Infatuation

I knew more about her for never having spoken to her. We didn't need to. Because the way she looked at me sometimes, that said it all. She wanted me. She didn't mind that I'd stop by her apartment late, or that I'd watch her sleep, buried under her gray blanket, while the stars strung around her room blinked on and off to the rhythm of her breathing.

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9. Adam

The liquor burned going down; it numbed my body, my mind. But it stopped the voice, at least temporarily. It always did. Alcohol dulled my senses.

 

"You look like you've had a rough day," a voice said.

 

I glanced up to see a familiar face staring back at me; dark, curly hair, brown eyes, full lips. But this time she didn't look upset about her classmate. She actually looked cheerful.

 

Devon.

 

"Bad night actually," I answered as she sat down next to me. She didn't order a drink.

 

"Really?" she replied. "What happened?"

 

"I did something I'm not proud of." I took a sip of vodka. "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done." I looked at her. "Do you come here often? You pegged me as more of a coffee drinker."

 

Devon laughed. "I'm both."

 

I smiled at her. "Well, in that case, can I buy you a drink?"

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