Leave me your coments.

BirdsandStars

I don't usually wake up very early on Sundays, let alone after I went to bed late last night. I'm more of a morning sleeper kind of person. But today, I don't know why, I wake up early, despite the time I went to bed. Although I don't know if 8:30 am is considered early. After I go to the bathroom, I put on some clothes that are a little more decent than the ones I've been wearing since last night. I know my roommate must be sleeping, and he's supposedly gay. According to Kate. But I don't think he likes seeing someone, barely dressed in the middle of the kitchen. Even though he's seen me like this last night and hadn't commented on it. Maybe he didn't say anything to keep me from feeling worse.

In short, last night I didn't care, today I do.

So, I go out to the kitchen. As I expected, there's no sign of my roommate anywhere.

Luckily.

I go over to the fridge to get some breakfast. And I find another blue note stuck to the door.

No problem.

Christian

His message is very brief. I open the fridge, get some eggs, milk, butter and juice. And then I open the pantry in search of flour.

Perfect.

I have everything I need.

I look for a bowl, and I start mixing the ingredients. I open the fridge one more time and find strawberry jam and on one shelf a bottle of maple syrup. I take them out and put them on the counter. I smile as I put the mixture I have prepared into the waffle iron. I set the table for breakfast and then a question comes up.

Should I call him for breakfast? I know he brought me in last night before he finished his work, but... What time does he usually come back? What if I knock on his door and he bothers to wake him up?

Shit!

I ran out to my room looking for the phone. I dial Kate's number as I'm walking back to the kitchen. I know she's going to scold me for waking her up so early. And for what happened last night.

—I hope it's life or death. —she says to me in a sleepy voice.

—Please don't be mad at me, not you too. —I say to her in a low voice.

—Is Christian mad at you?

—Yes. Because of what happened last night.

—I'm surprised, I didn't see him angry last night, besides, Ana, it wasn't your fault what that idiot did. —that's exactly what he told me.

—I know, but I shouldn't have trusted a stranger.

—That's what happens when you've been away from men for so long. —she says to me as I feel her laugh.

—Are you making fun of me? —I ask her, stopping in the middle of the room.

—No, not at all, I don't want you to take your anger out on me.

I start laughing and then I remember why I called her in the first place and all the questions come rushing to my lips without being able to stop them.

—Do I knock on the door to get him to go out for breakfast or do I wait for him to get up? What time does he usually get home from work? What if he get upset for wake him up?

—Ana! —she shouts at me from the other side and I decide to keep my mouth shut. —He wakes up alone, don't worry, all the other concerns you can ask him. —she says to me as I feel a door open and a few steps behind me.

—You know what, forget it. —I tell her as I hang up and resume my walk to the kitchen without looking back.

I take out the waffles that are ready and place them on a plate on the counter. I place another plate for him. I put the strawberry jam jar, and the maple syrup bottle next to the waffles. I find and place the silverware and then I start pouring orange juice into a glass.

—Good morning. —the tone of his voice takes me by surprise.

This time his voice doesn't sound tired or sleepy or angry. It sounds rather, sexy. Not sexy. He sounds confident.

—Good morning. —I answer him quietly without even looking at him.

—Just one. —he says to me as I put the juice aside.

I look up briefly. Just like yesterday, when I met him, he's wearing a hat on his head and a sweatshirt. I think the only thing in his size are the black sweatpants he's wearing. Pants that hang extremely sensually from his hips. He passes behind me and I stare at him as he walks to the cupboard, stretches up and grabs something from the top. I stop looking at him and turn my attention to breakfast.

He turns to the blender and starts pouring out different things. He takes the juice I just left and pours a little bit of it too before he turns it on.

Is he making a protein shake?

I finish putting everything on the counter and a few seconds later he turns off the blender and pours the shake into a huge glass over there. He turns around and sits down. I do the same thing and sit next to him. I take some waffles and put them on my plate, pour strawberry jam over them, and then some maple syrup. Christian stares at me.

—It's a very strange way to make waffles, isn't it? —and he's right, he's not the first one to make that comment to me.

—I like them like that, they taste delicious. —I say to him with a shrugged smile. —Would you like to try some? —I tell him by offering him a piece that I've already cut.

Christian stares at my hand in the air and then stares at me.

Oh, shit!

What did I just do? Where did this sudden boldness come from? I'm not on the drug anymore. And he's still a stranger to me.

—I guess so, which must be delicious. But I'm on a strict diet. —he says to me as he looks away from me and starts eating his breakfast.

And I don't know what else to say. I've never lived with a man. And for a moment there's a very uncomfortable silence between us.

—How do you feel? —he asks me suddenly and his question takes me by surprise.

—Good. —I answer him briefly because I'm waiting for a scolding as if I were a little girl.

—You felt the effects of MDMA combined with alcohol last night.

—MDMA? —I ask without knowing what the acronym means.

—Ecstacy.

Great. I've tried all my life to feel full, and to achieve ecstasy, and it turns out that it reaches me. My life is a complete irony.

—I'll give you some advice, Ana. —he says to me as he finishes the rest of his shake. —Next time, don't accept a stranger paying for your drinks, let alone bringing them to your table.

—I think I learned my lesson last night. —I answer him as I slowly start eating breakfast.

Although that lesson, I think I should have learned it a long time ago. It's not that I don't get out once in a while. I go out with Kate and our friends to clubs and bars and parties. But I've stayed away from men. Except for last night. I don't even know why I let a stranger pay for our drinks.

—I'm glad you got something good out of what happened last night. —he says to me with a slight smile.

But as I continue to eat breakfast, the memories of last night return to my mind. I remember he had strong arms and a firm chest. And how the shirt fitted into his broad back. I wonder if I imagined that?

I look briefly at Christian. Most likely.

We both finish breakfast, I get up and start packing up.

—Let me help you. —he says to me as he gets up with his plate in his hand.

—No, go to bed, you must be tired. —tired from taking care of me and putting up with me last night. —What time do you usually get back from work? —I ask him by taking the plate out of his hand and then I regret it.

I think I'm crossing a line I shouldn't. And I mentally preparing myself for him to be angry at me for my boldness and to yell at me. It's what I'm used to.

What do you care?

But he don't.

He stares at me and answers in a slow voice.

—I usually get here around 2:00 a.m.

—After last night, I imagine you must be tired.

—No more than you are. —he says to me as he stares at me with his eyes narrowed.

And I don't know if it's my idea, but I think I see him smiling. Although it's very difficult to tell from all the beard that covers his face.

—I'm not going to sleep again. —he says to me as he heads for the apartment door. —I have important things to do today. —he says to me before he leaves.

And only then when he leaves do I analyse everything that happened at breakfast. The clothes he was wearing, the shake. Was he going to exercise? He don't really look like someone who exercises. Although with the clothes he's wearing, it's hard to tell. But why am I thinking about this so much? I finish packing up and head to the gym to sign up.

—Good morning. What can I do for you? —a girl at the front desk tells me.

—I'm here to sign up for a kick boxing class. —I tell her while I'm holding out my ID. —I had to move suddenly and I need to continue my classes. —I tell her with a smile as I show her the card from the old gym.

—Lately everyone wants to take kick boxing lessons. —she says with a smile. —What time would you like to take the classes?

—If possible from 5 to 6 am. —I tell her while she types something on the computer.

—I'm sorry, but that schedule is already completely full, we only have openings in the 7 to 8 pm schedule.

I think about it for a moment and decide yes. I'm not going out to find another gym.

—Okay. —I say with a smile.

—In that schedule we have Professor Rodriguez, he's new.

—Is he good? —that's what interests me most.

—He started with us recently, he's a former MMA champion. — she says to me as she smiles at me.

—Excellent!

My old teacher wasn't a former MMA champion, so I guess this class must be interesting.

After I fill out the forms and pay the initial fee, which I get a discount on, I get my new ID and leave. I take a tour of my new neighborhood, so I can get to know it better. I locate a supermarket, a liquor store, a gift shop and a French candy store. I also find a sporting goods store and decide to buy clothes and accessories for this afternoon's class. I don't think I can get mine back yet. And I think my bandages already needed changing. I go back to the apartment around noon. I leave the shopping in my room and go straight to the kitchen to make some lunch. Fifteen minutes later, the front door opens and Christian enters, carrying many bags to his room.

—Do you need any help? —I yell at him as I watch him walk out again.

—Yes, thank you. —he says to me as he comes out again.

I go out the door and he's coming back in, carrying bags. I take some bags off his hands and carry them to his room. I leave them with the others and he goes out looking for more. Curiosity gets the better of me and I take a look inside one of the bags. There are clothes inside. I look briefly at his room. It looks just like mine. I don't have much time to examine his room in more detail as I feel his steps back. But what strikes me most is that his wardrobe is completely empty.

Are all these bags new clothes?

I leave the room quickly and Christian comes back in now with fewer bags.

—These are the last ones. Thank you. —he says to me as he enters the room and closes the door again.

I continue to the kitchen to finish preparing lunch.

—You can let me know when lunch is ready, I need to finish something. —he says, leaning out the door.

—All right. —I say to him as he disappears into his room once more, closing the door again.

So just start preparing lunch and half an hour later it's ready. I go to his room and knock on the door.

—Lunch is ready! —I yell at him as I walk away.

I start putting the dishes on the counter. I feel the door open and his steps in my direction. I have my back to him as I finish putting the plates and cutlery down.

—This smells delicious. —he says as he reaches over to the counter and sit down.

—I wanted to do something delicious to apologize for yesterday. And thank you for taking care of me. —I say to him as I sit on next to him.

Something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. I think he look a little different. I turn my face to look at him better. But I can't figure out the angle and I lose my balance falling onto the floor.

—Ouch! —I hit my ass hard.

I try to stand up and then I hit my head on the counter.

—Shit! —I scream as I close my eyes in pain and rub where I've been hit.

—Are you all right? —he asks as I feel one of his hands on my waist and the other holding me by the arm.

I open my eyes as I stretch out one of my hands and hold on to his forearm as he helps me upright. The first impression with this new look has been, to say the least, painful. But the second impression.

Oh, my God!

This can't be my roommate.

I blink several times as I finish standing up. I think I have a concussion.

—Christian? —I ask him, doubting whether it's him or not.

—Do I look that different? —he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Different?

I don't think there's a definition for different. At least not in him. It's like he's a whole other person. For a moment I just stare at him trying to figure out if the man I helped with the bags half an hour ago and this one in front of me now are the same person.

The first thing I notice is his arm, which I'm still holding. He's strong and muscular just like I thought he was last night. Apparently, I wasn't hallucinating after all. I didn't expect this. And I didn't expect to feel that current running through my body again as I hold on to it.

His clothes have changed. He's wearing a white sweater that fits his body, which I can tell he exercises regularly. I continue to look up. The thick beard has been trimmed and he now looks several days old. The hideous cap has disappeared, and the long black hair has been trimmed, although it still remains long and unkempt and falls to the middle of his face. And his eyes. My God! They're not black. He has a beautiful eye color. A mixture of blue and grey.

I've never liked men with long hair. But there's something about the way he wears it that makes me start hyperventilating. But what I'm thinking about. If I don't like him. And I don't even know him.

What's happening to me?

I can't be attracted to him.

Or am I?

Because what I'm undeniably feeling is attraction. I don't know how body chemistry works, but can anyone be attracted to a person who's gay? I guess so. Or maybe he's not and they were just Kate's ideas. Either way, it's...

I look at him and I blink one more time and I still can't believe it.

The beard, the eyes, the hair, the clothes. The whole ensemble in him makes him look so damn sexy and snappy. I don't think I've ever had anyone so attractive in front of me in my life. Well, not to mention the celebrities I've met.

There I am justified. I'm not the only one who's attracted to a celebrity. In fact, I have a few on my "if I could sleep with a celebrity" list. But back to the main theme, which still holds me in its arms. He's not famous and even if he were, I don't need a relationship right now, plus I don't think he'd notice me.

I put those thoughts out of my mind and focus on the mantra I've been carrying for so many months. No men in my life, no men in my life, no men in my life. I repeat myself over and over again until the thoughts I had a few seconds ago disappear.