Blurred Lines by Scott Hildreth

“But you can’t leave. I want to hear more about this Blake character.”
    “About his bulge?” I whispered as I held her in my arms.
    “No, about everything else,” she said as she released me.
    “You said he rode a motorcycle. Have you been on it yet?” she asked as she sat down.
    I nodded my head and grinned, “It’s awesome.”
    “Did you wear a helmet?” she asked.
    I glanced down at the legs of the table, knowing she would not like my response, but fully realizing I couldn’t lie to her.
    “No,” I responded.
    “Riley Jaye,” she gasped.
    “Mom, he didn’t have one…”
    She glared at me. “Not again. I’m not losing you to a motorcycle accident because you weren’t sensible enough to wear a helmet.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    “Promise me,” she said.
    “I promise,” I whined.
    “Okay. Now, tell me everything you know about him.”
    “Everything?” I grinned.
    “Everything but the bulge,” she said with a laugh.
    “Well, he’s tall, but not like tall . Maybe six foot-ish. And he’s got a little beard thing going on some of the time. You know, a few days growth. He’s covered in tattoos; all up and down his arms, hands, knuckles, and even one kind of on his neck, but not like all up on it. But he doesn’t look like a thug, he’s really cute, mom. He, uhhm, he always looks serious, like he’s thinking. He squints his eyes a lot, and when he’s doing it, I can tell he’s thinking,” I paused for a moment and lifted my cup of coffee to my mouth.
    I took a drink of the lukewarm coffee, winced at the temperature, and continued.
    “He owns his own tattoo shop, and he has a guy who works for him, Tyler, and the guy’s a complete dick. He doesn’t drink and he doesn’t use drugs, but he smokes,” I said.
    “Pot?” she asked.
    “No. Cigarettes,” I responded.
    “He rides a motorcycle, and I think he said he doesn’t even have a car. It seems like he told me that,” I said.
    “Well, that’s kind of strange,” she said.
    “Oh, and his eyes. They’re like brown and green at the same time. Like equal amounts of each, it’s crazy,” I said.
    “Hazel,” she said.
    “I know, Mother. But not like just hazel, they’re crazel,” I said.
    She scrunched her nose and stared. “Crazel?”
    “Yeah, crazy hazel,” I said with a laugh.
    “It’s nice seeing you happy again. And I see you’re wearing your glasses. That’s a change,” she said.
    “Well, Stephen hated them. Blake freaking loves ‘em. So, I’m wearing them again,” I said.
    I didn’t bother going into detail about my eye being scratched severely, and the eye doctor saying I may never be able to wear contacts for any length of time again. My mother despised Stephen’s treatment of me, and another reminder of his violent nature would not do either of us any good. I was over him, he was leaving me alone, and forgetting him was best for both of us.
    “I like them, too,” she said.
    “He’s just really reserved and kind of like nervous all the time, it’s cute,” I said.
    “Parents? Does he have a good relationship with his parents?” she asked.
    I gazed down at the table for a moment, glanced upward, and shrugged my shoulders.
    “I don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned them.”
    “Well, I hope if you two end up seeing each other that he’s nice to you,” she said.
    “I think we are seeing each other,” I said with a nod of my head. 
    “You think so?” she asked as she stood from her seat.
    And, although Blake and I hadn’t discussed it, in my mind we were.
    “Yes,” I said.
    And I hoped he believed the same. 

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    BLAKE
    As pleasing everyone would never happen, pleasing myself became priority. I determined if I pleased myself, pleasing those around me was easy. Their pleasure came from being exposed to me and seeing me genuinely happy. I found a good mood and a smile to be contagious, more so than even malaria, but much more enjoyable.
    There were times truly