Well, Tuesday came and went, and my plan died. I had it all decided, and then I wimped out. For some reason, I just feel like I don't quite know him well enough to go through with it. So, my backup plan is going into action. Mission: get to know Trevor.
And so here I am, lying on his bed while he spins circles in his squeaky, old office chair. I'm staring at my computer screen while Trevor stares at the ceiling with his head resting against the back of his chair. I don't know how he hasn't thrown up everywhere yet with the amount of spinning he's done.
The assignment was to write a one paragraph paper on our emotions. I'm finished, but Trevor doesn't appear to have even started. Typical guy; incapable of converting his thoughts into feelings. As I wait I'm surfing the internet, and I'm reaching that point of wanting to pull my hair from my skull in boredom. My patience is running low. I begin tapping my pen against the edge of my computer. I see his head snap up out of my peripheral vision and he watches me for a few seconds as I continue to tap away without acknowledging him.
"Do you mind?" he finally grumbles.
I glance up at him with a smirk, my pen frozen mid-tap. "Is there a problem?"
"Yes," he blurts with an exasperated sigh, "I'm trying to concentrate here, and your incessant tapping is not helping speed things up."
"I don't get why it's so hard," I say while changing from lying on my stomach to sitting Indian style. "If you're having so much trouble with it then maybe it's because you're not that much of an emotional person. You don't really let things get to you. You're easygoing, patient, even-tempered... I don't know. Just write about that stuff."
"What makes you think I'm any of those things?" It's a rhetorical question, and I watch as he rubs his hands down his face, leaning forward in his chair. "Just because I choose not to share my feelings with the entire world doesn't mean they don't exist. I may not be as calm, cool, and collected as you think." I'm watching him closely as he explains, and I smile when he appears to be finished.
"Sounds to me like that would make a pretty good paragraph," I tell him.
His brows crease in thought, apparently not fully registering what I mean.
"Go at it with a different angle," I tell him as he puts his hands on his face, clearly irritated by this entire assignment. "Instead of listing who you are, maybe list who you're not."
He's got his hands covering his face, but he parts his fingers to peek over at me before sitting up straight and pointing a finger at me. "Nice," he says, as he swivels around in his chair and starts scribbling away on his blank sheet of paper.
I hum softly to myself as I wait for him to finish.
He suddenly throws down his pencil on his desk and stands with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head. My gaze is instantly pulled to the bare skin that is on display as his shirt pulls away from the waistband of his jeans. Heat blossoms in my chest, radiating up to my face.
I quickly divert my attention, swinging my gaze up to his face before he can catch me ogling him, but I'm too late. Unlike most guys who would be flaunting the fact that they caught someone staring at them, he just watches me as he slowly brings his arms back down to his sides. I'm mortified, so I do the only natural thing that I can think of. I bury my face behind my computer, attempting to get his mind off of what he's just seen by changing the subject.
"Uh, well, we could..." My voice cracks and I'm instantly aware that I have not improved the situation. Instead, I've probably just made it that much more obvious that I'm utterly flustered. He has returned to his seat, but he's still watching me, and he's far too intense with his keen gaze.
I'm tempted to start screaming at him to look away, but he breaks the silence first. "What's next?"
Oh, the relief! I nearly wilt as all my strength leaves me with a sigh. Pulling myself together I peer at our homework assignment. We're supposed to complete an online quiz, which I already have ready and waiting on the computer screen.
"Okay." I run my fingers through my hair as I pull all of it over to one shoulder. "Uh, we just have this quiz to do and then we're done." I scroll through the questions, skimming over them quickly, and then return to question number one. "Just rate these questions one to five. One is often, and five is never."
Trevor nods his understanding and I proceed. "When going through hard times you're more prone to abusive behavior. Drinking, drugs, excessive eating, worry."
"Yes. Uh... maybe a two," he answered quickly.
I'm shocked by his immediate response but I hide it by continuing on. "What is your abusive behavior?" I ask tentatively.
He is completely unaware that this isn't actually one of the questions. I'm just curious, and since getting to know each other is part of our project I feel I have a right to dig just a little bit. He looks at me strangely, and I'm wondering if he knows that it's not part of the quiz since it can't be answered with a number one through five, but he doesn't say anything about it.
"Sleep," he finally says. "I don't sleep."
I nod, relieved, before going on. "You present yourself in ways that are not true to who you are," I say.
He thinks for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah, I think I'm pretty sure of who I am. I'll give that one a four."
"You break promises." I can't help but look up to gauge his reaction when I ask this.
His eyes narrow at me slightly before he answers. "Five." His gaze is so intense that I can't manage to pull mine away. "Never."
I can't figure out why he keeps looking at me so fiercely. I feel like his hard eyes are burning a hole into my head and reading every stray and confused thought floating haphazardly around in there. The fact that I can't even figure out what's going on in my own head makes me feel even more uneasy about the way he seems to be reading me like a book. I blink several times before tearing my eyes from his.
"You need encouragement from others to feel good about your work," I read.
"Wait, you said one is often right?" he asks and I nod. "Okay, I give that one a four."
"When you're sad or down you seek the company of others," I ask.
I'm already expecting him to agree with that statement since most confident, outgoing people feel energized and upbeat when around others, or maybe he's one of those guys that seeks out women to perk him up. But once again, I'm surprised when he gives me a four. I don't want him to know I'm shocked but I can't help but peek at him. He's back to twirling around in his seat completely unashamed of admitting to sulking in solitude. My heart warms at his admission.
We complete the entire thirty question quiz, and I'm surprised to see that Trevor scored fifty-six percent extrovert.
"This has got to be false," I say, while I stare at his score.
"What? Why?" He's already out of his seat and coming towards me.
He plops down on the bed and turns the computer screen to face him. He's so close to me; I don't think we've ever been this close on purpose. His arm lightly brushes my knee as he reaches over to scan through the description of his score.
"Hmm, makes sense to me," he says, turning the computer back to face me, but he doesn't move from his position on the bed.
"Really?" I can't help but ask.
"I dunno," he says while rubbing a hand through his hair, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. "I love being with people, but usually it's just a way of getting out of the house. A lot of the time I prefer my solitude." He pauses. "I haven't always been this way. I used to love being with people. I used to thrive off of interaction with my friends, but I kind of gave that up awhile back."
"What caused such a huge change?" He looks up at me when I ask this.
My curiosity is piqued when he doesn't answer right away; instead, allowing a heavy pause to hang in the air between us. The breath is knocked out of me with the one simple word that finally escapes his mouth,
"You."
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