The Misunderstanding of Fate

Chapter 5 - Pizza Parties

Dad and I are sitting in front of the TV watching Divergent when there's a knock on the door. Tris has just woken up from hospital and, from watching it numerous times, I know things are about to get intense. Sighing, dad and I share a look before he nudges me. Apparently, it's my turn to open the front door since I'm not wearing pyjamas. For a minute, we quietly argue until he gives me a stern look.

Slowly opening the door, I plaster on a fake smile and mentally prepare myself for false niceties with a neighbour. The fake smile drops when I see who is stood in front of me. The dark haired boy is the last person I expect to see at this time on a Saturday. He's still wearing the same clothes as earlier and, annoyingly, is still smirking right at me. Not missing a beat, George scans my body almost as though he's looking for changes.

"You visit all the new kids' houses?" My tone is full of confusion and it must be evident on my face as he laughs at my question. For a second, I consider that he actually does pay the new people in town a visit just to remind them who is in charge. I dismiss the thought a moment later. Seriously, this was an eighteen, nineteen, or twenty year old boy.

George puts one hand over his heart while faking pain, "You forgot?"

Not knowing what to do with them, I place my hands on the belt loops in my dungarees. Does he know how crazy he sounds right now? "Forgot what?"

"Pizza."

My eyes widen, "You can't be serious."

That gets me another smirk, "Put your shoes on and tell your dad you have plans."

The thought of getting in a car with this boy makes my stomach drop. The thought of having a normal conversation with this boy makes my stomach drop. The thought of sharing (would he want to share?) a pizza with this boy makes my stomach drop. But most of all, the thought of leaving my dad alone on the weekend makes me stomach drop and leaves an acidic taste on my tongue. Is that what guilt tasted like? I must be showing all of these emotions on my face judging by the drop in George's expression.

"No."

Even after seeing my expression, he looks taken back. The surprise quickly morphs into anger which is masked in seconds. "In case you didn't notice, it wasn't a question."

My shoulders shrug, "Doesn't matter, I'm not coming."

George's arms fold over his chest covered by a black short sleeved t-shirt. The stony look returns and his aura drops into one of danger. Perhaps it was his stance or the void of emotions that completely changes his aura. A shiver runs down my spine, visibly, and even knowing he is just doing this to intimidate me doesn't dissolve the nerves running through me. Considering I had only known him for just over a week, his next actions do not shock me.

George's hands find my waist and use the grip to pick me up from the floor. My eyes widen and my mouth opens to scold him before I feel his firm hand over my mouth. It's not pressing hard or hurting, I could still speak if I wanted to, but it's there to make a point. Instead of verbally responding, I attempt to move backwards from his close proximity. In response, he brings our faces closer, close enough for me to stop moving, before tilting his head. The condescending look in his eyes reinforces the fact that this boy is willing to do anything to get control. That thought scares me. My breath comes out harshly as he wraps his arm around my waist. His eyes pierce mine, daring me to do or say something, and I make my mind up then and there.

"Who's there, Luna?" Dad's voice interrupts us. Even hearing my father, who is just inside that door, George keeps a level stare.

"It's a friend from school," I pause, taking in air, "Hey, I'm going out. Is that okay?"

Both George and I hear movements coming from the living room. Thankfully, George knows that it's time to take his hands away from my waist. However, we still stand rather close when my dad makes it to the door. Annoyingly, there is a look of amusement and humour in my father's eyes as he takes in the scene. God. I must have a good poker face.

"Oh," he coughs, "Alright - okay - I'll leave the door unlocked, then." Without another word, dad nods at the stranger stood next to me and offers me a quick smile before walking back into the living room.

Seeing no other options, I grab my converse from the side of the door and put them on before saying goodbye to my father. When I return back to George's side, there's still an aura of danger radiating from him. He thinks I'm a flight risk. Contrastingly, his voice is light as he leads me to the car. As I take in the inside, George explains that he'd recently bought the shiny vehicle after previously owning a tiny, ancient three door car. For someone who has just forced a girl to leave their house, he sounds rather relaxed.

George drives us to a small pizza shop just outside of the main town. Throughout the twenty minute drive, his hands had accidentally met my knee or he'd seen a fly in my hair and had to twirl a piece around his finger. After a while, he must sense my discomfort and exhales loudly.

Sitting opposite each other, I feel him trying to play footsie with me. I run out patience momentarily and deliver a swift kick knowing he cannot cause a scene with so many people around. Our waitress smiles nicely at George, wanting to catch his eye, as she takes our order. I cross my fingers that he does become distracted so that I could slip out. However, when I face him I notice he hasn't taken his eyes off the menu as he speaks. Nosily, I wonder if he was the type of person who dated. Or was he too busy getting into fights and pressing fire alarms?

George starts a conversation around my dungarees when our drinks arrive, "Why is there paint on them? Is that the style?"

At his genuine confusion, I scoff, "No. I wore these when I painted my new room."

His head tilts, something I notice he does often, before noting, "Which was over a month ago."

I'm annoyed at his breadth of knowledge on my life, "Right. You researched me."

"Does that bother you?"

Is he joking? "Bother isn't the word I would use."

That gets a smile, "What word would you use, Luna?"

"Oh, I don't know. Anger? I find it highly unfair and invasive that you just know things."

"What - like you hadn't heard all the rumours about me? Like they weren't the reason you were avoiding my presence? You heard those things, chose to believe them, and ran with it. How's that different to what I did?"

My eyes widen, "I really hope that wasn't a serious question."

"It is," he smirks, "Can you answer it?"

"I didn't go looking for that information. Besides, that stuff is rumours. It's not the truth and it's not personal. It's not like knowing where I live - which I did notice - and my dad's name."

"Ok," he admits as our pizzas arrive. "It's invasive but I'd argue that it's not personal. Knowing names and dates isn't personal. Honestly, I'd say you know more about me than I know about you."

I can't deny how good the pizza is. (Okay, it's probably the best pizza I'd had in years.) As we eat, George moves the conversation on by filling it with his cocky and arrogant self. It doesn't go unnoticed that, at every new topic, he's slowly trying to get information out of me.

"Did you know that Luna means 'moon' in latin?"

"You researched that too?"

He takes the dig, "That's actually some general knowledge for you."

Rolling my eyes, I take a sip of my drink. The bell indicates that someone has walked in as I consider George's reply. What kind of general knowledge was that? Surely, he didn't know latin. I hate to admit that this pizza trip has increased my interested in him. Is he the person everyone says he is? Yes. Is he also complicated and confusing? Yes. Do I find that intriguing? Yes.

I hadn't realise I'd been staring until George looks up from his food to give me a questioning look.

"Wh-"

"Ah, George Mason."

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Interesting...