The Search for Prince Charming

Chapter 11: Going Back to the Mall

I raised my lowered head to look back up at Alviss. What did he mean by what I was afraid of? I could’ve thrown in something stupid, like saying I was afraid of spiders, heights, the dark, ghosts, naked cats, and a whole bunch of other things, but the look he was giving me told me to be serious. His bright eyes had turned slightly darker, not as dark as when he got that text when we were eating ice cream, but enough to show me he wasn’t kidding around.

I didn’t know how to answer his question. Even though I was supposed to be honest, there was no way I was going to bluntly say “Alviss, I’m afraid you’re not perfect.” Even if it was true, which it was because he didn’t have the behavior of my kind of prince, that would just make the whole atmosphere sour and I didn’t want that. But I wasn’t going to lie and say I wasn’t afraid of anything. I was afraid. I was very afraid.

“I’m afraid of being hurt.”

I was honest. I was afraid to be with someone that could have the ability to break my heart into tiny little pieces. I was afraid to trust someone that could stab me in the back. I was so afraid that each time I was in a relationship I never gave them all of me. In the back of my mind, I reminded myself it wasn’t going to work, and it kept my emotions in check so that when we eventually broke up or he did something horrible, I knew it was coming and could protect myself. But that kiss, the kiss that Alviss and I just shared, proved one thing to me: I wasn’t prepared for him.

In an attempt to change the subject and atmosphere, I finally moved away from him and into the living room. The remote to the TV was sitting on the adjacent couch, and I grabbed it to turn on the TV to something we could watch. I couldn’t bear the solitude of just us, and the tension was getting too thick. I figured watching something would distract us and maybe speed up time until Steph woke up so we could leave and get my car. I sat on the couch again, starting to flip through channels.

Honestly, nothing was ever on during Sunday afternoons. I kept flipping through, slightly feeling sorry that I left Alviss hanging like that. I normally preferred closure to topics like that, but this wasn’t a great time for me. I assumed he felt the same way as he grabbed the tub of ice cream and handed it to me. With his other hand, he held it out and asked silently for the remote. I agreed and traded with him without speaking a word. At least I knew we had ESP to an extent. It was helpful in the thick tension.

We both watched the TV as he flipped through the channels, sometimes pausing to see what was on for a few moments, then continuing on his journey through the stations. I picked my way through the ice cream and cookie dough, getting close to half way gone by the time Steph finally emerged from her slumber. She walked downstairs and entered the living room where we were, noticing Alviss and I were sitting on different couches and not speaking to each other, just watching the box of lights and sound. While Alviss continued to look at channels, I got a glare from Steph and got motioned to come into the kitchen. Great, I was going to get yelled at.

Here’s how the conversation went without a single word spoken: Steph glared at me with daggers, rapiers, maybe a grenade in there, and a machete attached to her eyes. I gave her the “you’re joking, right?” look. She pointed (furiously) at Alviss, then me, then brought both her pointer fingers close together and tapping each other a few times, symbolizing the alone time we had, then a glare of “what the hell happened?” including her hand resting on her hip. I hesitated, thought for a moment, then held up my hand showing her a “four”. I was going to regret showing her that. I let her brain connect the dots: four equaled a kiss. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth gaping, and she started to jump excitedly while trying to keep the sound low. I motioned her to shut up. She shut up. End of discussion. All of that happened in about twenty-five seconds. Impressive, right?