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He’s called me Clover more than a thousand times in those precious few minutes we’ve spent alone, but the way he says it tonight feels… different. Quiet, intimate.
Zac Porter, in a crappy mood? It’s… I think back to that deep, warm laugh, and the easy way he’d smile. The laugh lines around his eyes. It’s not just impossible. It’s unfathomable.
My fingers find the red, worn-out shoelace around my wrist. Twist it around compulsively. It’s nearly impossible to do given how tight the thing’s become. I’ve been retying it within an inch of its flimsy life every time it’s fallen off over the past ten years. Really, I should cut it off. Burn it in a purging ritual or something. Hope it finally cleanses me of these incessant thoughts. Stops her from popping up in my head every other second.
I’ve made friends she doesn’t know, dated women who weren’t her. Yet, here I am, heart still pumping in anticipation of the girl who stole my heart the first time I ever saw her. I have been desperately, pathetically, feel-nothing-unless-she’s-in-the-room in love with Melody Woods for fourteen years.
