Eleven Dates [COMPLETE]

Chapter XVIII: in which she meets the family

"Ugh, I don't want to go." I complained from my usual spot on the floor leaning back on the couch between Trevor's legs.

"Why not?" Trevor doesn't look away from the screen. He was absolutely crushing me on Halo.

"Because there's not point to it." I discarded the x-box control on the floor, frustrated. "All the dates I've had end up in disaster. It's almost as if I'm living in a reality show that's meant to make people laugh."

Trevor paused the game snickering. "They were not that terrible."

"Want me to make you a list?" I fumed. "Date one: I end up in jail. Two: the guy proposes. Three: some psycho eats super-hot wings and refuses to admit he can't handle them. Four: the guy has a huge painting of his face and refuses to disclose its origin. Five: you set me up with someone that talks to imaginary purple people. Six: I get stood up. Seven: my date brings a fucking chinchilla and feeds it. Eight and last: I end up in the hospital."

Trevor was trying not to laugh. I could punch him.

"You have to admit that it has been quite the adventure."

"You think?" I glared up at him.

"Look..." He started playing with my hair. "The goal was ten dates. I think we've come far. Two more dates and it's over. Then you can forget about it."

"Forget about what? The fact that love is not for me?" If I was being honest, this plan had taken a toll on me. I don't have confidence problems. I know I'm not hard on the eye and I think I get to be funny sometimes but... I thought something good would come out of this and it hasn't. The whole deal has left me confused with my relationship with Trevor and frustrated with my failed dates.

"Maybe you are looking in the wrong place." Trevor ruffled my hair and un-paused the game.

"Wow, that's deep, Fortune Cookie." I rolled my eyes.

* * *

I forgot my date's name and I have no idea how to figure it out. My only plan was to somehow get a hold of his wallet and find an ID, perhaps the video I saw a few days ago about how to pick pockets will come in handy. Or... I could always ask Trevor.

John Doe brought me to an artificial ice rink. Winter is right around the corner, and even though it still feels as if we were in summer, the weather has chilled a bit over the last couple of weeks. It felt like a life time since the last time I skated, and I was excited to try a few pirouettes on the ice.

The drive to the rink was relatively long and we were on the car for half an hour. The usual first date small talk had turned into an almost daily routine which maked it boring. I have told the same information eight times in the last nine weeks. I'm studying bioengineering, I live with my roommate Trevor, my parents live a few hours ago and so on.

John Doe was making an effort in keeping the conversation flowing and I felt bad for him because I was just not feeling it. He looked like a nice guy and he was nice in the eye in his own way, with warm brown eyes and shiny dark hair. The problem was that I was done with dating. The only thing that I've gotten out of this ridiculous plan is the renewed hate for dating. There really is no point for it. It doesn't work. At the moment the temptation to come up with an excuse and head back home was outweighing my excitement for ice skating and I felt like a weird bipolar girl.

"We're here." John Doe announced. I nodded at him.

I wrote a quick text to Trevor.

So... I may or may not have forgot my date's name. What was his name again?

I sent it feeling embarrassed with myself. Trevor was going to give me hell for this. His reply came as we walked into the building to the ticket booth.