My Fake Boyfriend

You Don't Know Me

I spent the first half of the next morning conflicted. 

Aaron hadn’t texted me after leaving my house last night, but I knew he was waiting for my answer. I craved the excitement outside of my lonely life, but I wondered if agreeing to Aaron’s plan was setting myself up to get hurt. 

I went to my mirror and opened my long straight hair that was in a ponytail and let it cascade down my shoulders. I looked at my reflection. My brown hair reached to my petite waist. I was skinny, with little to no curves, but I didn't quite mind it. Each body was, indeed, built differently. I looked back to my heart-shaped face, grimacing at how pale I was. Brown doe eyes stared back at me; so large on my face. 

What bothered me was that my looks were far too plain: something that blended in with the surroundings and nothing to notice. For a second, I felt a rush of distaste run through my mouth.

Why would anyone believe that someone like Aaron Walker wanted to date me?

To give me some time to think without my mom watching over me, I decided to walk to the local café for lunch.

As I arrived, the smell of freshly baked bread hit my nose, making me salivate; I was starving. I skipped over to a seat and scanned the menu. Choosing what I wanted, I told the waiter my order when he came over. 

I tapped my fingers on the table to occupy myself whilst looking around the small, cute cafe. It was always so quaint, and I admired the tranquillity it brought me to be here alone after being tormented through the troubles at school and home. 

And all would have remained tranquil had my eyes not stopped immediately on the one thing that ruined my seemingly pleasant mood.

Opposite from me, Aaron was seated. But that wasn't what had me do a double take. A redhead sat on his lap, facing towards the table as they scanned the menu. Her hand went back to play with his hair and his hands were settled around her waist. 

I recognised her as a girl from our school, his actions confusing me entirely.

His story yesterday had moved me, and I had gotten all emotional, feeling sympathy for his plight. But his plight was most definitely not something I should have been worried about. He didn't seem to be distraught, nor did he seem to be thinking about the huge agreement we had made just yesterday. 

How could I help him when he didn't seem to want to help himself? How could I feel any sense of sympathy for a mere boy who wished for nothing but to lose himself in his desires? Had his story yesterday even held any truth, or had he just made it up on the spot as some form of Friday entertainment? 

I couldn’t bear to think.

This was my place of serenity; the only place where I could achieve peace without getting lost in the dark thoughts. But he was ruining it.

Yesterday, he had looked like a man in need of help; a broken man that I had respected. He had wished better for his mother and, in doing so, had roped himself up with me. Of course, his methods of pleasing her were questionable, but the intentions were clear—he wanted her happy. 

However, he was far from that image right now.

He had duped me.

I had heard tales of boys in books who would weave a tale of lies to lure the women and I had laughed at the women's naivety. I had found it so farcical for the girls to believe them, yet I had heeded his outlandish words. The very thought of being manipulated or lied to didn't sit comfortably with me. 

I chose to make my way to the exit. I had suddenly lost my appetite.

I tried to walk without looking at Aaron’s table and leave as quickly as I had come, but it seemed as though God also had a vendetta against me and I tripped slightly on a dip in the cracked flooring, stumbling slightly as I hit near their table before closing my eyes in mortification. It was after a few moments that I gathered the courage to open them sheepishly, surprised at the hand holding my arm to stop me from falling fully.