❝ALL WE ARE IS BULLETS, I MEAN THIS.❞
-❝all my life there's been demons following me, some still haunting me. I'm so keen on looking ahead that I sometimes forget who they are & only remember when I'm face to face with them, extending my arm outward...
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I watch her twirl some pasta alfredo noodles onto her fork, delicately eating like a baby bird. It's a precious sight to me, reminding me of her delicate nature. It's the one she keeps as a secret and only reveals when she's watching something remotely sad, like stray puppies on a street.
"This is so good. "
Rebecca says, a smile on my face as I mentally pat myself in the back for choosing a place with food I knew she'd like. "Try it with this." I offer, handing her a piece of bread that she gladly takes, her docile quirk still prominent as ever, as if she wore it on her sleeve 24/7 in permanent ink.
I try my hardest not to laugh when she scoops up more pasta onto her fork, enjoying it until her eyes flicker up with pleasure. The second Becky notices our waiter enthusiastically glancing at her, her cheeks grow rosy and she nervously drops her fork and stares at the plate for a few seconds before breathing out.
"It's so weird to make eye contact when you're eating. "
She whispers, glancing at me for relief. "Well, is it the eating and making eye contact or the fact that you're putting something into your mouth and making eye contact?" I ask, furthering on the torture she considers her cheeks that always flare up pink when embarrassed or in awkward, compromising situations.
" It's all weird. " She whispers, her eyes never leaving mine. "You make it weird. You're looking at me normally, eating and making eye contact with me and you don't look weirded out by it." I observe as she places a piece of the bread down on her plate.
"That's because I've known you forever, silly." She smiles.
"So?"
I question as she playfully rolls her eyes. "I know all about you Fergal, you dork." She chuckles as I give into laughter, thinking that if only she could read my mind, she'd realize just how dead wrong she is.
An annoyed sigh comes from Rebecca when she looks at her phone before slamming it down so aggressively that the delicate silver ware and china rattle.
"Sorry."
Rebecca mumbles, breathing out as to compose herself.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Work."
She responds, her eyes avoiding mine. I stare take a sip of my Guinness, my eyes never leaving hers as her hands start twitching when she glances at her iPhone. She's itching to call or text back whoever just made her angry.
I want to believe it really is work related, but as she mumbles "stupid", I know she's lying.
"You've always been a shit liar." I shoot, catching her off guard.
