"I'll paint you a picture with words, 'I miss her'" - Neck Deep

• • • • •

When I get home later that evening, Effy is on the couch scraping ice cream from a carton while her boyfriend is strewn on the other couch. Ansel breaks from the TV screen for a fraction of a second to flash me a friendly smile. Effy rotates all the way around and says, "Hi, love."

"Hey. What's up with this?" I ask, making a sweeping gesture over them.

It's rare for the pair to be staying in on a Friday night. I'm used to coming home to an empty house because Effy was either bartending or barhopping with her boyfriend.

"I broke my leg," Ansel says, nodding to the stiff, plastered limb resting on the end of the couch.

"Oh, no. What happened?" I ask.

"I, erm, had a wee motorcycle accident," he slowly answers.

"Ansel tried jumping off a moving motorcycle onto another motorcycle," Effy says, rolling her eyes.

"You what?" I say, staring at him in disbelief.

He lifts his shoulders with a shrug in a what-can-ya-do response.

"But aren't you chief surgeon at the hospital?" I say.

He looks up at me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Yes, but I certainly can't operate on myself."

That's not what I meant. I thought that someone who's passed years of medical school and earned all those promotions to get to the top of his occupation would be smarter than to jump off moving motorcycles.

But I skip out on verbalizing that thought. I dismiss myself and head to my room.

"Don't forget about your date tonight," Effy calls into the hallway.

"I know," I call in reply.

It's going to be the fifth or sixth date I've been on since I last saw Harry. At first I strictly refused to get involved with another guy again. But one night, Effy tricked me into a blind date, and I'll admit, it wasn't too terrible. She's been hell bent on getting me over Harry and just to get her off my back, I now agree to go on the occasional date with a stranger.

So far, none of them have caught my interest. It's not that there's something wrong with the guys themselves. No, they were all handsome, nice guys and were real gentlemen about everything.

But that was it, they were just nice. I didn't feel anything with them; no connection or chemistry. We never talked about anything interesting, only the weather and local news, because we never had anything in common. It always felt like I was hanging out with an acquaintance instead of on a date.

Tonight, I hope, would be different. I'm sick and tired of nursing this broken heart. It's been nine months, for crying out loud.

After I change into a simple blouse, leggings, a long, cozy cardigan and my favorite boots, I say goodbye to Effy and Ansel and take the subway to the restaurant that my mystery guy wants to meet at.

This is always the tricky part of blind dates, finding them in the meeting location. I slowly pace the aisles of the dining area, keeping a close eye for any solo male customers. The diners are mostly couples, groups of friends or families, but after the third row, I spot a guy sitting alone at a booth.

When he looks up, I freeze in my tracks.

"Jules, is that you?" he says, surveying me. "Christ, you look... marvelous."

"Stanford, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for my blind date," he says laughing as if it were the obvious thing ever. "My mate's sister's ex-boyfriend knows this girl called Effy and she said knows a single girl who's looking for a boyfriend."

Not exactly true. I told Effy I'd give guys a chance, not that I necessarily wanted a boyfriend. And now, sitting right before me is a guy I used to have a crush on, one of the countless that have played me and led me on. I could say, "Oh, okay. Good luck with that," move along and leave him waiting for the rest of the night thinking that his date stood him up. Or I could do what my kind nature would have me do, which is stay, because no matter how hard I try, I just don't have the capacity to be a vengeful bitch.

So I sigh, "That would be me, I guess."

He flashes me a grin of all glistening white teeth. "Small world, isn't it?"

After we sit, I take a moment to register him. His style hasn't changed in the slightest since I last saw him. He's in a torn Sex Pistols tee and a black leather jacket. His carbon black hair is slicked to one side, hanging midway down his neck with his dirty blonde roots just barely making an appearance at the top of his head. He absentmindedly chews on his lip ring while he scans the menu, and his crystal blue orbs of eyes glance up at me and catches me staring.

He smirks. No teeth, just lips, audacious and heart-throbbingly handsome.

"Do you know what you're going to get?" he asks.

"Uh, no not yet," I stammer, avoiding his eyes. "I've never been here before."

"I'd go with something simple, like the grilled chicken," he suggests.

After the waiter takes our order, Standford clasps his hands on the table and looks me over. "Well, it's certainly been a while, Jules. Cheers on your internship. You were featured in the school newspaper a few months back."

"Thanks," I say. "It's been a pretty cool experience so far. Anything new with you?"

"No, just the same old, same old."

"That must not be true since you're going on blind dates. What happened to Ara?" His girlfriend, the last time I checked.

He winces as if I tore a bandaid off a sensitive part of his skin, and shakes his head in disdain. "She cheated on me with her flatmate."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I am. Now I know how it feels. Being fucked over sucks, and I'm sorry I did that to you."

Although I never even think about that whole ordeal anymore, I haven't actually received an apology from him until now, and it was nice to finally hear it. Besides, what he did hurt like a microscopic needle prick compared to what Harry inflicted on me, not to mention the fact that I fell for Harry way harder. Simply put, Stanford couldn't stand much of a chance to be on my mind.

"No, worries. Let's just start over, yeah?"

His blue eyes gleam at me. "I'd like that."

And as we eat, he retells old stories of our time together during Color Theory class. I laugh as he imitates our professor's robotic voice and he smiles when I talk about the first time I got through an oral presentation in front of a hundred people without choking on my own spit.

It's funny---I've always thought he was hot (unconventionally, but still attractive), but the only interaction we've had was briefly in the classroom or when he acted interested in me to make his girlfriend jealous. I'd never actually been on a real date with him before. Now that I have, I realize he's so much more than just attractive. He's bluntly humorous and sort of weird but in an artsy, misfit way. And his taste in music rocks.

"Your favorite Neck Deep song," I quickly say. "Go."

"Uhhh... 'All Hype, No Heart.'"

"Hm, interesting. Why?"

"It's just so angry and brash. I fuckin' love it."

I laugh. "You do look like someone who enjoys angry and brash music."

"I do, don't I?" he says, glancing down at his dark, monochromatic attire. "I try to give off that impression, but people who know me know that I'm a sweet lad. I am, aren't I?"

"We'll see," I reply.

He shoots me a playful grin. "Fair enough. So what's yours?"

"'A Part Of Me,'" I say without a second thought.

He chuckles. "You softie."

I didn't used to like that song before; it was too soft for the band's genre in my opinion, but ever since Harry absence, it's grown to be my favorite. My eyes stray around the room as I reflect on this and that's when I see it: a mop of curly brown hair that looks too familiar to be anyone else.

In my head, a certain part of the song begins to play.

Now all I can do is lay in my room,
Fall asleep, dream of you,
Then wake up and do nothing about it.

Notes