Menstruation Madness III
Camila's POV
"You okay?"
I don't turn to look at Alejandro, instead I blink out the window at the sky that's now adorned in little silver specks. Stars.
We had been stuck in that office for hours. Alejandro and the principle had been there while some type of shrink had me perform a bunch of tests.
"You know this is a good thing. Now we know how to work around the learning block." Alejandro speaks but I still refuse to say anything. I was trying to process the news.
Signs of ADHD and dyscalculia, a.k.a problems in math. I had a learning disorder.
So even if I did continue to try in class, I would have failed.
Why were these things happening to me?
In the past week I'd been bombarded with news about my life and how fucked up it actually was, while I was left to deal and process the information all on my own.
It was exhausting and overwhelming.
I don't even realize that I'm speaking until my weak voice fills the silent car. "I'm just so tired of everything." I whisper as my voice cracks but I don't even have it in me to cry.
I'm just so done.
I look down to see Alejandro reach his hand out and grasp onto mine over the console. I glance up and watch as he brings my hand towards his lips and places a kiss on the back of it.
He doesn't look at me, he stares ahead as he uses his other hand on the steering wheel to drive but I find myself wanting to breakdown at the action.
It felt so nice and it reminded me of how it felt to be held in his arms. I wanted that but I knew we couldn't have that anymore.
I blink back tears as I pull my hand out of his before turning back towards the window.
Things weren't the same anymore. We had both said and done things that were irreversible.
. . .
I took a bath before bed.
It was the only thing that made me feel better. I had slipped into my nightie, done my skincare and tried to distract myself from reality.
I didn't want to think about the clusterfuck that was my life.
A part of me wanted to cry it out but I genuinely couldn't bring myself to cry. I didn't want to tap into those emotions because feeling numb like this was easier.
I look up from my bed when I hear a knock and then when the door opens revealing a tired looking Alejandro, I don't hide my surprise.
Either way I wasn't in the mood for company but before I can say anything he walks into the room and shuts the door behind him.
He's holding a pink box in his hand but his tall form catches all my attention as he walks towards me. I watch curiously as he sets the box down on my nightstand and takes off his blazer - folding it and placing it on my desk neatly.
He then proceeds to kick off his shoes and undo the first few buttons on his white dress shirt exposing his chest.
"Uhh.." I say glancing around, my eyes go to the pink box that has a bakery name plaster on top of it and I look back up at him, my brows furrowed. "What do you want?" It comes out more straightforward and unwelcoming than I was hoping but I wasn't in the mood to be friendly.
He doesn't say anything nor look like he's going to anytime soon. Is he fucking serious?
"I'm not in the mood for company." I try again, not meaning for it to come out so rude, but it does.
Instead he takes a seat at the edge of my bed and turns his body towards mine as he reaches for the sweets and pushes them into my lap.
I open the box, noting the delicious sweets before glancing at the clock. "It's not good to have sugar before bed. I don't want it." I say pushing it back into his lap.
It was a peace offering I knew that much. But I didn't want to accept it, no matter how much my stomach was telling me to have that red velvet cupcake or that eclair.
He doesn't look sad or upset, instead he simply nods and places the box back on the nightstand. He then falls back on my bed, as he stares up at the ceiling. "You know, Michael Phelps has ADHD." He speaks, his voice firm yet soft at the same time.
I pull my legs up and shift farther back away from him. "I don't want to talk about it-"
"So did Beethoven." He interrupts and I snap my head up to look at him. He doesn't even look at me, instead he continues focus his attention on the ceiling. "It's actually believed that he had ADHD and dyslexia."
"Really? But that doesn't make sense he's a genius. A musical genius." I say furrowing my brows, before realizing I was suppose to be ignoring him.
But then when he turns to look at me, I know I won't be ignoring him for this conversation. "Having ADHD, dyslexia or any form of learning disorder doesn't mean you can't be a genius."
I look at him, not buying his bull shit. He's just trying to make me feel better. But I won't fall for it.
He turns back to stare at the ceiling as my gaze automatically snaps down to his broad chest that's heaving, and I stop myself from thinking about how attractive the way his shirt cling to his muscular form was. "Let's take you for example." He shrugs.
"I'm not a genius." I instantly interrupt, gritting my teeth.
He turns his head to look at me like I just said the craziest thing ever."Yes you are, you're a musical genius."
I glare at him."How would you know? You've never even seen me play."
He looks back up to the ceiling, ignoring my glare and shrugs. "True, I haven't seen you live, but I've heard you play."
I narrow my eyes at him. "What is that supposed to mean?" I say getting defensive. I wasn't going to crumble to him just because he was trying to stroke my ego.
Alejandro was a roller coaster, sweet one minute and then horrible the next. I didn't want any part in that.
"That means, I found all your mothers recording of your performances and watched them all." He states simply like it's nothing.
I pause, momentarily stumped. That was not what I was expecting. It was so unexpected that I throw all my defences out of the window and lean forward. "You watched my performances? But why?" I ask genuinely baffled.
He shrugs and looks over at me seriously. "They help me relax. Granted it's only the solo's but you're incredibly talented." He says looking so sure of himself that I almost believe him.
I blink in surprise, not knowing how to feel, but then I purse my lips trying to look unbothered. "You listen to poor quality recording of my solo performances to relax?" I needed something to hold my defence up.
I wasn't going to crumble.
"You'd be surprised how quiet everyone gets the moment you start to play. Except for last years Christmas concert, there was a baby that wouldn't stop crying in the back." He then furrows his brows innocently. "That one doesn't help me relax all that much." He mumbles and my face softens at how serious and adorable he is.
. . .
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