Sometimes I want to be a child again - part 1

Sometimes I want to be a child again - part 1

I know, I'm a little selfish. Seen from the outside, my life is perfect:

I have an extraordinary husband, a beautiful child and everything that anyone could want materially. However, I'm missing something.

I would like, at least from time to time, not to be in second place!

I appeared late in my parents' lives and because of that, they pampered me too much. But that's not the only explanation for the fact that I've always liked being the centre of attention and that I've always wanted everyone to please me.

After I became aware of the fact that I am beautiful and that I know how to twist the boys' minds, I started to take advantage of the gifts that nature had endowed me with. I was one of the high school stars, I was chosen Junior Prom Queen, in the first year of college and so it seemed natural to me that everyone should be at my feet and most of the time that was the case. My family never got tired of praising me in front of all my friends and not only, and the boys I went out with were often surprised that they were lucky enough to attract my attention. In the third year, I met Paul, a student of Cybernetics.

He was a very talented boy who had already received a scholarship to the United States and worked for a well-known IT firm. We met absolutely by accident: I was going up the stairs to the subway station, and just as I was a few steps away, someone pushed me inadvertently and I fell to my knees. It had rained and all the books I had in my arms were spreading in the dirt on the stairs, my knees were bleeding pretty badly, and my tights had obviously broken.

I snorted in tears, more out of spite, but someone approached me and helped me up. It was Paul. He picked up my books on the floor and told me how relaxed he could be:

"I live nearby. If you want, we can go to wash, and on the way, we can buy a pair of tights, so you don't have to stay with those that are broken."

I looked up and saw a guy about my age, with glasses and a serious face, but still, the idea of going to his house didn't appeal to me. He seemed to be guessing my thoughts.

"I'm not a serial killer, you know!" I can show you my ID, we can call my neighbour first. She's up to date on what's going on in the block and would know if I'm a criminal.

If he saw that he still didn't convince me, he gave up the idea and said:

"It's a private polyclinic less than a five-minute walk away, we can go there. My opinion is that it is not good to stay like that, because your wound can be infected. The choice is yours, just tell me what you decided."

"We can go to you; you look like a serious man. My left knee hurts a lot, I don't know if I can get too far."

I walked, clinging to him, to the block where he lived and which was, indeed, a few steps from the subway station. I went up to the attic, and he kept his word and knocked on the neighbour’s door, who asked if anyone was looking for him.

"No, darling, you just left, do you think you're so wanted? said the old woman jokingly. May I help you?"

"No need, I have everything I need at home."

"The girl's wound is ugly, be sure to disinfect it properly. If you want, I can do it."

"No, thank you, Aunt Dora, I can do it!"

I went into his studio, where there was perfect order. I was very impressed because I'm pretty messy with my style and I was surprised that a boy can be so meticulous. The walls were lined with books, and at the large window, almost as big as the wall, were a lot of flower pots.

I took off my trench coat, and in the meantime, Paul went to get gauze pads and iodine tincture from the medicine box. He carefully disinfected my wound and bandaged my knees, and then I went to the bathroom and put on my new pair of tights I had bought on the way. Then Paul asked me if I wanted a tea or a coffee. I politely refused and told him I had to go to a seminar, which I had already been late for.

"Thank you very much! You must have been late somewhere because of me."

He then led me to the street and we parted. He didn't ask for my phone number or ask me if I wanted to see him again. I have to admit that this surprised me a bit and I felt a little offended. He was the first boy who didn't seem interested in me. I couldn't get it out of my head, so after a few days, I bought a huge bouquet of chrysanthemums and knocked on his door. He opened the neighbour first.

"Oh, it was you! Wait, I'll call him on the phone! He listens to music and I don't think he hears the bell."

In a few moments, Paul opened the door.

"I came to thank you for everything you did for me! I was thinking of inviting you over for coffee or tea, or wherever you want. You were very kind."

He invited me inside, and since then we have been inseparable. Paul confessed to me that he was afraid he would never see me again, but he suspected that if he had asked me for his phone number at first, he might not have aroused my interest.

"I thought you were used to being successful." If I had shown interest, I would have been nothing more than a conquest, among so many others. I thought it best to let you take the first step and look, I was right.

Stay tuned for part 2!