The Art of Falling Apart (It Girls Series #3)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Eli

She's still covering her face with her hands while chanting, "Oh my God, oh my God," like a mantra. She can't even look at me because she seem embarrassed and ashamed.

And from being shock and confused upon hearing the way she interpret my actions, I can't help but to smile at how adorable she looks right at this very second.

I cross my arms on my chest, watching her with a grin on my face. She grips a fistful of her hair before finding the courage to look at me, her eyes full of apology.

"I'm... Eli, I'm sorry," she says as if she's struggling to compose the right sentence. Either way, it still sounded so genuine and pure.

Everything that comes out from her mouth screams modesty, and man, damn it if I can stay mad at her for so long— wait, I wasn't even mad at her for accusing me of such things. I was just shocked and scared.

"Do I... do I pull off that kind of image? You know... that kind of indecent image where I look like I have the capability to proposition every woman I meet?" I ask her, quite ashamed because goddamn, even if I don't want to give a fuck about what she thinks of me... sadly, I do.

I care about every single thought that's crossing her mind.

Her eyes widened and she looked more ashamed and more guilty this time. "No," she immediately responds while shaking her head. "No. Trust me, you don't. It... it was just me, it was my mistake. I misinterpret your actions. I'm sorry. I was so rude and you didn't deserve that," She apologizes.

I immediately shake my head, as panic rises through my chest. "No. It's okay and it's not just entirely your fault. I am at fault, too— I mean, I was the asshole here."

Fuck. I'm struggling.
Words.
Composure.
What the fuck are they? I don't know those.

She stops, then she smiles, looking quite amused. "Wow. You just called yourself an asshole." She says, like she couldn't believe that I am capable of admitting shit like that.

And believe it or not, I am.
I curse myself alot more than the people around me would do.

"And you just said the word asshole," I point out.

She gives me a ridiculous stare and a sheepish smile. "I've been calling you that using my inner voice ever since I met you," she confesses. "And I'm capable of cursing, too. I'm not a saint, you know." She adds, rolling her eyes.

A chuckle rises from my throat. "Can you say fuck then?"

She glares at me, but her lips are curling into a smile.

"Or shit? Or Damn? Bullshit?" I suggest, grinning widely. I never heard her curse or swear.

And I don't know how would I feel if ever I hear her curse for the first time. But who knows? Maybe I'll be smitten by it, too because everything that comes out of this woman's has the ability to ricochet inside my damn head, penetrating every system I have.

I'm fucking scared.

Someday smack me in the head right now.

"You're crazy," she shakes her head.

She thinks I'm crazy. And she called me crazy then I am crazy. No, she's right. I'm really so close to losing my mind right now. I need help. I want to smack my head on the sidewalk.

I was about to say something, anything, but our conversation got interrupted when her eyes pointed towards the other direction. I tilt my head, looking at the spot where she's looking and there I saw a woman wearing a white shirt and a pair of dark fitted jeans with a backpack, clinging on her both shoulders.