To Perceive an Image

Twenty-Seven: Images of My Romantic Confession

The Image World, September 20, 2040, 9:00 PM

Yay, I get special talk passes.

I prevent myself from smiling when I realize how wrong that sounds. I'm not talking about that kind of talk. Arab parents must give their kids the most basic sex education. That way, their children won't hear the phrase 'special talk' and sit there in utter confusion. Wait, forget it because some parents need to act like parents, period. Anyway, let's give a grown man the talk. Laughing my ass off, not.

"Uh, okay, great," is what I thought to be a brilliant response. On top of my enthusiastic trust in my vocabulary, standing hidden behind the door is also a brilliant response.

I'm standing behind the door, sneaking glances at Flynn when I get brave enough to do so like a literal child.

Get your shit together, Azail.

I'm trying. Give me a break.

What break? You're not doing shit.

What I do and when I do it is none of your business.

It is when you're not helping me get my shit together.

End of discussion.

"So you're going to do that by standing behind the door the whole time?" A mischievous smile raises his mouth, and he has the nerve to stand up. Oh no, don't get up and walk here. Don't get up and walk here, I beg you, do not.

My eyes widen when he grabs the other end of the door handle, opening the door farther until my entire being becomes visible. Well, to his eye, and that's the nerve-wracking part. My next best choice for a response resorts to me smiling at him. But not a genuine smile, but the one where all your teeth show, yet your eyes don't move. This is the epitome of an awkward smile I feel I've perfected.

"Yeah? You've never been to a psychology clinic, so you wouldn't know how we interact with people." Yup, confidence.

Nodding in mock understanding, he motions for me to walk in. Don't mind if I do, sir. A pungent, yet clean scent hits my nostrils as soon as I set foot in the room. I don't know how to describe scents, all I know is that his room smells clean and like cologne. "I love keeping my room clean, I always use this candle that has a fresh linen scent. That's one way to disguise the cigarette smell." Oh, one way to remind me of the worst. My awkward smile falls when I remember his unhealthy habit.

"Let's not talk about that for now, you know what I came up here for." I assert, watching him lie on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. Oh my God, his tattoos.

I tilt my head when he smirks before the underlying innuendo in my words hits me, and my eyes widen in realization. "Your mom's worried about you downstairs, you dirty man." Scolding him and walking to sit in his gaming chair as if I own it might distract me from how good he looks when angry.

When he sighs, I know shit's getting serious again.

"You know I'm worried about you, Azail," he stressed, and I nodded. "I know you are, but don't let my issues bother you. Getting this situation over and done with is what's most important to me at the moment. Family issues can wait, I'll do something when a fuck shows up knocking at my door." My hands fidget with each other to distract me from dwelling on thoughts I don't want to burden Flynn with. But the sight of him getting up from his relaxed position shifts my gaze to him.

His room doesn't provide a lot of space between his desk and bed. So a two-foot opening lays between us as he sits in front of me on his bed. He points at the chair I had the liberty to sit on, and I point at the chair too. Did he want to sit here?