It’s been four hours, and I’m still shaking. The thought Neil had the nerve to even give me a bit of hope is just terrifying. To put it loosely. And not just that, but seeing him was so strange too. Knowing that the ‘boy’, who this time last year I wanted near me, is now locked up just a few minutes away. But somehow I’m managing not to think about it too much. I have hot chocolate, and my flowery shawl is wrapped around me. My phone is near me too, resting on my lap. I’m simultaneously messaging the group chat, that I have with my friends. Them and Jake.
Ah, Jake. He’s just been so supportive this whole evening. This whole timeframe, I suppose, but today I’ve just appreciated him a little bit more. He keeps sending me those daft Facebook stickers, of a little orange cat called Mango. Not that, but he doesn’t drill me about my feelings, like my parents and my friends do. Not that I mind them doing that, but it’s really nice having a conversation that doesn’t revolve entirely around Neil. The small things are really adding up with Jake.
I can’t fall for him though. Sure, I’m way more certain that he’s real than I was with Neil. There’s actual evidence of Jake. He has roughly a thousand Facebook friends, which is pretty insane, but they all look legit. He even spoke to the police over webcam, which made me envious as my parents disabled Skype after the Neil incident. Also, as an added bonus, Jake isn’t into any sketchy, kinky, business either. He’s just a straight up, cool guy. Who happens to be very good looking.
It’s amazing, having a little ray of sunshine. They seem to be awfully rare nowdays.
Jake’s message lights up my screen. I smile in anticipation. After tapping in the code, I head straight for the Messenger app, and read:
:) you know you are just amazin, dont you?
I grin at the corniness.
It seems your amazingness is wearing off on me… ;)
We’re bad. We’re very bad in terms of flirting. I confided in my friends about him; they’re saying we are in something called a flirtationship. See, I wouldn’t know that if it weren’t for them. If I’d told them about Neil when he was Zack, they probably would have been able to tell me all the creepster signs, and this whole incident wouldn’t have happened.
It feels good, being able to talk to them. Not just that, but they talk to me comfortably too. Ask me for advice here and there. They can tell I’m jittery from the fact my messages are quick and badly-spelt. I’m not the only one in a bad mood: Jo is in a bad mood because of some sort of boy drama. It kinda makes me sad, how boys of all creatures can have such an effect on us. This time five years ago, we were swearing they all had germs.
But normal conversations. Blissful. I take a sip of my hot chocolate, and snuggle into the sofa. Another Jake message. I open it, and do a double-take: a paragraph. When a guy sends you a paragraph, you’re either really lucky or are about to hear something that’ll break your heart. Most of the time, it’s the latter.
I know I’m amazing ;) but you are amazing too. You have been through a lot these past few weeks and whether or not I have helped, I am happy that you’re so happy. It makes me so bubbly inside, and whilst I know we cant be together, I mean the time zone difference would be hard, I just want you to know that despite you telling me the weirdest thing to ever happen to me, you being the best thing has overcome it by miles
I’m shaking by time I finish reading. But I’m not still shaking from the shock of Neil. This is happy shaking. My body telling me to jump on the sofa and to scream like a 1D fangirl. In fear of disturbing my parents though, I settle for rocking back and forth, with my hand clasped around my mouth. It takes me a good five minutes to be able to type properly again.
I can’t believe you feel the same way, to be honest. You are just so amazing, really, and I can’t imagine my life without you now. And sure, we may have been joined together, but hey, the best things are usually pretty. But one day, you and me, we’ll make it work. Yeah?
My mind starts whirring into gear. We could get a little apartment in New York. Or maybe a cottage here. We’d wake up next to each other, limbs tangled, and we’d make breakfast. Just the perfect, sleepy life. Neither of us are high maintenance.
But then I have to reign myself in. Jake’s paragraph was beautiful, my very own Mr Darcy/Augustus Waters speech. Really. I just have to keep a lid on reality for a while.
(My heart still skips a beat anyway).