Other guys won’t come near me. I'm too powerful of a flame. They might get burnt, they think. They always look at me, eyeing me, my hourglass body up and down, their eyes shaking with lust.
They stutter as I blink my falsies at them. They pause as I bite my lips, always luscious and shiny, longing for a kiss, but more than just a kiss... I can't really explain it.
They turn away, overwhelmed by it all. It is not hard, as women make it to be, to woo a male. I could make men melt, trickling right at my feet. And if I showed my curves with skin...
fizz, bubble...puddle. Done. It was fun. I felt powerful, alive.
But not anymore.
Now I’m longing for someone to stay for more than my body instead of wafting away, without anyone whispering my name in reverent silence.
Just trust me, I heard God tell me.
I would just shrug him off and hit up my friends to get me another blind date.
Does this guy...does he trust me?
His skin, smooth and soft. His skin, like hot chocolate I crave for. A luscious sigh escapes me, my body melting like marshmallows that was being stirred in the hot drink.
Stop Alana, stop...
Don't tell me what to do, I snarl at God. I can look all I want.
Still, I force myself to read for a few more minutes after that, as punishment for my lusting. "Flee from sexual immorality..."
Too tired. To read. Anymore.
Then I feel something a little wet. Oof. I tense, I am afraid to look.
I look. Take that, God.
Goodness, he is drooling!
I turn hotter and stifle my giggles. His head slides near my chest. Uh-uh, nope. I try to adjust my body, more, more...okay. It goes back to my shoulder.
I would consider pushing his head off mine, and onto the next person, but a man is sitting there and he looks all grumpy like. I’m not taking that chance.
See, is that better? I am just testing the waters! I'm not letting him sleep on my breasts! That's a check mark for me God, isn't it?
I turn back to the boy.
Am I comfortable to him? Am I harmless to him?
The train stops for the next passenger. A woman smiles at me as she climbs on. You know, that kind of smile.
Ohh, now I feel like someone poured hot water on me.
We are not a couple, woman, we are not anything. He is a stranger to me, that’s all I know.
But what if we were? A couple, I mean?
Is it bad to wonder, to muse this?
Is it God?
Actually never-mind, I don't care what you think.
He won’t really be a rebound, not really. I mean, I broke up with that fool like six months ago. It was hard, it was messy. When I cried myself into Nothingness every night, my dad would hold me.
"Stay strong, Alana. You're tough as nails. Hard as a rock."
He also said to trust God for romance too, but I think I kinda sorta forgot about that one accidentally on purpose.
It's not that I don't trust Him. It's just that...I don't want to be waiting until 50 until he shows me The One. I want him now.
I believe that six months is enough, to love yourself, and stuff...without a man. This guy, sleeping on my shoulder, seems like one who will take it slow. Even though he’s asleep I can tell.
He won’t rush me, and I won’t rush him.
The promise I have for you...is better than what you are settling for...
His voice leaked in my thoughts, yet again.
God, I just told you, no, okay?
What will I say when he wakes up?
Will we start talking until I reach my stop? Will he hold my hand? I want him to. He has strong hands, it seems, I want to feel them.
Will he lean close to me, like he is now, so I can have another good look at his long eyelashes?
What color are his eyes?
The train lurches again, and I grab my Bible, try to skim read. The words slam together. "ForIknowtheplansIhaveforyouplanstoprosper..."
Why is this boy so tired? Did he have a grueling job that can make you melt to your knees? Or maybe he plays sports. I glance at his body; my eyes run across and back before I can call them.
They are such excited, naughty things. I lusted again, oops! I allow myself to drink him up with my eyes, in long, rebellious sips. He has muscles. I blush yet another time.
Yes, he has to play sports. Maybe football. No, basketball. No, I want him to play football. I like guys who play football better.
Yeah, maybe he is so tired because he had to run hills or something and he was like the fastest player but now tiredness hit him and he decided to fall asleep…
Does he know that he is sleeping on a girl?
How will he respond when he finds out? Will he blush? Apologize?
Will he think I’m sexy?
No, no not sexy. Not beautiful either. I have too many of those labels slapped on me, and I am suffocated with them, trying to rip some of them off so I can breathe.
I always wondered about my worth...what the point of me was...
God, I don't wanna hear it.
Would he think I'm cute?
Cute. I have never been called cute. Not even as a kid. Always tough, always hard.
But what is 'cute'? Non-threatening, but kind. One who will not hurt anybody. I won’t bite, just look in my eyes and you'll see I'm being genuine—I swear.
I am tired of being alone.
You are not alone.
What? I can't see you. It's not...
It's not the same God.
He has to trust me, Trust me... he trusts me enough, after all,
He’s the one who is sleeping—and drooling...on me.