The Pinkyswear

Chapter 7

[A/N: CURRENTLY UNEDITED, BUT I'M WORKING ON IT]

On my way home a week after my frank conversation with Liam, I found myself hesitant over all the stuff I was feeling. At the same time as being relieved, I was in other ways confused, scared and even in need of hiding. Life was confusing - no doubt - but it did in no way care about all my problems until they all were forced to combined late at night in bed; trying to stab me to death. 

"I just got the feeling that I was doing something wrong, you know? Like I was stepping over someone's boundaries," I mumbled into my phone while wandering down the street.

My feet stumbled one by one, as I kept dragging my purse up to my shoulder. God, I hated this purse. Why did I even buy this?

You though it was cute, but it's not even a little bit. It has a bow. You're twenty-four. My mind was also fucking with me. That I hated even more.

"You freaked out, Elona. Admit it; you're afraid, you pussy. But honestly, I would probably freak out too," Liz answered me as I could hear the crumbling of chips in the background.

I sighed.

"Don't tell me you're trying to make it sound like you're losing the connection," I said. Liz laughed at the other side of the line. "Nope, I'm just eating," she said through the sound of the chips crumbling up inside her mouth, and the screams from the horror movie behind her.

"Are you seriously eating chips right now, like you're somehow amused in what I'm telling you? Besides, I thought you were on a diet," I claimed to her, looking inside my purse after my chapstick.

She laughed again. "Honey, this is my diet."
Once again with her mouth full, she mumbled every reason why I couldn't understand how she looked so perfect. The smile wrapped around my face.

"You're my spirit animal, Liz, but seriously why couldn't I just say something else to him than that?"

After Liam officially popped the L-word (even though it wasn't directed toward me), I freaked out. Not because I misunderstood it, but because I don't ever trust the word. Some hands shouldn't use such a word, and mine are going under that proposition with love, definitely. Me and love, to love, doesn't quit match either way you get it.

The problem was that I didn't trust myself being loved or loving someone else. I feared my own powers with that word and with someone's feelings, and he had said it. Showed me something else – told me something else.

You're just scared ones heart will break, but look at him. He's so hot. Shut up, thoughts.

Going from talking about taking it slow, I had blurred out that I felt my period coming and had to leave for the store immediately before bleeding through my pants. Thinking that the idea of blood and period would scare him away like some other men, I was thinking he would leave.

He didn't.

It was almost the opposite. He insisted on buying me chocolate and pads, even tampons if I preferred those, and I could feel myself softening, however almost dying inside the whole time.

"Seriously," she imitated me. "You really can't complain on a hot, nice guy actually buying you period goods. That's prince charming, honey," Liz told me, and I couldn't disagree.

"I know what you are thinking, Liz. He's the one, nada nada, marry him before I do, and that shit. I know you too well, but you know me just as much. Maybe I am a pussy," I admitted, before looking over at the beautiful sunset.