I'm Still Waiting Little Rogue

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story about how even true love can be broken if you take too long to choose it every day

Submitted: March 07, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 07, 2016



I had never felt so unsure in all my life. All my senses but sight were muted. Staring down the end of a barrel, I saw nothing else as Jess got out of the car. At 5‘4 she didn’t cut a very imposing figure, a fact which galled her to no end throughout her basketball career. Her long straight black hair was up in a high, efficient ponytail, skin sun kissed and honey brown eyes shining brightly. Half American and half Vietnamese she was the kind of exotic that makes ethnicity hard to guess. An athlete since youth, her body was lithe and lean, but with perfectly proportioned curves. Per usual she was wearing a hoodie and men’s basketball shorts, but more importantly, she was wearing one of her smiles. My favorite smile was the one she kept just for me, when I would make a joke that was unapologetically me, or I illuminated one of the countless things I loved about her; there was nothing more beautiful. A slow smile would trickle across her lips and there would be a magic in her eye, a magic that left no doubt as to how she loved me.

She stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing herself in her basketball shorts, the shorter more form fitting variety that were apparently so very necessary for female athletics. Her brow furrowed and she wore a grimace of disdain. He didn’t miss the expression from his vantage on the bed, partly because he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she entered the room and partly because it was a look he had learned well. They had shared this San Franisco apartment together long enough for him to have caught her looking at herself like that too many times. Sliding off the bed he crept up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, chin resting on her shoulder, the softness of her cheek pressed against his jaw. He met her eyes and rumbled, “Can’t tear your eyes away either, can you? Well, I can’t say I blame you. If I was you for a day I’d spend a good deal of it in front of the mirror.” His cheeky grin made it clear he might not be content with just gazing during that time.

“You’re sweet,” she breathed,” but I really wish all my training was having a more visible payoff. I feel like I work so hard, I should have more to show for it.” She leaned into him, molding against his body as a sad smile half heartedly found its way onto her reflection. He spent a few moments just looking at her, his face etched in static wonder. The way a man who has spent his lifetime living on the ocean might look at his ten thousandth sunset; transfixed in its sublime glow, feeling as overwhelmed with awe as if it were his first viewing.

“I wish you could see through my eyes, peer out and truly see yourself. Your beauty gives me life, looking upon you feeds my soul. There is nothing in this world or the next that could move me the way just a glance at you can. To have the privilege of not just looking upon you, but to feel you as well? I could spend an eternity of doing good and still never truly deserve it.”

She breathed out a small laugh, always tickled by his melodramatics. His prized smile blossomed upon her lips as she turned to look up into his eyes. He basked in that look, that perfect smile and drank it in. “I’m so lucky you love me the way you do,” she spoke softly.

“Ah, shut it. We both know you’re out of my league. I’m lucky just to be the priest worshipping at your temple, my goddess.”

“Well,” she said with a now mischievous grin, “I think its time for a little ceremonial ritual.” She pushed against him until he fell back on the bed. “Now let’s get your offering out and ready.”

“Hallelujah, time to get ceremonious up in this bitch!”

God, how I longed for one of those smiles. The smile she had on as she closed the car door behind her was one of her myriad other smiles I had come to adore. This one in particular was for strangers, acquaintances, or anyone she wasn’t really entirely comfortable with. As she waved off the Uber driver, she turned towards me and began walking over. Her smile now was one of recognition and happiness, the kind you see on the faces of loved ones at the airport when they spot one another for the first time. But the smile was muted, pale. Her smiles always had an aftertaste of sadness, loss, and regret when she looked at me now. Ignoring the resulting pang shooting in my chest, I waved her over, smiling broadly. It’s amazing how real the physical sensation of pain can be in your chest when you’re confronted with figurative heartache. It’s as if the Valentine’s Day representation of a heart lives snuggled side by side the actual organ in your chest, and suffers emotional damage as aggravated inflammation. What else could explain such tightening in your chest as times such as these? As she walked up she went for a hug without hesitation. I wrapped her up in my arms, enjoying as I always had our comical size difference. With me at 6’4, she was an entire foot shorter and at least a hundred pounds lighter. We stood there embracing, letting how good and natural and right it felt wash over us. After another moment, she pulled away, that same bittersweet tinge to her smile. “How was the flight?” I asked, trying to keep things light buoyed by my Jokeresque smile.....

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