13 Peach Pink

A sense of foreboding.

The feeling that something bad is going to happen in the future. Very few people actually paid any heed to it, others thinking it's all in their head.

I'd learnt to trust this gut feeling, knowing what I sensed was worth being weary over. After all, if I'd paid the same attention to this sensation two years ago, maybe I could've avoided the worst phase of my life. That day, if only I'd gone back and checked my locker, maybe things would've been different.

So I always paid mind to it, being extra cautious whenever I felt it.

Even the day Ian called me, telling me to meet him at my front porch.

"I'm outside," he said nonchalantly, like it wasn't weird.

"The fuck?" I whisper-yelled into the phone, and he must've realised the gravity of it because he immediately defended himself.

"I just thought it'd be easier," he was trying to sound calm, but I picked up on his nervousness. "Stop your train of thought, I'm not a stalker."

"Right," I nodded even though he wasn't there to see it, a small smile playing on my lips. But maybe all I had to do was look out the window for him to see it.

"Just get your ass here already," he sighed, and then his tone took a more serious note as he said, "I need to tell you something. We have to talk before I change my mind."

Those words were what put me on edge. I'm not sure why, but I was alarmed and I trusted my instinct. I answered yes, but mentally prepared myself for the worst.

The feeling of impending doom grew more in my chest with every step I took, but I kept going. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe I just wanted closure for his behaviour that night. Either way, I was going to find out.

I opened our wooden front door, peeping out to find no one. I raised my phone to my chest, seeing if he texted me about chickening out or something.

"Oi, Brayham!"

I looked up at that sorry excuse for a whisper, my eyes landing on Ian hiding behind the side of our house in true creep fashion.

I gave him an incredulous look and if he couldn't see it, he must've sensed it 'cause he moved out of the shadows with a click of his tongue, like I was inconveniencing him. "Will your parents be okay with this?"

"Not if you're sneaking around like a fucking stalker."

He rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry, I only assumed because my Asian mother would have a heart attack if she saw a girl at my place past 8 pm."

'So that's the real reason you've never had a girlfriend, huh?" I teased.

He didn't argue, instead shrugging it off and I couldn't hold back the smile. He ignored it and gestured at the road leading out our garage, "wanna go for a walk?"

He started off without waiting for a response, so I caught up to him, matching his slow pace.

In usual fashion, we walked in silence for a bit, just enjoying the night. But even being next to him didn't calm me the way it normally did. He didn't feel like a safe place for some reason.

"So…" I was the one who started, "what is it?"

He was quiet for a bit before be spoke, "it may sound crazy, but promise me you'll hear me out." He couldn't even look at me, but I could tell he was serious from his voice.

"Of course, I will."

He turned his eyes to meet mine, seemingly making sure before he turned back to the road, breathing in deeply, "Okay so... Don't freak out but- well, I can-uh-" he glanced at me and I gestured for him to go on, he looked away and continued, saying the last part so fast I almost didn't hear him, "I can… kind of read your mind."

I stopped, just staring at him. He stopped too, looking back at me with slightly wide eyes, "hear me out.," he begged, even before I'd opened my mouth.

It just pissed me off more.

"Is this a fucking joke, Ian?" I asked rhetorically, shocked at his nerve to say stupid shit during a serious conversation.

He shook his head slowly, dead serious as he said, "Violet, it's not a joke."

"For fuck's sa-"

"Give me your hand."

"What?"

He moved closer to me, reaching out his hand for me to hold and repeated, "give me your hand."

I stared at his open palm for a moment, and making my decision, I gingerly lifted my hand, gently placing it in his. He turned his hand so it was parallel to mine, interlocking our fingers and looking up at me, gauging my reaction.

His hand was a lot warmer than mine, and rougher than I'd expected. Mine seemed so much smaller and delicate in comparison. It was nice.

But that also begged the question, was his whole mind-reading stance just so we could hold hands? I wanted to call it stupid but I guess it worked.

"That's not why," he was on the verge of laughing, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Did you actually…?"

No, that's not possible.

"It is," he answered, his voice quieter and the smile gone. "It's happening."

Come to think of it, didn't something exactly like this happen that day? It was weird that he knew what I was thinking, but I just chalked it up to be being really obvious per usual. If that wasn't it…

"Wait…" I breathed, trying to process what just happened. It couldn't be real. "Okay, I'm going to think of something really random. Tell me what it is."

Peaches.

He bit his lower lip to keep from laughing, "peaches?"

I couldn't even focus on the stupidity of the situation. He actually just read my mind. In a moment of panic, I tried to pull my hand away, and he let me, his own falling dejectedly by his side.

"Just listen to me."

"How long?" I demanded, feeling the anxiety growing in my chest. It was about to swallow me whole.

He sighed, "why don't we sit down somewhere and talk about this, yeah?"

I couldn't get my mind off it for even a second though. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling a lot chillier all of a sudden. I was about to ask him something but he spoke first.

"Don't worry, it only works if there's physical contact." he was looking directly into my eyes, "I can't tell what you're thinking right now."

"How can I be sure?" My eyes narrowed on their own volition, and I didn't miss the hurt that briefly flashed through his.

"Trust me."

I searched his eyes for any signs of a lie, but he wasn't someone I could read. To think of it, what did I even know about him, except his name and a few of his interests? I'd always just thought he's just naturally quieter about his personal life, but he knew so much more about me. Why was it so one-sided?

Did he have something to hide?

Most importantly, how could I trust him when he's never given me any reason to?