Relationship Imagines

Jerk (M)

He is such a jerk. To everyone. 

He gave cold stares. 

His black eyes always turned people to stone. 

But not me.

 He was quiet and reserved, I was shy and ignorant. 

I wanted to talk to him.

I saw him sitting on the bench sketching in a journal he always carried around. 

He was gorgeous. He really was. He was tall and slim. Long black fluffy hair that shaded his eyes and thin lips. His cheekbones had to have been carved by Zeus himself. 

I was standing with my friends, and as I glanced to him, his eyes shot up at me. I couldn't look away from him. 

He looked back down to his book, then back up to me. 

"I'm gonna be right back," I said to my friends. 

"Where are you going?" One of them asked. 

"I'm gonna go talk to that boy. He's always alone."

"Yeah, that's because he's an asshole." Another one of my friends said. 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"I mean he bumps into people in the hallways, he always gives dirty looks, and one time when I tried asking him for directions to the main office he just pointed the direction and walked away."

"Maybe there's a reason as to why he's being mean." I said and shrugged. 

As my friends tried to keep me back, I continued walking in his direction. As I got closer to him I could see the rings on his fingers. 

He had a tattoo on his right forearm of a butterfly. 

I love butterflies. 

As I finally got too near to him to turn back, butterflies swarmed my entire body. 

My knees shook and my fingers fidgeted with themselves. 

My stomach was in knots and it felt like I couldn't breathe. 

"Hi." He said looking up at me. 

I'd realized I was standing before him in silence for a few moments before he decided to speak up. 

"Hi." I croaked out. 

"I-I uh... I like your tattoo," I said quietly. 

"What?" He asked. 

He couldn't hear me. 

"I like your tattoo," I said louder. 

"Thank you. I like your shoes." He said. I looked down at my white converse and saw his matching ones. 

"Yeah, we have good style." I joked. He smiled at me. 

He wore a navy blue crewneck and some baggy black pants, a chain hanging from his pocket. 

"So, can I help you with something?" He asked. 

I don't think he's ever talked to someone this much, let alone smiled. 

"No, I just, um, I saw you sit alone all the time and I just... wanted to hang out with you." I said, looking anywhere but his menacing eyes. 

"Why?" He asked. 

Clearly, he doesn't speak much. 

"I don't know. I see you sketching in your note pad all the time. I draw too." I said. 

I uninvitedly sat down next to him, more or less 8 inches away from him. 

"Why do you think it's any of your business that I sketch?" He asked, smirking at me. 

I scoffed and crossed my arms. 

"Well, well, well, now I know why everyone warned me about talking to you." I said and kept my head straight, but turned my eyes to meet his. 

"Who is they and what did they say about me?" He asked, his smile widening. He closed his book and turned to me. 

"Oh, I don't know, just like, everyone in the school."

"You know everyone in the school?" He asked, a playful smile displayed on his face. 

"Ha-ha, very funny. No, of course, I don't."

"No, no, I get it. Everyone here likes you. You're smart, funny, gorgeous, what isn't there for everyone to adore?" He asked, a hint of sarcasm lurking in his tone. 

"You think I'm gorgeous?" I asked, furrowing my brows together. 

"Not my words."

"Whose words?"

"Everyone's words."

I chuckled. 

"Please, as if," I said. I leaned back into the bench and crossed my legs. 

"So, you've been asking about me?" He asked, moving closer to me. 

"Of course I have! Oh, what? You're this mysterious, pale, tall kid with dark hair who stares at me every time we're near each other, of course, I ask about you."

"Why do you ask about me?"

"Your eyes. Whenever you stare at me and I stare back, there's something in your eyes. Something no one else here has. I don't know what it is yet, but I will." I said squinting at him. 

After a few moments of silence, he asked, "How do you feel about guitar?"

"Which kind? 8 string? Electric? Acoustic?" 

A flicker of surprise washed over his face. "You play guitar?" He asked me. 

"No, I mean yes, but I have to borrow the guitar from the music teacher. I used to play on my brother's guitar but he took it with him to college."

"You can play on mine."

"You play guitar?"

"Yeah, my whole life."

The rest of our conversation he slowly revealed more and more about himself, that is until the bell rang. As I got up to say goodbye, he grabbed my hand before I could walk away. 

Boom

Not lightning. Not fireworks. Not a gun shot. 

Not even a devastating earthquake, not a tsunami, not a hurricane. 

An asteroid, bigger that the one to hit the dinosaurs. 

That's what his hand holding mine felt like. Oh my god. 

I hope he couldn't hear how loud my heart was beating. 

All from the touch of his hand on mine, I have this booming feeling. What is he doing to me?

I wondered if he felt that in his hand too. 

Maybe he did. He gulped and glanced down at our hands. He let go. My hand dropped numbly to my side. 

"Are you busy after school?" He asked me. I shook my head no. 

How could I even manage to get a word out? My throat closed up and I could barely even breathe by just looking at him. 

"I have a guitar at home. Why don't you show me how much you suck at playing?" He asked. I scoffed at him. 

"Alright, fine. I hope your room is presentable enough to have a girl in it for the first time."

"Ha-ha," he said sarcastically. I glanced at him one last time before I turned my back to him. His eyes met mine and it sent a shiver down my spine. 

What is this boy doing to me? I barely know him.