Page 22 of Fight Or Flight

“Your turn.”

I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip. I’ve never really been a fan of milk unless it’s in cereal, but the Oreos give it a sweet taste and the second sip is even better because there are little crumbles of cookie mixed into it. Eric smiles slightly as I lower the glass. Then he takes his spoon and fishes a soggy Oreo from the glass and pops it into his mouth. Following his lead, I do the same and I realize he’s right…this is the only way to eat an Oreo. Before I can stop it, a moan slips past my lips and the playful smile on Eric’s face quickly fades.

Embarrassment floods me and my cheeks burn.

“A category five,” he mumbles.

“What?” I rasp.

“You, you’re a category five hurricane.”

A frown ticks the corners of my lips, and I push my glass away. I’m no weather expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s the most destructive hurricane.

Great.

“Why the frown?”

Is he kidding me?

“You just compared me to a lethal storm.”

He shakes his head.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He rubs a hand over his face. “There is something fascinating about a storm,” he continues. “Don’t you think?”

Um…no.

“I’ve never really given it much thought.”

“I have,” he confesses, turning to face me. “I don’t know what it is about storms, but I’ve always been drawn to them and while others tend to run away and hunker down until they’ve passed, I don’t. Never did.” He pauses for a moment and a small smile ticks the corners of his lips. “As a kid, I’d play outside and at the first sound of thunder, my mom would yell for me to come inside the house. I always gave her shit because I wanted to wait it out. I wanted to feel the wind, hear the roar of the thunder, and wait for it all to blow over because I knew once the sky cleared there was something beautiful waiting to be seen.”

Yeah, I don’t see it. I’m the kind of girl who snuggles under the covers with a book when it rains. I don’t chase storms; I hide from them.

“Storms are full of destruction and that isn’t beautiful,” I argue, still staring at him.

It’s depressing and sad. It’s tragic…like me.

Like my whole damn life.

Maybe that’s what he means.

Lifting his chin, Eric turns to meet my gaze. I wait for him to disagree, but instead, he just stares at me thoughtfully. I’m about to tell him that it’s just my opinion, and he’s entitled to his, but he shocks me by lifting his hand and brushing a stray hair away from my eyes.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You see destruction, I see strength. I see the one thing still after everything else has fallen to shit.” His hand drops away from my face as his words render me speechless. I like to think I’m a levelheaded girl, that I’m not one of those silly teenagers who easily falls for lines. That I’m not the girl sitting in front of a boy with stars in her eyes, wondering if he sees my strength…if he sees my beauty.

His eyes dart to my glass and I quickly push the notion to the back of my head.

Strength and beauty don’t live in the dark.

“Finish your cookies, there’s something I want to show you.”

But for one night, I can pretend they do.

For one night I can be a beautiful hurricane.

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