Not So Unwilling

Not So Unwilling: Chapter Thirty Seven

I'm supposed to be finishing my english essay, but I couldn't do it, so here yall go.

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Chapter Thirty Seven

                We sat like that for a while and then Tim leaned back and looked at me. "Why are you crying?"

                I shook my head and continued to let the tears fall. "I don't know," I squeaked.

                "Well, stop. You're making me want to cry," he said, taking my hands and resting our linked fingers on my thighs.

                "Sorry," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder and breathing in his wonderful scent.

                Tim pulled me down on the bed so we were lying down. "Sorry you had to see that," he apologized, stroking my hair like I was a puppy. It actually felt really good.

                "I'm sorry you had to endure that."

                "It's okay."

                "No it's not. It's terrible. You're dad and my dad should like go out on a date or something. I swear to God, it's like hearing the same exact person speak and he has that thing with the vein on his forehead going on also. It's so weird."

                Tim continued to weave his fingers through my hair. "I think that we should run away somewhere far, far away."

                "We could travel around the world. Go to England and Ireland. Kiss the Blarney Stone. Drink beer in an Irish pub. Go to Egypt and climb to the tippity top of a pyramid and ride around on a camel. Hike along the Grand Canyon. Lounge by the beach in Hawaii. Stay up late at night in Alaska when the sun is still shining and look at the glaciers and count the stars. Eat amazing food in Italy and walk around the shops in Paris and look up at the EiffelTower," I whispered all my dreams into Tim's ear as he rubbed my back and stared up at the ceiling imagining it.

                "That sounds amazing," he said, quietly, shutting his eyes.

                "I know. I wish we could just leave and do whatever we please, but it's so much more complicated than it sounds. You know?"

                "Yeah," he said.

                There was silence for a little while and felt myself beginning to drift off when Tim said, "Tell me something about yourself that no one knows."

                "You already know my deepest and darkest secret. There's nothing else for me to tell."

                "Then just tell me anything."

                "Okay," I said, wracking my mind for something interesting about myself to say, "I sing Happy Birthday in my head when I wash my hands."

                "Why do you do that?"

                "Because in the school I went to for elementary and middle school, whenever flu season was around, the principal would give us this whole tutorial about how to wash your hands and she told us that the length of time it takes to wash your hands should be about the same time it takes to sing Happy Birthday or saying the Hail Mary. So I guess it kind of stuck with me and now I do it all the time."