last boyfriend was really into drinking chlorophyll water,” Sofía says.
“That seems like a scam.”
“It was! Made his pee green. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but it freaked me out and I broke up with him.”
My stomach cramps from laughter, tears beading on my lower lash as she giggles along. We’re still on the floor, and I want this moment to last. It’s been so long since I’ve had this much fun with anyone other than Amy.
“I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”
The confession falls from my tongue, and I immediately want to shove it back into my mouth.
It’s difficult to explain that I no longer go on dates because I grew exhausted of how they made me feel: inadequate, undesirable, unfulfilled.
Very few made it past a first date, and I only slept with a handful and never spoke to them again after. None of them were fond of getting kicked out immediately after they came, but I have rules, and I wasn’t breaking them.
I don’t need to add the anxiety of a relationship to the shit show that is my mind, so I deleted the dating apps.
“They’re overrated,” she says, missing my obvious surprise at her lack of probing.
The urge to word vomit an explanation strikes like a lightning bolt, but before I can embarrass myself, a deep voice booms through the lab.
“Charlie?”
I scramble off the floor, smooth away the dust on my pants, and readjust my top.
Mateo leans against the bench, one leg folded over the other, thinly veiled amusement on his face. My heartbeat skips when a full smile blooms.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he responds, and the air grows thick.
Sofía kills the tension, popping her head from our hiding spot. “Hi, Mateo!” His head jerks, startled as she crawls out. “I’ve got…work. Yes. Things to do!”
She scurries away, pausing at the door to waggle her eyebrows behind his back. Before I can make a face, she’s gone, and it’s just him and me, standing in the lab.
What do I do with my hands?
They flail before landing on the bench with a thud.
“How are you doing?” he asks, his attention roaming my body like he’s checking for injuries.
“I’m…good.”
Often, I’m far from “okay” or “fine,” but I follow the societal obligation of answering the question with one of those two answers when, usually, I’m neither of those things.
But today, Iamgood.
And there’s something thrilling in that.
I’m wearing an outfit I typically wouldn’t—my arms on full display—and I admitted something uncomfortable to Sofía and didn’t allow it to eat me up inside.
