Sims 3: Athena Sparks 17

 It would be remiss of me to use words like nervous and panic to describe how I feel right now, walking out the door with Desmond by my side.  Those words don’t even come close to telling you how I feel.  In fact, I don’t know enough words. All I know is that I find it really hard to do the basic human things, like walk, breathe and think.  I didn’t even try to talk.

 Desmond holds my door open as I get in. This leaves me only a few seconds to try to regain control of myself before he enters on his side.

 I know that it only takes about ten minutes to make it to the diner, but for me it felt like forever. 

 The ride is almost unbearable.  I’m grateful that the taxi driver is very talkative because he keeps Desmond engaged in conversation, allowing me time to take in the moment, as I am feeling hyper aware at the moment.  I am much too aware of Desmond’s body heat next to me.  If his skin accidentally brushed against mine at this moment, I believe I would melt.

 I swear that I can hear his heart beating…or maybe that’s my heart.  Either way, the rhythmic pounding is deafening to my senses.

 I trick my mind into believing that I am in the taxi alone.  It’s the only thing that I can think to do to calm myself enough to stop acting like a love struck child.

 I calm down enough to picture Desmond beside me once again.  He and the taxi driver are still talking, but I have yet to tune into what they are saying.

 We are moments away from the diner.  Finally I feel like I can function properly. 

 Desmond steps out once the taxi stops. He walks over to my door to let me out.  Normally, I would have opened the door and stepped out on my own, but I hesitate, because I have to make sure that my legs still have feeling.  Once I can once again feel my legs, I step out and we make our way toward the diner.

 Inside the diner, we sit face to face.  “You were quiet during the taxi ride,” Desmond says in an observational sort of voice.


“Yeah, I’m sorry.  I tend to get quiet at times,” I say.

 Desmond smiles before grabbing his menu.  “I’ve noticed,” he remarks.


I wonder if he thinks this is a bad thing.  As if he has read my mind, he says, “Believe me…it’s a relief.  There are too many people who talk all the time just to hear themselves.”

 Once the first awkward few minutes have passed, I feel more comfortable and begin to chat a little more freely.  Desmond, however, dominates the conversation with his talk of work, parties that he’s attended and places that he has traveled to.  I get the impression that Desmond has a lot of friends.

 It’s approaching noon as we finally walk out of the diner.  “Thanks for the coffee and breakfast,” I say as we stand outside.

 “No problem.  Any excuse to eat is a good one.  Maybe we can do this again sometime?”


“Uh, yeah!  That sounds good,” I answer.

 “Eunice is throwing a party once her renovations are completed.  I’d love for you to come with me.”

 I hate turning Desmond down, when it’s another chance to get to know him, but I cannot imagine myself being at Eunice’s house with a ton of other people that I don’t know.  “Uh…I’ll get back to you on that.”


“OK.  I’ll call you up with the details once I know.  Maybe you could pencil it in.”

 “Yeah, OK.” I say ready to change the subject.  “So Desmond, you never told me what you do.”


“You mean my job?  Right now I work at the hospital, but I think it may be time for a change.  I’m actually in the market for a career change.”

 I wait for Desmond to ask what I do, but he doesn’t, so I volunteer the information.  “Yes, I know what you mean.  I used to be a teacher, but now I’m pursuing a writing career.”

 “Really?  So you’re a journalist?”  Desmond asks.

 “No.  I finished my first novel and starting work on my second.”


“Ah!  Now that’s interesting.  I can’t remember the last time I read a book, so I couldn’t imagine writing one.”

 Desmond changes the subject.  “So how are you enjoying Hidden Springs so far?”


I’m disappointed that Desmond is not very interested in my book.  Even more disappointing is the fact that he doesn’t read.

 “Well…what can I say…” I begin, trying to think of what I should add.

 “It’s beautiful and the people here are nice,” I say, running our conversation through my head; realizing that we really don’t have much in common.

 “I agree,” he answers.  “Well Athena, it was great having breakfast with you.  I’ll call you about the party.”


“OK,” I say.  “Uh, thanks again.”

 Minutes later, I’m back at home.  Desmond and I didn’t share a taxi on the way back.  He said that he had to grab a few things at the grocery store.  I enter the house and walk straight to the computer.

The tone of my writing at this moment is slightly melancholy.  I realized on the ride home alone that Desmond and I are not very compatible; that I may actually be forced to live the rest of my life alone.

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