The Right Side of the Wrong Bed || Bruno Mars

Chapter 25

Bruno

Love, according to the dictionary, is a feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair.

Furthermore, love, according to Wikipedia, is a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes that ranges from interpersonal affection to pleasure. It can refer to an emotion of a strong attraction and personal attachment.

Love, according to Faye, was what I was to her as she had bid good night to me before I had gone to sleep last night. She had seen me just turned away afterwards, but what she had not seen was my face flushing beet red. The beating of my heart had accelerated. It had gone as incredibly fast as cars zooming on a dangerous and death-prone highway.

Don't all British people call anyone that? someone murmured in my head, spoiling my perfect reverie of Faye and I.

"Mr. Hernandez?" another interruption called for my attention.

I swung my head to the right and saw my student, Amber, looking at me wonderingly and holding a can of soda. We were at the corridors of the school, standing by a vending machine which I had forgotten was there in front of me.

"I believe this is your soda," she inquired, handing me the item.

I took it with a dumbfounded expression. That was only when I realized my soda must've popped out from the vending machine already after I inserted my money, and I was too preoccupied in my own thoughts to notice it.

"Are you okay, sir?" Amber asked once I stepped backward from the machine for her turn to use.

"Yeah," I breathed.

"You looked like you were thinking too hard," she commented as she keyed in his money to the machine. It produced a mechanical sound before it, as if spat the item she had selected. My eyes were on her as she bent to grab her drink but my mind was still trapped in the same thoughts, the can of soda cold and wet in my grip.

"Mr. Hernandez?" Amber tried to drag me out of my deep sea of thinking again before I completely drown into it.

I lowered my eyelids at her and threw her the question, "What does it mean when somebody calls you 'love?'"

"It depends?" was her uncertain reply after she had taken a gulp of her drink, not quite answering my question. "Isn't that showing affection?"

I grimaced at the floor. "Is it?" I taunted once I flicked my gaze back to her.

"Why'd you ask, sir?" she queried.

"Nothing. I'm just... wondering," was my alibi.

"Well, I hear some Brit people use it very often. They call anyone that, even random people," she reported.

"It's just an English slang then?" I asked furthermore. "Like it's not a big deal if a Brit calls you that?"

She looked up at the ceiling before answering me with an "It depends" yet again, shrugging.

I tipped my head down on my can of soda. An audible tss-like sound that awakened my thirst was heard as I opened it. I brought it to my mouth and let the liquid river down my throat like a blast of Antarctic Ocean.

.

The strident scream of the school bell was like a letter from my beloved from a far away land that I've been waiting endlessly to arrive. I stood up rather startlingly from my seat faster than anyone could in the classroom, obviously being the most eager to get the hell out of the perimeters of this institution.