drama

2 min

13

“What is your favorite number?”

We were sitting at a table, two cups of untouched black coffee between us. I was looking at your yellow scarf on your wildly blue coat and could only briefly take my eyes off it.

“Thirteen,” I said.

“Thirteen?” you chuckled, “Why?”

“I am fascinated by the things people fear.”

“Fear?” Your eyes fired up, “Do you want to see something else people fear?”

“Always,” I whispered.

“Let’s go!” You grabbed my hand, and we rushed to the door.

“Hey!” yelled the waiter, “The bill!”

Outside we spent exactly three seconds together. You stepped on the road, a car hit you, and your hand was ripped from mine.

When I held your hand again, my tears were falling onto your yellow scarf on your wildly blue coat. Your eyes looked at the sky very calmly, as if that was all you ever wanted to show me.

They had a hard time trying to get me to let your hand go.

In the following weeks, I was desperately searching for that feeling again. I had sex in a cemetery with a stranger. I stole explosive chemicals from a university lab. I even almost convinced a toddler at a playground that I was his aunt, and he needed to go with me.

In a last-ditch act of despair, I kidnapped a cat from my local barbershop, and that was what finally got me arrested. Those two hours in custody made me realize that I need you badly. Some things are just meant to be done together.

Now we are sitting at that table again. I know that you (the new you) are staring at me, perplexed. When you brought me my black coffee and a soy-caramel-something with a sugary dessert for yourself, I knew I wouldn’t be raising my eyes higher than your… oh, you don’t even have a scarf.

“Sugar,” you said, “Are you alright?”

That sugar thing about you.

“What is your favorite number?” I asked, staring at my coffee.

“What?” You were surprised, “I mean… seven? Why?”

I stood up abruptly and rushed to the door.

“Hey!” you called, “The bill?”

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