"Why do I feel like you've been following me?" His answer is a smile. He then takes a sip of his drink and trains his eyes on me, but still doesn't say anything. "Have you?" I try to follow up.

"What does it matter?"

That's his way of saying yes, he has been following me.

"That's just wrong and weird and... creepy. Who does that?"

"I do!"

"Since when?"

"You don't wanna know." Another small sip of his drink. "I'm just trying to make sure you are safe." His voice is noticeably gentler.

"I am safe!"

"You don't know that." He argues, still keeping a very fluid tone. I close my eyes, suck in a deep breath, exhale heavily before snapping them open again. My brain cells are dividing in my head. This conversation is draining the energy from my bones and I hate the fluttering sensation I feel in my stomach.

He has done nothing but annoy me since he showed up here, but a part of me likes the fact that he's here with me. It even dares to feel excited. Those stupid butterflies in my stomach won't stay calm and no matter how much I pluck the flower petals that keep blooming in my chest, they keep growing out.

I hate that I like this time we are spending together.

I still enjoy

you

to drink, not to talk or argue with you. You are

to buy you another

"This one's enough!"

ago." That

I was weak and naive

as he sets the glass on the

He asks when he's

"Didn't you?"

like where this

it end already." I pick up my purse and step down from the stool again, this time looking more determined to

talk. There's something important you have

to hear it." I

to listen. I'm begging you. Please." His fervent beseeching

doesn't insist on something unless it's

my life as I should if I don't listen to what he wants to say to

it

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