My Twin Flame Romance — Part Eight
If you haven’t read Part One, I suggest you do that now. There’s some important disclaimers in there I just don’t feel like repeating — so check it out and come back here when you’re done. Kthx.
*** This story involves underage smoking and other things that happened, but probably shouldn’t have. It’s not an endorsement of those activities.
Spring had just barely turned, and the air was slowly warming.
It was early February, the air was crisp but tolerable — and considering I hate the cold, that meant something.
The group of us set out on an hour-long hike through a field I’ve long since forgotten. Plainlands gave way to sparse trees, and eventually we stopped at a miniature mountain cliff about 150 feet tall.
Man, did I want a cigarette by then.
We weren’t allowed those things, however. You know, because we were too young for them. And as Erik kept reminding me, it probably wasn’t going to help me walk or climb any easier.
Pfft. He was just feenin’ too.
Hanging By A Thread
Things were tense by this point. I was “never happy,” and he was never there.
He’d taken up a job at some local restaurant (that has been a huge benefit in our adult lives, considering it taught him the foundations of cooking — and he’s a hell of a home chef). So with all his other extracurriculars, he had no time to see me.
I had a job, too. But I also had access to my mom’s car. He, however, was still relying on public transit.
He took at least two buses to see me every Wednesday. He was an inner city kid with divorced, struggling parents and a distinct lack of resources.
Don’t feel too bad for him, he was still ‘white’ at least.
My grandpa would take me to pick him up from the bus stop a short drive away. Pretty sure I mentioned that before, but it bears repeating. Any visit from him to me required bus fare or me to pick him up.
Later, I found out he had picked up extra hours and was working 30+ hours while still going full time to…