Romantic Love

xuding discomfort. "I was respectful." I continue to stare at him, feeling my face heat and my ears burn. His left eye looks away from me, his right obscured by the ski

," I

ost as an afterthought, already limping quickly from the roo

believe this is a good thing. Why is he wearing that mask? It freaks me out. What happened to him that caused such damage to his right side? Suddenly a thought pops into my mind. Perhaps he'd had a deb

unded so rough, it could certainly belong to an older man. He didn't act or speak in a way that suggested he was young. Or old. Well, there was that line about being respectful. Perh

rc

it is. The tray with my empty soup bowl is gone and has been replaced with a glass of water and a sandwi

ation that a significant amount of time has passed. I frown and try to think. What happened during the many gaps in my memory? How long has i

d this time I can't force it out of my mind. I grab the pillow next to me and sob into it, trying to muffle the sound. My whole family is gone and I've been sent to hide in Alaska. Far, far away from my home. I'll never tell my mom stories about college again. Dad will never again tell me how proud h

~

vomit. Or pass out. Or do both at the same time. I quietly slip out of the bed and wander to the other side of the room, padding across the floor on thick socks that must belong to him. I realize that during our first meeting, I never caught his name. The bedroom door is

orely mistaken. I watch the dancing lights in the sky. Shades of green and purple flicker and sway slowly in the night sky, backlit by more stars than I've ever seen before. The sight is breathtaking. I don't know how long I've been standing there when my stomach rumbles again, reminding me why I ventured out of the bedroom. Reluctantly, I return to the kitchen