"We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness - and call it love - true love." (Robert Fulghum)
Moving...
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"I like it when you're bossy," he says, and I roll my eyes.
With great difficulty, Zayden rises from the chair, then sits down again, this time with his hands on the back and legs on the sides of it, giving me free access to inspect his back. A few seconds ago it seems that I wasn't thinking enough, because in the face of the accomplished fact, I feel the shame and embarrassment taking over me, and the confidence that surprised the brunette evaporated, coming out of me like steam.
"Um," I say, which is why I will be cursing myself for the next few days, when I won't be able to make eye contact with him without remembering this embarrassing situation I got myself into by agreeing to run on the treadmill.
Zayden turns his head towards me, as if wanting to increase my level of embarrassment over the limit. To stop him from giving me another knowing smile, I grab the hem of his shirt, but hesitate when I have to lift it up. When I imagined that I would take off a boy's clothes I did not think that it would be in such circumstances. His calm demeanor is rather questionable, although his character hasn't manifested in a violent way lately, not even verbally, not that he's someone whose body language is characterized by fists. With his unspoken confirmation thus, I take a deep breath and lift the t-shirt until the edge of it rests on his shoulders. The guilt becomes even more acute when I see that his back has taken on a brighter color than normal and there are two bruises and a large scratch that I can't find an explanation for. The bruises were caused by the floor, which is not flat at all, with some swollen portions, which I have already tripped over countless times. Perhaps his skin got caught between two such pieces and managed to produce a scratch.
Zayden clears his throat, waking me up from a long string of nasty words directed at myself. The thought that I made the fall harder for him doesn't give me peace. My hand involuntarily runs over each bruise, caressing the skin it touches, as I feel his muscles tense. My fingers brush up to the triangle tattoo, which has been well taken care of due to the prominent black color and not-so-erasable lines. I didn't consider the possibility that the ink was actually fresh. Although the drawing could be categorized as small, not exceeding seven centimeters, the work done by the artist who made it is commendable, as it is very difficult to draw perfectly straight lines on a surface that is not exactly uneven. I'm no expert, but this topic interested me because I've always considered getting a tattoo in the distant future. Until now what was holding me back was my stupid commitment to please my parents in an attempt to gain their attention, but as I've run out of patience... I have no reason to hesitate. When I find the design that calls out to me to tattoo it, I'll listen to my gut, something I should do more often.
I pushed the thoughts away from my current situation and put his shirt back on, all the while trying to ignore the lump in my throat or sweaty palms. Zayden turns to me, and we sit in awkward silence for the next few minutes, him wearing a dumb expression of impassiveness and me probably one of dismay.
