kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality.
Sophia continued talking, trying to ignore the fire igniting under her skin with every touch. Her focus was completely off as she tried to look up at Jasper instead of staring at his hand. Truth be told, he still made her nervous but almost in a good way. He made her stomach do flips and her brain scramble for answers. “They are in their own way.” She mumbled, not caring about her words anymore as she swallowed nervously. “Only if you want to tell me.” Sophia practically whispered, fluttering her eyes back up to his emerald hues.
“They are, aren’t they?” He could tell she had grown nervous in the span of two minutes, so instead of continuing his movements he stopped, settling his hand on the small of her waist. “I will.” He said after a while, eyes leaving hers to look up at the ceiling. Once he knew that he was going to begin speaking about her, he took his hand off her waist. “They treated me like a king ‘till I was sixteen. They were nice, I loved them, and my father— the only reason he treated me like shit was because he loved me, right?” But he was wrong, his father loathed him. “Yeah. He wanted me to do good, get better by the day. He wanted me to improve.” A pause, and then he continued. “Anyway, once I finished high school my mum caught me doin’ lines on her table, and she took my father’s side and kicked me out. I hit rock bottom then, until drugs saved my life. She hired Lupe for me. They say a mother’s love never dies, even in the hardest of times. I guess they were right.” He stopped there, knowing that if he continued he’d begin crying, or ranting. He didn’t want to place a burden that wasn’t hers on her back. It was too much.