I remember how your eyes looked that day. They were brown and soft, like liquid. They invited me in, made me feel loved, like I was welcome in your life. Like you wanted me here, there was nothing to worry about. Yet at the same time, I knew there was.
We were in your garage and your parents weren’t home. You’d invited me over, and I’d happily accepted, nervous and excited rolled into one. You answered the door with a guarded expression on your face, like you knew at this time that anything could happen. And you would let it.
It was cold in your garage. There wasn’t a heater and it was pouring rain outside. I felt goose bumps rise on my legs and arms, and shifted uncomfortably on the workout bench I’d been sitting on. I shivered and you noticed this, yet you didn’t lend me your sweater. You let me sit there. Cold.
You walked to the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. At this time, I’d panicked. You couldn’t know what this bottle did to my heart. But I played it cool. Like this happened to me every day. And in a way, I guess it did.
In one swift motion, you took the top off the wine. You didn’t use any sort of opener. Then you took a swig straight from the bottle. You kept your eyes on me the whole time. Brown, soft, guarded, loving.
“Wow,” I’d said to you after a moment, “color me impressed.”
I saw your eyes noticeably change expression when I said this as you put the bottle down on the ground. Your face hardened and I saw an emotion that I cannot describe. I looked at you curiously, wondering what it was you were thinking. I felt vulnerable, like anyone could hurt me. But I didn’t think it would be you.
Then, you put the bottle to your lips again, and you said, “No. Color you warned.”
Love and fear meet yet again, two opposite emotions trying to fit on the same path. Once again, it’s had a terrible affect. I’m scared of you. I have been since the first day I met you. I used to be scared and in love with you. Now, I’m just scared.