Misconceptions- Interlude
#5 of Conceptions
I hate the rain. Threadbare clothes meant my fur got wet quickly, and my fur was so thick it stayed wet for a long time.
School had ended almost ten minutes ago and I was tired of waiting for Blake. My foot tapped against the ground.
Finally, a car pulled around in front of me and I knew it had to be Blake. I knew, because it was gaudy and expensive-looking.
The window rolled down, and I saw Blake leaning down to look out the window. "Hop in!"
I walked over and got inside the car, caught between being thankful to be out of the rain and annoyed at his tardiness. I set my bag in the floorboard and put on my seat belt. When I looked over at Blake, I found him staring at me with an unreadable expression. I coughed slightly and he had the grace to look embarrassed before he peeled off.
My foot started tapping and I frowned when it started echoing around the car. I stopped and tapped my hand against my thigh.
"Why do you do that?" I should have expected him to talk. He wasn't one to let silence rest.
"Do what?"
"The tapping. "
I frowned at him and then at my hand. I don't know why, but something seemed off if I didn't. Like I was walking through fog. "I--I don't know." It was odd not having an answer. "Why?"
His gaze flicked off from the road for a moment to rest on me. My eyes danced around his face to avoid eye contact. "It's kind of distracting." He smiled to take the edge off.
"Sorry." I clasped my hands together and when I felt my foot begin to tap, I twined my legs.
I could feel it immediately. The world seemed to shrink and slow around me.
Somewhere, I heard him say, "Don't worry about it. Not like music would be any better."
It was like I had been holding my breath and when I felt myself lightly gasping, I realized I had been. My legs uncurled and I relaxed. It was only for a few seconds, but I could feel the pounding of my heart in my ears. I shifted in my seat to try and re-orient my world and my still-damp clothes squeaked against the leather.
"So, is there anything you want to do this weekend?" I hadn't thought about that.
"No."
"That's good. I was planning on taking you shopping." He blindly reached out and touched my clothes, as if I didn't know how worn down they were. He pulled his hand back and rubbed it against his pants before putting it back on the wheel. My clothes were still damp and I could feel where his hand had pressed the cool fabric against me.
"You don't have to." But I wanted him to. I was tired of wearing these same old, ragged clothes day after day after day.
He pulled a hand off the wheel to wave away my objection. "Where do you want to go? Nowhere more than a couple of hours away. "
"I don't care." This was almost surreal. He was casually talking about spending money on me, someone he barely knew. But screw it. Screw 'why?' If he was going to spend money on me, who was I to argue?
It would be nice to pretend someone cared.