"I like this place." Camilla looks around again. "Thank you so much for bringing me in here."
I study her face while she explores the room. Her sincere smile, those big blue eyes glittering in soft light, her dirty blond curls falling over her tender shoulders. Maybe it's the magic of this place, but something deep inside me wants this night never to end; it feels like I could easily stay here forever if she was with me.
"Tell me honestly," Camilla interrupts my thoughts, "how many girls have you brought here?"
I didn't expect that question, and, for some reason, it makes me want to laugh.
"None," I say with a smile.Is it jealousy?
"Don't lie to me." She puffs out her lips, offended.
"I'm not lying. You are the first girl I've brought in here," I say honestly, trying not to smile. "Not just the first girl, but the first person. My friends haven't been here either."
Camilla's eyes widen in surprise when she realizes I'm not trying to fool her.
"But… Whyme?" she asks carefully after the first wave of frustration evaporates.
"You remind me of her," I say immediately without thinking twice, and it's the first time I’ve admitted it, even to myself. "She loved books so much it was like they were her children."
I start walking the room, trying to remind myself of Mom, sitting on the couch with a book and a glass of wine in her hand, so engrossed that she wouldn't notice anything else.
"She treated books with respect." I brush my fingers over one of the bookshelves. "She cleaned here by herself, never bent pages, never left the book in a wrong place; each had its particular shelf and rack. And, what is more important, she not only collected them, but she truly loved to read. This place was her haven."
She hid here from my sisters and me when we were little. We were supposed to sleep during the day while she went here to hide from all the world and read. Of course, we didn't want to sleep and eventually found this place.
Mom wasn't mad at us when we came here; she loved it. She showed us the books and sometimes read them to us. She encouraged her children to love literature just like she did. And even though everyone in my family reads from time to time, we could never fully understand her obsession.
I take a deep breath. It turned out to be harder for me to speak about my mother than I thought it would. Even after so many years without her, I still miss her; I still feel her energy in this room.
"That's why you remind me of her," I continue after clearing my throat, "the way you look when you read—as if there's no one else around in the whole world. That's how she looked when she was reading. That's the reason I've brought you here. I knew you would like this place."
Camilla smiles slightly, half shyly, half glad; I think she feels flattered and at the same time still a little frustrated. I know this from how she asked 'Why me?' as if there couldn't be anything special about her. Doesn't she get it? Everything about her is special.
Who the hell are those people she came here with? How could they turn this beautiful, intelligent girl into such an insecure person? And why?
"I want to show you something else." I come closer and reach out a hand. This time, Camilla takes it without hesitation.
I walk to the corner of the room where the telescope is hidden under a sheet. As I pull the sheet away, Camilla gasps in delight. I love how she enjoys little things—just like a kid is happy whenever he gets to the ice cream shop.
"I've never looked into a telescope, but I always really wanted to," she exclaims with excitement. I can't hide a satisfied smile.
I knew that. I don't know how, but I just knew that she would love to look at the stars, just like I knew she would enjoy visiting this library.
The second I saw her for the first time, I figured out she was a romantic soul. Maybe it's because of how she reads, as if she’s living in the story and not just moving her eyes across the pages. It’s like when she reads a book, the whole world stops to let her cherish the moment.
"Am I doing it right? Because I see nothing," she says, frustrated after looking into the eyepiece, and turns to face me. Her eyes are round, expressing a question mark on her face mixed with sadness that something went wrong.
She looks so cute when frustrated: I love how she puffs her cheeks and pouts her lips, just like children do when they want a candy they can't have.
For the first time, I understand the meaning of "pretty when you cry." It is when you almost want someone to start crying only to pet and comfort them.
The intense feeling of lust flashes through my whole body as I think about Camilla, so tender and vulnerable, lying in my arms, so ready for everything I can give her.
I feel my dick jump inside my pants and take a step closer. It's not a very good idea to be this close to someone you want this badly, but if I stay at a distance, she'll notice my erection.
"That's because you have to take off the protective cap from the other side," I say and hear how hoarse my voice is. I clear my throat while taking off the cap. Camilla observes me all this time, looking straight into my face, probably trying to understand why I'm so nervous.
And I am. Nervous. Very. I don't know why. I have no idea what to do with it because it had never happened to me before. In my twenty-four years of life, I have never had a problem communicating with girls; it always went smoothly without any real effort.