Dating An Alpha At Weimar High

Episode Five

"Damn...I ought not to have said that. I apologise. The tension is broken by a brief, direct conversation that begs me to question whether he is referring to the restaurant or something more significant. The question hangs in the air like our unspoken regrets hanging there. For a long stretch, we lapse into silence—a stream-of-consciousness dialogue filled with unvoiced apologies and heavy breaths. Then, almost as an afterthought, Niklaus speaks again, “...You were, uhm…right.” His voice is not sure, almost challenging. "Huh?" I whispered quickly, my tone almost contemptuous. A derisive smile pulls at my lips as I glance down at my lap—a little comic conversation in an otherwise sombre moment. "No... a suited boyfriend would have arrived late." The words are a sardonic commentary on all that has happened, a mixed recognition of truth. He has nothing to apologise for; his behaviour exposed a truth I had long been blind to—my continuous excuses for Adler. The awareness stings, like a sour monologue reflecting my own denial and blindness. Niklaus hums, a low sound blending with the squeak of his leather seat as he moves. His eyes briefly meet mine. "Aight. From Ramp Road, know how to get to your house? His voice is laid-back but has an interrogative slant as if looking for validation. Indeed, um... we will turn left. I respond warily, my words drifting off into the hum of the engine. Minutes later, the car pulls up in front of a small one-storey house on a forested corner of a little neighbourhood. The silence around me tells me my mother sleeps, and I know it's best not to load her with the turmoil of the evening. Inner dialogue whispers; I should not bring up any of this; she is not interested in knowing. Inside I slide into a quiet resignation. "Hey... " I gently call, looking at Niklaus, who is leaning on the steering wheel with a subdued comfort. "Don't let your car worry you. By morning it will be back here; you won't even know it was ever missing. His direct conversation promises a light-hearted promise, and I briefly get some small relief. Though I try to thank him, speaking feels like too much work; I have gone silent. "...I could spin your car if it would help. Any bloodstains on the front bumper clearly won't be Adler's," he says, his light-hearted conversation diffusing the stress with a dose of sarcastic humour. "Just roadkill." Though dark, the joke makes me smile—just momentarily. But as Niklaus leans in, I automatically turn away, watching his face approach me. He approaches dangerously close, his eyes—gold-speckled among their brown depths—searching me as if for answers I too hesitate to offer. Silent conflict exists between us, each heartbeat a mystery unresolved. Then I click as the seatbelt lets off and slides up against my arm. His hand pulls away from the buckle, then he looks up at me and blinks slowly before a smile flashes across his face. In a playful, direct conversation that feels intimate and surreal, he asks, "...Oh, want a New Year's kiss after all?" Whining, I turn and stumble out of his car, my cheeks flushed with heat and shame as I head fast back to my house. The car stays until I get to my front door, and behind me I hear a laugh—not nasty but rather light—a last funny conversation. I try to shut the door softly, but it clanks and wakes my mother from her adjacent bedroom. In a quiet, direct conversation, "...Valda?" she asks gently. I quickly lower my voice and say, "I'm home, Mom." Please don't ask questions; please let this evening pass quietly. My inner dialogue races. The sound of bedsheets makes my heart leap. "I just want to go to bed. Alright? Late and tired, she says, her voice dragging out in a slow, languid tone that provides me a meagre solace. "Okay, hon," she says, drawing direct dialogue, "Happy New Year." "Happy New Year," I say, my voice hardly above a whisper as relief floods over me. I wait until I'm sure the sounds of her moving in the room have stopped before exhaling strongly, stooping to take off my shoes and rushing to my bedroom. But as soon as I enter, I am reminded unwelcomely—a flood of images whiplash across my awareness. Remnants of better times, pictures I had taken of Adler and me lie all around my bed. His sweaters, selected moments before I decided what to wear, lay forgotten. They are sobering reminders of the lie he created, one that now ruins the last traces of confidence I had clung to. I leave my room briefly and then come back carrying a garbage bag. Everything bearing even a trace of him is thrown into the bag, a silent monologue of loss and guilt. My friend and lighthouse through the dark days of Dad's rule had been Adler. Until now, that sperm donor was the one shielding me, the one who never raised his voice—not screaming at us. Adler had been among the few I felt I needed—my mother and him. I never wanted to lose him through dating. The idea of marriage, of dating, always made me sick, like a horrible fate I could hardly stomach. I have always worried about becoming like my mother, and that fear has now become a suffocating reality. Still, I could not keep the past haunting me or stay bound by memories of loss and betrayal. I start to laugh bitterly, a monologue of self-reproach, realising I was so stupid, wishing on something as brittle as a promise. I quickly toss all I have of Adler's into the garbage can after slipping out the rear door. I hold back my tears, each one a silent confession of my own blindness. I am reminded in a stream-of-consciousness conversation of my stupidity, of foolishly clinging to illusions doomed from the start. And so, with every discarded memory, I face the ruins of my past in the stillness of that little forest-side house on Ramp Road. Even though I am aware that tomorrow may not provide solace, the night is lengthy; at least for the time being, I can begin to mend the broken pieces. I know I have to learn to live with the truth—no matter how terrible it may be—every breath and every hesitant step towards the future.