A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  As my chest heaves, thinking about his smug grin, I start to feel my heart beat faster, and I begin to panic. Is this what it feels like to have a mental breakdown? What’s happening to me? Without thinking I run to my computer and WebMD comes up as my homepage. Kristin would kill me if she knew I still checked my favorite website. Searching my symptoms, I start to hyperventilate, and so I call Kristin, forgetting she’ll be upset that I’m doing this, again.

  “Hello?”

  “KRISTIN!” I’m seriously yelling into the phone. Mrs. Butterworth starts meowing over me.

  “Yes?” Poor dear is afraid of me.

  “I’m going crazy.” There I said it. My cat nods. Oh, hell.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “YES, I AM!” I argue. I have all the symptoms. I—”

  “Amanda!” she scolds “Did you go on WebMD again? I thought we discussed this. No more WebMD! Remember last time you did this?”

  “No,” I lie.

  “Amanda.” Now she uses her mom voice.

  “Okay, fine, I remember.”

  “Now, be a good girl, hang up the phone, and go for a run or something to expend all your energy. No coffee. What has gotten into you lately? And by the way you’re leaving in less than seven days for vacation with your best friend! You need to calm down.”

  She was right, so I take a deep breath and hang up the phone. She wasn’t just right about me needing to calm down and run; she was also right about the whole Web MD thing. Last time I went online I convinced myself that not only was I going to die from a paper cut, but also that I had some sort of flesh-eating disorder that was going to shut down all of my internal organs. I spent a night in the hospital over the paper cut and freaked out not only my friends but my family, who ended up driving three hours just to make sure I was going to survive.

  It was bad but, it was two years ago. How dare she hold that against me! And it wasn’t even my fault. Even if I was watching a special on Dateline about germs and how if you are too clean your body can’t fight off the germs anymore, leaving you exposed to flesh-eating viruses. So it is Dateline's fault for keeping America too informed. And how was I to know that paper cuts are sometimes more painful than normal cuts because they slice the skin's surface? Stupid nighttime television. I shake my fist at the TV.

  Sighing, I check my phone. Six at night. The gym should at least be open another two hours.

  These next few days are going to be jam-packed with work before we leave for the airport. The only stressful part of the trip is that I’m using part of my savings to pay for Mrs. Butterworth to go with me. I can't bear the thought of her having to have some strange person cat sit. It sounds creepy to have someone come in and feed you, pet you, and leave again. Well, that what I get to look forward to when I die alone in a retirement home. Sigh.

  This time I shall be prepared. Not for Preston, but in general. So I pack my cute workout clothes, yoga pants as well as my new hot pink racer-back top.

  Chapter Seven

  The place is just as dead as it has been over the past few days. The door to the gym is wide open. Weird. At any rate, I close it behind me and run toward the stairs to grab a treadmill.

  And that, dear friends, is when I am attacked.

  “AHHHHH!” I let out the loudest shriek known to mankind. “GET IT OFF!” Screaming, I twist in a hundred different directions at once. A large black object is flying around my head in a menacing fashion. The movie, “The Birds,” flashes before my eyes before I crumple into a heap on the floor.

  Someone runs down the stairs toward my body which is now in the fetal position and chases away the crazed animal before coming to my aid. My knight in shining armor! My hero! My — “Oh,” I say rather loudly.

  “What do you mean oh?” Preston retorts as he leans down to pick me up off the floor.

  “What was that?” I try to keep my voice from shaking but can’t because I’m so terrified.

  “A bird.” He holds back a smile.

  “A BIRD! No way, I don’t believe you. It couldn’t have been a bird. It tried to kill me!” My eyes are huge as I try to show him with my hands just how big the bird is.

  He tells me to follow him with his little finger and leads me back outside toward the trees that line the gym. “Do you see that?” he asks. Nodding, my throat goes dry as I look at a tree, full of blackbirds.

  “Somewhere in there is your bird. They sit around here a lot. The building is warm this time of year, so it makes sense they would invite themselves inside. You scared me back there. I thought you were getting mugged not mauled by a sparrow.” He scowls at me then turns to walk back in the gym.

  “I could have been!” I yell after him as I follow him up the stairs.

  He turns to look at me, not at all concerned.

  “I’m scared of birds.” Admitting this requires the last shred of pride to die, so I follow him inside with my head hanging in shame.

  “I’m sorry, what?” He’s walking toward me with an amused smirk on his face, cupping his ear as if he didn’t quite hear me.

  “I’m afraid of… birds,” I say quieter this time, not daring to look at him in the eye.

  “Birds,” he says plainly.

  “Birds,” I confirm.

  “All birds or just flying birds? If you were trapped at the zoo and an ostrich came running for you, would you scream? Or how about penguins? Technically penguins are birds.” He pauses for a minute, waiting for my answer.

  “You’re mocking me. I shouldn’t have said anything because everything is a giant joke to you!” I turn to walk away and trip over my own feet, sending me sailing into the fake tree by the benches, knocking it over. “I meant to do that,” I huff as I stroll to my treadmill and begin running.

  “It’s okay,” he says as he starts to run next to me. “I have things I’m afraid of too.”

  Slowing down, I turn so I can look at him. I ask, “Like what?”

  “Hippos.” He shakes his head in disgust. “They terrify me.” He winks and continues running as I stand there with my mouth yet again hanging open for flies to cruise on into.

  Or apparently, in my case, just any bug willing to take a chance.

  “They’re quite vicious, like polar bears,” I answer, getting my stride back. Is he trying to make me feel better? That’s surprising, and sweet. I feel myself start to smile.

  “At least I’m afraid of something that actually makes sense,” he states before hitting the up button on his treadmill. Forget what I said about him being sweet. He will never be sweet. Just mean and, well, a terrible excuse for a human being.

  “IT MAKES SENSE IF YOU KNOW WHY!” I yell, trying to catch my breath from the sprint I am trying to overcome.

  “Okay,” he says, pushing the red button on both our machines, “humor me.”

  The whole time running I didn’t break a sweat, but now when he turns to face me with his cut body and green eyes I start to perspire like I am running the New York City marathon! Nervous, I shuffle my feet back and forth before preparing my story.

  “When I was little—”

  “Oh, this should be good!” he interrupts.

  “Hey! No interrupting. Do you want to hear the story or not?” I put my hands on my hips in frustration.

  “Sorry,” he apologizes “Please continue.”

  I do everything I can to not meet his eyes, considering they make me forget to breathe and all, and decide to concentrate on the seriousness of my story.

  “When I was little,” I glare at him and continue, “I went to the park with my parents to play on the swings. It was my favorite thing to do, but every time I walked toward the swings, there would be hundreds of birds at the park just standing on the grass. My dad told me not to be afraid, so I believed him. One day, I walked to my swings, carefully, as to not scare the birds, and a dog came out of nowhere and started chasing them.” My hands started to sweat. “The birds were flying toward me. I crashed to the ground and began crying. A few of the birds touche
d me. I even got scratched from one. It was so terrifying!” The experience was so scary that I am now shaking as I relive the experience.

  I look up to see Preston’s face, knowing he will probably say something sarcastic any time now, and see that he is actually compassionate.

  “I’m sorry,” he says as he puts his hand on my shoulder in a protective manner. “That sounds frightening, and I shouldn’t make fun of you.”

  My heart starts fluttering as he leans toward me and pulls me into a hug. I get ready to say thank you but am silenced by his talking.

  “So this, um, incident. How old were you? Four or five years old, I’m guessing?” He pulls back from the hug, looking touched.

  “Fifteen,” I answer quietly before turning the treadmill back on.

  His eyes widen in surprise before he starts doubling over in laughter.

  “Fifteen? You were fifteen?”

  “It was scary!” I shoot in his direction.

  “Why were you swinging at fifteen anyway? You should have been, I don’t know out, with your friends getting into trouble, not going with your daddy to the park.”

  “It was tradition!” I snap. “Plus, my dad’s dead,” I add on as I continue running, faster this time, considering what I just said. I haven't talked about my dad in a long time, and it isn't Preston’s fault. Sometimes memories are better left unremembered. He has been gone a while, but the pain sometimes still feels too fresh. Besides, I hated talking about him when my step dad was around; somehow it just felt wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Amanda. I didn’t know.” He stops my machine again and genuinely looks upset.

  “It’s fine.” I smile, trying to hold my tears in. “Actually, I think I’ve had too much excitement for one night. I’m going to head home.” I step off my machine and head down the stairs, feeling Preston’s close proximity behind me.

  “Amanda.” He pulls my arm from my side and holds onto my hand before I smile weakly and say goodbye.

  It takes exactly three seconds for me to get from the door into my car.

  Once I’m in my car, I can’t help myself. The tears start, and I cry my eyes out for about ten minutes before I notice that Preston has been standing outside my car door for the entire time. He knocks gently on the window as I unlock the doors.

  “How long?”

  “What?” I say through my tears. He seriously must think I’m insane.

  “How long has he been gone?”

  “Four years.” Seems to be the answer to everything in my life now. “He died the year I went to college.”

  “You still went?” Preston asks, handing me a tissue.

  I shrug. “It's what he wanted. He also threatened me and said if I stayed home to watch him die, he’d just live forever and then turn into a ghost and haunt me.”

  “Wow.” Preston laughs.

  “What?”

  “That’s where you get it.”

  “Get what?” I sniffle and lean back against the seat of my Honda.

  “Your sense of humor, amazing outlook on life, and, I’m guessing, ability to turn everything and anything into both sarcasm and a threat.” He hands me another tissue and tilts my head toward him. “For the record, I like it.”

  “My sarcasm?”

  “Not just that.” Preston leans forward, his mouth grazing my chin as his lips press against mine. He whispers across them. “All of it. All of you. I like it all.”

  What am I supposed to say? He just kissed me after I had a mental breakdown about birds!

  “Don’t.” Preston presses a finger to my lips, “I can hear your brain working. Just don’t. Let it be. I kissed you. Leave it, and for once in your life, don’t turn this into some self-deprecating remark or dig yourself into a hole so deep you can’t see the light of day. Just let it be.”

  With that, he gets out of my car and jogs to his truck.

  Leaving me in a complete state of bliss.

  Until I realize.

  I’m falling.

  For him.

  And I’ll be on vacation in one of the most romantic places in the world for an entire week.

  With him.

  Meaning only one thing. He may have held my hand, he may have even kissed me, but those walls? The ones girls need to erect in order to shield themselves from heartbreak? I need to keep them up. Because that wasn’t just any kiss.

  That was perfection.

  And honestly. I wasn’t so sure I deserved it.

  Chapter Eight

  My obsession with Preston is short-lived. I replay the kiss over and over again until I want to slap myself. I try to remember all the crappy things he’s said and done.

  But the kiss remains.

  It trumps everything.

  Until we arrive at the airport.

  Currently, I’m the ticketholder to the best show on earth, as Preston charms the skirt right off the lady at the ticket counter. Heart? No, he has no heart. Balls. Clearly he has those, and he’s about to either get them ripped off by yours truly or rewarded by the nice airline lady.

  The bitch.

  Rolling my eyes in irritation, I turn toward Kristin just before I see Preston return to us with a large grin on his face. “Good news! Got us all bumped up to first class!”

  “Super,” I answer. At least I get to sit next to Kristin while the boys talk shop. Picking up my phone, I decide to check my email while we are waiting in line for security.

  To: fashionista2005@gmail

  From: Firehottie2005@gmail

  Hey Amanda,

  It’s Bobby. I hope you don’t mind. I facebooked you and got your email address off your page. I know we haven’t talked in awhile, but I thought it would be cool for us to hang out, maybe grab a bite to eat or something?

  Let me know.

  Strange, why is he so interested? Shaking my head, I smile to myself as I reply that I will contact him after my vacation in Hawaii.

  “What are you smiling about?” Preston sneaks up behind me and peeks over my shoulder.

  “Nothing,” I snap. “Has anyone ever told you how annoying you can be?”

  “I only annoy people who deserve it. I hope that wasn’t an email from Bobby, but it looks like his email address. Want to know how I know?”

  “Nope, and it’s none of your business.” I grab my stuff and push forward without looking at him.

  “He’s a womanizer,” Preston answers without my asking him.

  Spinning around to face him, I’m momentarily taken back. I hadn’t realized how close our faces now were. Careful no one can hear me, I whisper, “What makes you think that? Are you jealous?”

  “Hardly.” He huffs. His mouth smells like peppermint. I‘m momentarily dazed by his lips before I answer.

  “Well, it’s not a big deal. Plus, I ‘ve been down that road and back, thank you. I don’t wish to revisit hell, it’s too hot there.”

  I turn my head in protest and put my stuff on the security belt before taking off my shoes. Preston does the same, but I can tell by the way he is looking at me that this conversation is far from over.

  “What do you mean revisit it? Have you dated that tool before?” He looks disgusted with the idea.

  “It was a long time ago, and I’ve changed.” Stepping through the metal detectors, I sigh as I hear the beeping sound. I take off all my jewelry, including my earrings and rings, and step through again.

  Preston watches in amusement as the beeping still goes off.

  Emptying my pockets, I continue to beep so now I’m called by the uniformed officer, and I brace myself to be searched.

  Preston walks through clean as a whistle while I’m getting patted down by a man named Jorge. I weakly smile as the beeper stops at my bellybutton and goes off, telling everyone within a safe distance that I’m either smuggling a gun in my pants or I have a piercing. Praying they think it’s a gun, I whisper to Jorge in hushed tones that I have a bellybutton ring.

  “You must take off belly ring, ma'am.” His accent sounds Spanish
as he uses his hands to show me that I need to lift my shirt. This can’t be happening, but it is, so I slowly lift my shirt, revealing a tiny bellybutton piercing. As if my embarrassment isn’t enough, he pulls out the beeper stick again and runs it over the piercing just to make sure.

  I glance over at Preston. His eyes are locked on my stomach, a predatory smile emerges as he drinks his fill and then makes eye contact; the heat from that gaze could get a girl prego. He’s either judging me or he wants me to keep going with the striptease. No lie, I’m half-tempted. He turns away, which is probably good, since I was considering taking off my pants and running at him at top speed, begging him to kiss me and take me home with him.

  Who knew a bellybutton ring would get him like that anyway? I was only eighteen and it was a rite of passage! I still remember Grandma Ned’s face when she found out that her granddaughter had a hole in her bellybutton. She made me memorize the chapter in Proverbs that talks about the perfect woman, to remind me that it was so far from what I was, I'd be smart to engrain it in my head.

  Jorge, bless his heart, tells me I’m good to go. I walk over to where the rest of the group is waiting. Preston hands me my bags, a totally unreadable expression on his face. We wait for Kristen and Brad then begin walking toward our gate.

  “What an interesting piercing, Amanda,” Preston teases, once we’ve taken a few steps.

  “Ah, there it is,” I say lightly. “I knew you wouldn’t let me get away with it.”

  “Never,” he vows, elbowing me in the side.

  “I was eighteen.” It’s useless to defend myself against this man, but I try anyway.

  “It’s funny. It shows that underneath all that sass and sarcasm is a wild girl just begging to get out.” He leans down and whispers, his peppermint breath fanning over my cheek. “I like it.” With that, he walks ahead and catches up with Brad, leaving me momentarily frozen in place, mouth gaping open.