Downfall | ✔️

Chapter 1.

We pull into a quiet parking lot, just as silently stepping out of the car and making our way inside. As we walk in, we're taken to be seated against the far wall of the restaurant—which is laced with small gold fairy lights in a beautifully webbed pattern. The table is draped with a white mesh cloth and a lit candle is placed in the centre, it's adorable. Small, colourful plants act as centrepieces on each table. He made a good choice at least, I'll give him that.

As we sit down in our seats there seems to be a silence, not an awkward one—surprisingly, but silence nonetheless.

"So, this place is amazing." I almost squeak, trying to break the monotonous quiet that has blanketed the room.

"It is." he nods.

It is? It is? Two words, seriously? I mentally face palm as I fumble to find something to say, something that won't warrant a two word response.

"So.. tell me about yourself?" I ask, my voice slowly getting more high pitched as my question left my mouth. This couldn't be more awkward, come on, Jake. Surely this is a conversation starter. I ponder whether faking a sickness is too transparent right now.

"I have a sister, a younger sister—her name is Ava." he says blankly, sliding his fingers over a napkin on the table.

"Oh, that's cool. How old is she?" I try to squeeze conversation out of him, it's like getting blood from a fucking stone. Is it time to eat yet? Or leave? I'm fine with either. I tap my foot under the table partially from anxiousness, and partially from annoyance at the lack of effort he's making to converse.

"She's six, seven next week," Jake says lowly. "Tell me about yourself." he adds — clasping his hands on the table. This is the longest I've ever heard him speak, I must not be the only one sensing how uncomfortable this is. Thank god, he must've read my mind, or my expression—something I struggle to hide. My thoughts are always written all over my face. Which can be in my favour at times like this, but other times it's not the best to wear your thoughts on your face like a transparent mask.

"Well, I'm seventeen as you know. I turn eighteen in a few months." I begin. "I'm an only child, I live at home with my mom. I go to FIU too, and I'm pretty hungry right now so.. should we order?"  I laugh awkwardly, I feel like I'm rambling on but I don't care. As long as it's making conversation. Anything to fill the weird silence.

"Why do you live at home if you go to FIU? I thought you'd automatically stay in dorms. Isn't that how it works?" the curiosity in his voice is evident, but so is the judgement, at least we're talking. I choose to ignore the slither of judgement that seeps through simply because it's better than silence.

"I only live ten minutes from campus, which is lucky I guess. I don't care for the 'residential living' and communal showers, sharing my space with a bunch of strangers that I don't really know. My house being so close really just helps me avoid that, and saves money." I tell him honestly, I'm aware of how it can sound, but its true. I've never cared for sharing my personal space with others for the first seventeen years of my life. Why start now?

We order our food and conversation seems to flow reasonably well for the rest of dinner. A few awkward silences here and there, but nothing I couldn't recover with my excessive rambling. I tend to ramble when I'm nervous, abnormally ramble, I hear myself talking and my brain tells me to stop but my mouth just runs away with the words. Jake insists on paying the bill and as we walk to the car to drive home, I feel relieved— making me feel guilty, but it really has been tragic.

He seems like a nice guy, a sweet guy — but we have no connection whatsoever. Our conversations were so forced, and the jokes I made seemed to go completely over his head, which is unfortunate since I'm sarcastic 99.9% of the time.