Hurt People Hurt People

Chapter Forty Seven:

July was the month where I, as Arya put it, "finally gritted my teeth", and promised her I'd try to not only move on, but move on with someone new.

The very idea seemed ridiculous to me and it felt unbelievably quick, but, as she pointed out, it was now over a year. I couldn't bring myself to mention the fact I still hadn't deleted his phone number, just in case one day, maybe . . . I was unsure. If only he would reach out . . .

She, herself, was up and ready to go. It astounded me that she could recover in a few short months, but she was determined to not only help herself but everyone else. She encouraged me to do the same.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe I was only still hovering in the shadow of Alex's and mine's broken love because I didn't have anyone else. And maybe if I met a new guy, I would immediately forget this pain.

So I promised. And our search begun.

First, I allowed myself to smile once more at strangers. I felt like I having my nails extracted from my fingertips every time I did so ("It looks like it, too," was Arya's tart reply), but the more I forced my lips to twitch up and down in the most fleeting of movements, the more easily it came.

I quickly found myself progressing to the point where smiling no longer felt like a betrayal of every blessing I had ever been given, but a simple act of everyday politeness.

"Now," my cousin said in a worldly-wise manner, "Is when you stop being 'kind'. And you start being daring."

I looked at her uncertainly.

"What you do is you hold their look when they meet your eyes, and don't look away. Watch." She demonstrated easily, dimpling her rosy cheeks as she simpered in a sugary manner to a passing boy of about our age, not averting her gaze. He coloured and ducked his head, trying to control the foolish beam that was spreading on his face. "See? Easy," she grinned, satisfactorily.

"I can't do that."

"Oh, sure you can. Loosen up! if a dude sees a girl like you giving him the eye, he'll be absolutely chuffed to bits. Go on, try!"

"No, I won't! I'm not that bold."

"You're not bold at all."

"That's a good thing."

"No, it's not when it's holding you back! come on, there's one coming up now. Go on, try it."

"No!"

"Layla," she said, sharply. "You promised."

"I-" I stopped, sighing. "Fine."

About ten seconds later, she was giving me a strange look.

"What?"

"You looked more like you were plotting to kill him than trying to flirt."

"Exactly - because I'm not trying to flirt! I'm no good at this stuff. As Shakespeare said, 'women were made to be wooed, not to woo'."

"Lies!"

"Not really."

"Oh, wanna bet?" she demanded, suddenly mock arrogant and simultaneously confident. "Watch this."

Another male was sufficiently 'wooed' by my sparky cousin.

"Ha."

"You tart," I laughed, nudging her.

"Then just be more like me. Problem solved."

This horrific humiliation continued as she tried to coax me into the art of flirtatiousness. We ambled around my home town, those streets that I had so often frequented two summers before, searching for likely companions and blushing profusely at the very thought. We made our way up to the main supermarket and found ourselves wandering up and down the aisles, absentmindedly scanning the shelves while chatting about non-important subjects to one another. I was happy to be here with her - it was the first time she had come to stay the night at my house since the last text Alex had sent, when she had comforted me about my sadness of not responding. Now, we were feeling livelier than ever, and ready to restart whatever it was that made us most happy.