Spookychild’s writings

I know what I should have done at that moment. I should have canceled the date and spent the next few days trying to get a date out of Paul. But I didn’t. I had made an agreement with my mom and I have to do things for my mom or she makes me feel like a bad daughter. No matter what it is or how inconvenient or uncomfortable it is, if I don’t do as she wants I am a bad girl.

I continued to drink the water, wondering what I should do now. I remembered then I hadn’t taken his number. “you were going to give me your number.” I spoke up finally.

“Yes, of course.” He smiled and watched me open my phone.

“Ready.” I said, and he related the number, I made him check it, before I saved it.

“are you going to go through with it?” He asked, as I clicked my phone closed. “the thing your mom wants you to do?” He was watching me now.

I shrugged. Of course I was. But I felt wrong as if he was right, I shouldn’t. If it was upsetting me so much that I cry in front of a complete stranger, a cute guy no less, no matter how young, why the hell was I going through with it? “I don’t know.” I replied finally.

“you know, if you don’t stand up to her, she will always think she can boss you around.” He added, watching me closely. I wasn’t looking at him, I was looking at my hands.

I nodded. He was right. I would forever be twelve. But she was my only parent, even my grandparents were dead now. And my father and his family had never been in my life, and never would be. “you are right.” I said, picking at my nails.

“When is it supposed to happen?” He asked, but then added. “you don’t have to tell me, by the way, if I am being too nosy.”

I think he was, but my boundaries were way out of wack. My mom’s relationship had none, my ex had none. I didn’t even know what was proper anymore. “Saturday.” I responded. “at 6 pm.”

Paul turned a little to face me. “Will you text me when your home afterwards, just to let me know you made it and aren’t crying, or anxious. And if you are and think you could use some company, Let me know.”

I looked at him then. He was concerned for me. I could see it in his eyes. It hurt. I think my childhood was lonelier than most people have at least one good friend. I never had one. I had friends, but seeing someone once or twice a year doesn’t make them good friends. And since my 14^th birthday I hadn’t talked to a soul.

But here was a complete stranger again showing me concern when my life had been completely void of it. What was I supposed to do? Finally I choked out. “okay. Thank you. I will.”