Chapter 4 Not Yet To Love

After our rather uncommon and unexpected interaction, I wasn't ready to let him go. Not because his eyes were so pretty and his smile so warm, but because I was afraid he would attempt killing himself again.

"There's a Mexican restaurant two blocks away. You wanna go eat something?"

It was four in the afternoon, a unlikely time for both lunch and dinner, but I couldn't think of anything else.

"Sure."

He was still hiccuping, but I was glad he had found his voice again.

The school was almost empty except a few cleaners who shot us suspicious glances as we hurried by.

We walked down the stairs, the corridor and to the restaurant together, but we didn't hold hands.

All that happened between us was one single day. One event, that's all.

There wasn't anything romantic between us. There shouldn't be.

I kept reminding myself of Riley. Riley Webster. I held his hand when we walked. He was my boyfriend, Mike was just a—

I stole a furtive glance at him.

He was staring straight up ahead, as if he was on a voyage in a pirate ship, not waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

There was something strange about him, like the way he sniffed the air around him, or how his eyes were always cautious, alert. Something… not human.

I shook my head to get rid of my ridiculous imagination.

A boy space friend, that's what he was. Or maybe he wasn't a friend at all.

He was right when he said that I knew nothing about him. Nothing except his name, of course.

And that he has yellow eyes and that he's going through a tough time.

Oh, and that he brings his lunch in a plastic bag, and that he eats potatoes (which I don't), and I know this because I saw him pick plenty at the Dumpster.

I know that he takes the geometry class in school, that he reads Sci-fis like any other guy.

That he never sleeps during the library, which has become a habit for the entire school.

I know that he doesn't stan any soccer player, band or celebrity, which is weird, and that he doesn't eat anything from the vending machine or the convenience store which is weirder. And that he—

I furrowed my eyebrows. I felt like a stalker.

"Sophie?"

His voice snapped me out of my train of thoughts.

I turned to him. "Hm?"

His eyes were still puffy and swollen from crying, but he was giving me that warm smile again. I couldn't help but smile back.

He lifted his hand and gently pressed his finger on my knitted eyebrows.

"You're cute when you do that."

Hey everyone, let's gather around and breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, there you go — okay, this isn't working.

My ears turned hot and suddenly sweat dribbled down the back of my neck. But luckily I wasn't the only one who turned pink.

"And," I said, "you're lovely when you blush."

He shrugged, hastily looking away. The traffic light had turned green. "It-it's a hot day."

"Oh? And I thought it was November.""

He chuckled. It was the first time for me to hear that. And the first time for him to do it.

For a brief moment I felt like sinking, or floating, whatever. Falling into the warm glow of his eyes and the tenderness of his…

I stopped myself in the middle of my thoughts.

Mike, no, Michael Anderson. He was a stranger to me, a guy who scavages food from the Dumpster and attempted suicide half an hour ago. He's got no phone, I noticed, and probably no parents too. Maybe not even a house.

He could be a homeless beggar wandering around.

He could be a street gangster who breaks into homes.

He could be a swindler, trying to trick me and steal my money.

He could be a murderer, a rapist, a psychopath.

He could be anything.

And I realized that I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready to love him yet.