Rally Cookies - Part 3 ( 3rd book in series)

***Refresher***

And with that, she stopped making eye 😤😤contact and faced forward looking out the window. It was hard to touch my own body🫠, I felt so ashamed because I knew it was all true. I ran away 🚣🏿from her because of fear. We gave each other so much and it was at a rich value and a low effort rate. It’s the type of love you wait for during this life. I constantly see people through my camera lens, hoping for some sort of radiant💡 story with their name at the top. This affection and attraction that can drive them into a new level of sobriety. For the drunk dudes they let inside of them or for the drunk 🍷girls they let throw up on them. We buy things, send posts, hold hands near a server that has a short attention span and in a restaurant that has so much customer turnover the bill doesn't come with a smiley face. All for the hope of what I was seeing through my eyes this entire time.

And now it’s at its expiration date. It’s not young and thriving. It’s because I abandoned it. And even so, I still feel this new gasp of life and magnetism with this artistic energy bean who was now a professional chef.

It was our dream. I would take pictures of beautiful food while she made it. Eating and traveling, surviving off what we loved, but we knew what we really meant.

“And one more thing,” she said while whipping her head around, 🚨“When you used to take pictures of the things your friends made or the things we ate or, especially, the things I made.

You did it with such kindness and with care. It was almost like you were shaping the image as

you shot it. That’s why you were so good, but now…I absolutely hate what you do for work now.”🌋

For a moment,🤹🏿 I almost didn’t move my hand towards my glove box. The ugly truth of what I put her through was making my car dirty again. For a moment, I hesitated. That moment passed.

In my glove compartment was a white envelope that I had for over a year now. She looked at me with curiosity and surprise. Inside of it was a letter I wrote when I came back a few days later.

Simone’s pupils shook in the reaction of knowing I came back. She gave me her full attention and her body language changed. It wasn’t necessarily good; it just changed.

“Two days after I left I wrote you this letter, and I came back to give it to you. But when I saw you I... just couldn’t give it to you, so I am now,” I said. Simone lowkey snatched the envelope out of my hand, took the letter out, and began to read it. 

Side note: If you're cheering for me right now, don’t. I understand that I made no initial plans to see Simone and make this gold-trimmed case of why I left and what I left from. This was a coincidence that I was not going to let sink away. So although I was covered in shit, it didn’t mean I had to bathe in it–you can always attempt to get clean.

This is what the letter said:

Dear Simba.

From the moment I saw you making a mean face at Leigh’s brother in Mrs. Braggs’

class, I knew we had to be in each other's lives. So we went from listening to music on our steps

together to graduation and leaving for the same college. I bailed the other day because I realized you are the only version of a person I could be around for the rest of my life. Love almost seems like a third grade word compared to the actual feeling I have. Can you believe

that? A word higher than love. Wouldn’t make sense coming from a stranger if I heard that. But

if I was to describe what I hold for you, saying ‘love’ would feel small. Does that make sense? 

If I was better at this, I would say better things, but I don’t know how to use my words in that way. So I’ll say it like this. I’ve been in over-love with you since you made that face. And if it’s okay, I would like to stick around with you and kiss that face every day until I find a better phrase to describe what I feel. Even if they don’t make that word yet.

Please grab what’s inside the envelope.

With a scrunched nose and wet cheeks, Simone reached down and grabbed what I put at the bottom of the envelope. When she opened her hand, she turned away with a disturbing look, almost like she was having a thigh cramp.

The night that Simone lost her belly ring, I found it. It took me two hours. I went to get it cleaned and also inscribed. On the outside, it stated a long overdue question: Simba, will you be my girlfriend?

She read it and I wanted to let it do the work for me, but I’ve been way too quiet. I can’t hide and look from afar anymore. So I said it out loud, finally, “Simba, I more than love you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

...

“No! And my name isn’t Simba.” Simone handed me back everything and got out of my car. She asked me to not come back into the restaurant and she walked back inside.

It was like I was a paper plane and someone not only shot holes through my wings, but I could also feel all the pain on the way down. My steering wheel tried to calm my shaky hands down as I drove back to my hotel, the irony of my detailed car being a clean grave site. This is the way a crack turns into a break. I laid on that bed and cried myself into a scheduled nap. I know I deserve this, but I just miss her so fucking much.

I woke up to a simultaneous knock and a phone call. They wrestled me awake. I chose the door first just because it was louder. But when I opened the door, I was immediately punched in the face. It was more abrupt than violent. My hands reached out to grab the person by the neck until I realized it was Simone’s throat. I put my hands down, but I remained very vexed and didn’t know how to feel.

“I found out where you were staying,” she said, slightly out of breath and standing tense.

She just stared at me, and I gave her my eyes back. I didn’t forget how fresh it felt looking

at her, I always viewed this as a prize. And just as my confusion almost turned back into banana mush, I heard her say something I wanted to hear my entire life.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend and I over-love you, too. It doesn’t feel good when your soulmate leaves, huh?!”

“No,” I said with wet cheeks.

“Okay,” she said, “then don’t ever do it again and I promise I won’t either.”

I just kissed her, didn’t even try to talk back, because what was I waiting for? I knew Simba was it for me. A single person or a group of people or the whole world, for that matter, couldn’t tell me otherwise. Holding her in my arms and seeing her smile, I asked her what she wanted to do tonight and she said, “Literally anything.” I kissed her again and grabbed my keys and phone, and asked, “Hey Simone, did you–”

“Call me…Simba,” she said. “Call me Simba,” she said again, while rubbing her pelvis. Tonight was gonna be magical. “And no, I didn’t call you,” she added.

Huh, I just assumed Simba was calling me as she knocked. But, Simba never called me– they did! They left a text saying the hearing for all parties involved would be meeting tomorrow evening after they receive the evidence I provided them. Without my evidence they had no proof. Sending it was too risky; they wanted it in person tonight–like now. I didn’t say anything, but Simba knew my face. “Is that your job!?” she cried out. “So you have to go?”

Did I have to go?

End.

Story 4 - Jessica Mcgodrick (coming soon)

Edited by Suz!