Oranges

Liv had assumed that because I was blind, I was completely helpless. She dragged me all the way to her car and attempted to open the door for me before I jerked out of her grip and pulled it open myself.
"I'm not handicapped, you know," I said coldly, lowering myself into the seat and slamming the door in her face. I didn't feel bad; she knew quite well that I didn't want to do this, and yet she still came. Had the audacity to show her face to me (ha, ha..) after I've all but said I hated her. Naturally, I had decided to be a jerk that night. It's who I am.

The ride was virtually mute. Every now and then, she would reach over and brush the hair from my eyes, to which I promptly responded by jerking my face out of her reach. Stupid, stupid girl. And then, in a misplaced attempt at a truce, she started to describe the scenery to me, but I was well versed in the art of selective hearing.
"The suns are setting nicely, it is very beautiful. I, ehh.. I think you will like it. The yellows and reds are like watercolors!"
While Liv droned on in broken English, I familiarized myself with her car. My fingers, long and thin, roamed over the old, cracked leather seats, located the power window controls, the handle and the lock. I'd always prepared myself beforehand to save from fumbling around like a fucking idiot. Such a fucking idiot.

After the car had stopped, I immediately exited the vehicle and started off in an unknown direction. I had no idea where I was going.
"Rowan! Hey, wait!"
"Hurry up, then." And get it over with, right?
"You are close, but it's a little more... this," she took my shoulders and guided my body slightly to the left. I could feel the soft crunch of grass beneath my weight, and concluded we wouldn't be spending the evening in a restaurant. She was probably aiming for something romantic. Spare me.
"Okay," she instructed, "step up now." I hesitantly obliged and stepped up onto what felt like a wooden deck. I reached out, searching, and my hands were met with what felt like a wooden rail, and reaching down I could feel a bench positioned against it. I sat. She sat.

Both in silence.
Not for long.

"How do you feel, Rowan?" Liv asked, cautiously.
"I hate this."
"I know."
That caught me off guard. "Then why bring me here?"
"Because I really like you."
"I don't like you."
"Again, I know," she repeated, in a voice that was probably a smile.
"You don't make any sense."

The air grew quiet again, save for the robins chirping in their playful banter, and the occasional passing vehicle, but those were few and far between. The country aroma was clean and smelled of oranges, somehow.

"Can you smell that, darling? That citrus." I could feel her shifting to face me.
"Not really," I lied.
"Oh, what a shame. They grow oranges here, all over in fact. Spread across this field, generously, are dozens of little trees. Little trees with these tiny, perfect little fruits."
"I hate oranges." Or I wished I did.

I wish I hated the faint but lovely smell of Liv's perfume.
I wish I hated it when she took my icy hand in her small, soft grasp.
If I could hate any of it, I'd never long for it again. I wouldn't be missing her now, the only girl who loved me, as I sit alone in my study.

A withered old man.

If I could hate her, I wouldn't long to see her face; I'm sure she must have been beautiful. I wouldn't long for her awful cooking, or the sound of her laughter, light and bubbly...

I could die to the wretched scent of oranges.