Broken Strings

Could I?

“Good shower?” Peter asks as I step from the bathroom.

“Lovely,” I reply. I can’t help but be suspicious about Peter. I cannot imagine him writing those words into his diary. More importantly, why hasn’t he told me how he felt.

“So how about some breakfast?” Peter asked.

“Sounds good, I’m starved!”

I followed Peter to the restaurant where many people sat stuffing their mouths with eggs, bacon and god knows what else.

“Hello, come this way,” a young girl dressed in black and white chauffers us to a table set for two. Peter was right, this place is fancy.

“Thank you,” he says as she leaves us be. “So what do you feel like?”

“Something that isn’t too expensive,” I laugh. “These menu prices are outrageous!”

“Don’t worry about that ‘Lee, remember I bought the unlimited facility pass.”

“But does that count for the restaurant?”

“Yes.” Peter picked up a menu and pointed immediately. “That right there is what I feel like,” he chuckled.

“What’s that?” I ask leaning over the table.

“Homemade pikelets with maple syrup,” he moans.

“Ooh, yes please. Count me in!”

Before long the waitress arrived at our table and took our orders. “So how are you liking it?”

“Here? I love it, it’s great!”

“I’m glad, so what do you wanna do today?”

“I dunno? We could go for a walk? Maybe go out tonight.”

“Not clubbing,” he laughed.

“No. Not clubbing,” I laughed along with him. “So are you ever going to tell me why you walked off last night?”

Peter’s face fell slightly and his features became serious, he looked to be in deep thought, “probably not.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t say,” he replied, still serious.

“Why?”

“Because it’s personal.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t like to know so I’m going to save you the trouble,” he was still serious.

“Why?”

“’Lee!”

“Right, sorry,” I smiled. Peter’s hardened face relaxed a little and he stiffened in his chair. I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all to do with what I read this morning.

“What is it?” he asked. I pulled my expression back to a smile, realising I was in deep thought.

“Nothing.”

“Say it,” he coaxed. No way.

“What do you write about?” I asked. It was subtle yet still going to give me some answers. Hopefully.

“A lot of things,” he began.

“Like what?”

“Well what do you write about?”

“Dreams, my day,” I paused, “Feelings.”

“Yeah, well same.”

“Do you remember when you told me I could read it one day, when will that day come?”

“Oh, uh,” Peter stuttered and fumbled over his words, “I dunno. It’s not interesting anyway.”

“I don’t mind, I have fallen in love with your handwriting. Can I look at it even just to see it again?”

“’Lee that’s kind of scary,” he chuckled. I thought as much.

“Yeah, yeah,” I wined. “So what do you say?”

“How about I give you mine and you give me yours?”

“Sure. When?”

“How about tonight? Ten o’clock?”

“On the dot!” I said in a stern and meaningful voice. I cannot believe he’s agreed. I feel as though I’ve cheated him in some way. How do I react when I get to read it for real? Oh dear. I’ve written about Peter in my diary too, of course not in such context but still, he’s in there! I begin thinking over the pages and pages filled with his description. God! He might think I’m in love with him. Of course I don’t know the meaning of love, I’ve never experienced it. I couldn’t be in love with this man. Could I?

Me again! Hope everything is going swimmingly. Am i kind of teasing you? Maybe. Love you all! xoxo