20 Confessions of One Clinically Depressed

Confession 10: I knew him before

I think I fall asleep for an hour, because when I wake, I wake feeling even more tired and exhausted than I had before. My mind is racing with the haunting memory of my mother's shattered skull, and I let out an agitated breath, attempting to control my heartbeat. I can never fall asleep for more than a couple hours.

Insomnia, they call it.

Born from trauma.

My eyes cut across to my new 'roomie' and find he's still deep in slumber. God, that bastard can sleep a lot. I flick my gaze up to the ceiling, making patterns out of the dots. I wonder what would happen if someone would poke a thousand dots into the skin with a knife, would they turn into a human fountain? You'd probably have to add pressure, so you'd have to stick a hose down their throat and push them full of water. . . .

A sudden rustling makes me freeze, and my eyes once again dart to his bed. I'm not sure, but the way his legs are tangled and the fact that his breathing just elevated to tiny puffs indicate that he's having a nightmare.

I sit, frozen, as I watch his dreams escalate, his body contorting under his sheet. His short breaths ring harshly in the air, gasping and spluttering, but not muttering incomprehensible nonsense like some do. A tiny inkling of compassion bursts in my breast, but I quench it. Instead, I sit and watch as he suffers, fascinated as he kicks the blanket off to revel those sexy scrubs we're forced to wear.

Suddenly his nightmare is done. As he wakes up with a gasp, a strangled sound that bears a resemblance to "Daphne" emits from his throat. He bolts upright, head swinging wildly around, trying to gain insight into where he is.

"Shit," I hear him mutter.

"Well, shit is right, Shacklebolt. So eloquently spoken."

His glare swings around to me, and I get the first look at my new tenant for the next day.

Something stirs in the pit of my stomach, overflowing it with warmth and butterflies, and for a moment I'm shocked. I'm shocked because the guy sitting ten feet away from me is damn hot. I'm shocked because the moment his eyes meet mine, my body goes hot and cold all at once.

And I'm shocked because I know him.

Well, I don't exactly know him. It's very hard to forget perhaps the hottest guy that you've ever locked eyes with.

Three months ago:

" Carla," I muttered as my friend dragged me by the wrist. " You're cutting off the circulation in my hand. This had better be important. I was just about to get my cheer on!"

Carla let out an annoyed sigh at my sarcasm and yanked me forward. I nearly collided with the middle-aged man in front of me; Carla, thanks to her wonderful reflexes, yanked me back in time. I was beginning to feel like a yo-yo.

" Jesus," I said, " what is it."

We were supposed to be in the stands, cheering for some bloody homecoming nonsense. Halftime was a time to parade the floats around, show off the Homecoming Royalty and runner ups, and to instill a sense of fraternity and school spirit. None of which I really cared for, but was fun nonetheless. It was the biggest football game of the year, and Colville High's colors – black and blue – were decorated everywhere – the stands, the clothes, the floats, the cheerleaders. The colors had even invaded my hair in the form of fo-fo pom stuff that Carla had insisted tying there. It tinkled every time I turned my head. She had even dragged me to the bathroom to apply silver, black, and blue dashes on my cheeks.

" There," she said excitedly, pointing into the thick crowd, " There's that hottie. C'mon, look. I know he's a Rebel, but dayam."

"Carla!" I say good-naturedly. " You're not supposed to be salivating over the other team! Even their fans. Team spirit and all that shit."

" Yeah, well, I have to tell you honey, I'm just looking. Besides, this will be the only time that– look! He's coming our way!"

I finally looked, searching the crowd for the object of Carla's fascination, and my eyes were immediately gravitated to an athletic form weaving between milling people with ease.

Then I caught sight of him. My heart stopped and stuttered. A warmth blossomed in the pit of my stomach, swooping lower until I felt faint and flushed.

Damn. He was sinful. He was perfect. He combined the two with perfect harmony. It was the right combination of roughness and beauty. There were no other words. He radiated a confidence that was neither arrogant nor cocky, but someone who was sure, someone who was sturdy. Someone who was certain in who he was and what he could offer the world. And dayam, did he look sturdy, just looking at those biceps that curled under his muscle shirt. His shoulders were broad, but his hips were slim.

And then, he looked right at me, our eyes connecting for the first time. I noticed, in a daze, that his were a bright green, nearly an acidic green.

He stopped dead in the crowd, nearly five feet away. I watched him, nearly hungrily, my eyes roving over his strong jaw, up to his high cheekbones, before landing on his lush, pink lips. I imagined what those pink lips could do, what things they could make me feel, and I flushed.

Oh yeah. Not love at first sight. But definitely attraction. Holy shit, what an attraction. It was compelling me; those bright green eyes were calling me, begging me to be wrapped in that secure hold of his, to be kissed until I was breathless and shivery.

And then he caught that bottom lip between those pearly whites, his eyes flicking up and down my figure. Scalding. Hot. I imagined taking that lip between my teeth, raking my hands through his dark hair, straddling his waist. . .

Just thinking about it, my body flushed, and I trembled. His gaze scorched me to the core, like he was thinking the same thing. Vaguely, I heard Carla say something, but it didn't register.

My eyes remained locked with his.

And he didn't seem to want to look away.

But Carla's voice penetrated her thoughts, her concentration breaking. " Look, there he is!"

With the a force I didn't know I possessed, I tore my eyes away from his regretfully, and looked to where my friend was pointing.

" Isn't he hot!"

'He' being a cute college-student bearing the rival teams logo. He probably had a brother playing or something. He paled in comparison to the stranger I had nearly eye-fucked, but for my friend's sake, I nodded my head and smiled.

" Yes, yes he is. Go, go and talk to him, you little slut!"

Carla squealed; she shot forward. I chuckled at her enthusiasm, and then ripped my gaze around, desperate to find Mr. Hotness and ask him his number. I didn't care that it was a terrible pick-up line that most boys did; I was all for equality and all that shit.

But the stranger had vanished into the crowd.

I caught sight of him a little later on, but by then my nerves had overtaken me, and I had hunkered down like the coward I was.

Present:

We stare at each other like we're deer caught in headlights. 

He doesn't look much different. If anything, he looks hotter than before. His same plump lips are twisted into some ironic smirk, his eyes flickering all over my body. His green eyes are penetrating, roving, sucking me in like he's a fucking black hole. 

"Well, shit," I groan. 

The first words he ever speaks to me are thus: 

"What the fuck are you doing here?"