I usually kept my eyes on the pavement in front of me, not daring to let my gaze venture. But today, I couldn't seem to stop looking at the houses. They were all the same. Beige siding. Brown front doors. Perfectly inviting cookie-cutter houses. Designed for cookie-cutter families. I used to crave that. When I was a little girl, I dreamt of everything I didn't have. I wanted it desperately. Much like how I craved him now.

I was naive back then. Now I knew that the things I craved should be kept at arm's length. Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice? Not going to happen.

My head snapped toward the sound of a lawnmower starting. The timing was pure perfection. My feet slowed to a light jog, unable to keep my pace when I saw him. Somehow, he always seemed to take my breath away. And all my senses became overloaded. Sight, touch, taste, smell, and sound. My lips parted slightly, an involuntary reaction. We were a whole lawn away. This was the closest I'd ever been to him, and the closest I'd ever be. So why was it so easy to imagine him kissing my lips? Tasting the saltiness of his skin? Feeling the whisper of his breath in my ear?

A daydream. A fantasy so oversaturated that it felt real. More real than anything in my actual life. I wasn't even sure what it was about him that consumed my mind. The way his hair fell slightly on his forehead? The tan that somehow highlighted the cut of his muscles? The kind smile that was much too kind for someone like me?

He looked up as I passed, that same smile I dreamt about crossing his lips. No, it wasn't the smile that had captured me. Although the kindness behind it was part of the intrigue. It was the dimple on his cheek. Not one on each cheek. Just the one. On his left cheek. It was an imperfection. An imperfection on an otherwise perfect physic. It was the imperfection that drew me in.

He waved as he continued to push the mower with his free hand. The first time he had waved to me, I'd immediately snapped my eyes back to the pavement. I had felt the heat cross my cheeks. He had caught me staring. My heart had slammed against my ribcage like I had been running for five miles instead of five minutes. And when I had looked back over my shoulder, he was still staring at me.

But that awkward moment had been 6 months ago. Now we had a routine. He waved and I would wave back. It was less awkward if I waved back. Less abnormal. Most people didn’t have to try so hard to be normal. To me, it was excruciating work. I didn't ever want someone to see through my exterior to the torment inside of me.

I lifted my hand and waved. He smiled and looked back down at the lawnmower. Our exchange was over. And I kept running, refusing to look back. It was better if I dreamt of him staring after me. It was better if I didn't know whether he was or not. I'd never looked back ever since that first day. But it was hard to shake that feeling that his gaze would be on me if I looked over my shoulder.

I picked up my pace as I turned the corner. My obsession with him was ridiculous. I knew nothing about him besides for his appearance. And I knew how meaningless appearances were. I knew I was attractive. My mother always used to say it was the only thing I had going for me. I hated when she'd say that. Maybe that was when my insides started to become twisted and unrecognizable. A compliment turned sour. Morphed into an insult. My insides definitely weren't attractive. I wasn't sure they ever were.

It was hard to not read into his flawless looks, though. When I jogged back in the opposite direction, his shirt would be gone and his appearance would be all I could think about. Perfect timing had its perks. I picked up my pace again. The feeling of my muscles resisting thrilled me. There was no better feeling than pushing myself to the limit. Knowing that my body wouldn't break. That nothing would ever break me no matter how hard everyone seemed to try.

I'd started running because it was the only thing that made me feel alive. I was addicted to the wind rushing through my hair. I'd stopped using hair ties because they lowered the thrill. I needed the wind through my hair, not through my ponytail. It made the cookie-cutter wives stare at me with dissatisfaction. But I didn't care. They didn't know how badly I needed to feel alive. How badly I needed Thursdays.

Maybe that was something else I liked about him. The way he stared at me made me feel desired. Him staring lit something inside of me. Especially since I knew we'd never interact. Since I knew it would never be more than a wave. Or a smile.

I reached the dead end and placed my hands on my knees. The woods stretched out before me. I stared at the trees as I caught my breath. I used to want to run through them. I thought running so close to nature, tucked away from suburbia, would help ease my worries and fears. A natural trail made with my own footprints starting at the back of my house. A trail just for me. But the one time I ran through the trees, I had been more terrified than ever. Because it was tucked away from suburbia. And there was definitely no one there to hear my screams. Not one soul. The thought irked me so fiercely that ever since then I'd never been able to look at the woods the same. Not to mention how the branches had cut my skin. I had come back to the house looking like I'd just escaped from the set of a horror movie.

I took a step back from the woods. They were why all the blinds in the back of my house were always drawn close. The trees gave me an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. No, I didn't want to run through them ever again. I'd stick to the street. Worse for my knees, better for my mind.

Besides, my knees had never been fragile. But my mind was. That was basically what the doctor said when she'd prescribed me the pills. She ended up being right though. I felt better when I took them. They weren't helping anyone in the garbage disposal where I had originally put them.

Fragile yet stubborn at the same time. I ignored the inconsistencies and started running back the way I had come. I always ran faster on the way back to him, even though I was dreading my silent goodbye. Part of me always worried he'd be gone early. That he'd just disappear.

One day that might happen. He might stop cutting the lawn at that particular house. Or he might change the time he did it. I couldn't exactly camp out on the street and wait for him. When his disappearance ultimately happened, the one day I looked forward to would disappear. Every day would be exactly the same. And then what would happen to me? How had I existed without this one thing to look forward to? I couldn't even remember.

I turned the corner and saw him in the distance. His had stripped off his shirt. The sweat on his chest made his skin glisten in the sunlight. It made him look otherworldly. I laughed silently at the thought. Otherworldly? There was only one world. The current hell that I was living.

He lifted his hand and waved, that dimple appearing on his cheek. My world didn't feel like hell when I passed him. It felt airy like the breeze through my hair. Like anything was still possible, even though I knew in my gut that it wasn't. I lifted my hand to wave back.

I was completely distracted by his perfect imperfection on his cheek. It was all I could see. And I didn't want to look away yet. What if I couldn't wait till next Thursday? What if I was the one that disappeared?

The look on his face changed in a heartbeat.

I didn't understand the look.

I mistook it for anger. I always mistook expressions for anger.

Panic constricted in my throat.

What had I done? Had I stared too long at him? I had, hadn't I?

He called to me, but my mind blocked out his words. Something I was used to doing. A defense mechanism. The same doctor that had given me the pills had told me that's what it was. So all I saw was the supposed anger and his mouth moving fast. The words were drowned out by my own panic.

I crashed into something and my legs flew out from underneath of me.