An untold story

Chapter 8 - Beg for it

By the time I arrive to the Country Club, my head is pounding. It has been killing me with questions and 'what ifs'.

I go straight to the tennis court to free my disturbing thoughts by doing something productive.

I remember when I started playing. I hated it. To be honest, I don't like it much but I'm good and it's always good to stay healthy, at least that's what my mom keeps telling me.

I was terrible at first, I never thought I would last but my mom obliged me to come and I had to play even if I didn't want to.

I hated it so much I cried for not coming but it didn't help much.

I pull my racket out of my bag and get ready to start.

I get a little suspicious when I hear foot steps behind me. Everybody knows my playing schedule.

I turn around and open my mouth to say the court is occupied for this hour, only to shut it closed when I see Ian standing there holding a racket with one hand as he runs his fingers through his hair with the other.

"Are you sober now?" I ask, turning around to face anything else but him.

"I was never drunk," he says, sounding annoyed.

I know he wasn't drunk, I just said that to spite him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in a monotonous tone. I don't want to yell or fight anymore.

I don't have the energy to.

"Isn't it obvious? I came to play," he tells me, walking to position himself at the other side of the court.

"Well, you can't play now." I gesture to my racket.

"Of course I can," he says and he's already pissing me off.

I'm tempted to leave and not waste the remaining of my energy talking to him but I came here first. He should be the one leaving.

"Fine, stay. But you're playing after me." I don't really care what he does after I leave.

"Actually, I am playing with you," he says, emphasizing the word "with".

"What do you want? Did you not ruin me enough last night?" I ask him and his face falls.

I instantly feel bad for making him feel bad but I can't help but be angry at him. I am trying to distance myself from him yet he still comes around.

Our "friendship" should've never started in the first place.

We're way too different to even try it out.

However, he recovers quickly and goes back to his usual self. "Feisty, I like it," he smirks and I roll my eyes.

"Let's make this interesting: I win, I'm forgiven. You win, you can do whatever the hell you want," he proposes.

"I can do whatever the hell I want just now. I don't need your permission."

"Okay, I'll let you do whatever the hell you want then," he corrects himself.

It's not a bad deal, actually but I won't have it. Simply because I don't want to. I know it sounds immature and even selfish but he deserves to suffer a little.

"No," I say, smirking. I see him frown before he replaces it with a malicious grin. What is he thinking about?

"I get it now, I do," he says and I give him a puzzled look, raising a brow. "You are afraid you might lose."

"No, I'm not!" I immediately reply, annoyed that he thinks he can beat me in my own game.

"Yes, you are. The fear in your eyes is clear as water," he tells me, smiling.

I'm pissed at him for making me feel pissed when he's so calm. It's annoying.

"I see what you're trying to do. It won't happen," I'm the one feeling calm now as I smirk at him, pleased that his smile has been vanished. "I'm smarter than that. Smarter than to let you convince me."

"Are you sure? You went to that football game after all," he fights back.

"Yes, and look where it brought us!" I yell. I'm losing and he's winning, again.

I'm losing because I can't keep my temper in check. Not when he's around.

"It doesn't have to be like this, we can work it out," he says softly, walking towards me. "We can fix this, I can fix this," he adds, nearly whispers, mere centimeters away from me.

I know I'm at a dangerous zone when I begin to consider his offer and even consider forgiving him.

Boy, the guy really is persuasive.

"N-no," I stutter, shaking my head and taking a few steps backward.

His gaze falls when he realizes he doesn't have me wrapped around his finger like he thought he did.

"A game won't hurt. I'm sure you're better than me anyways," he says.

I know he's just using a new strategy to convince me, seeing as his last one failed miserably. He has never seen me play.

Still, he's sort of right. I know I'm really good but I don't know about being better than him. I have never seen him play either.

"One game," I give in and watch his pouty lips turn into a huge grin. "But I promise no forgiveness."

As soon as I say this his excitement dies down but he still positions himself to start the game.

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Author's note:

This is a short chapter compared to the last two but I wanted it to be this way.

Hope your week is going well, mine is great but homework is killing me!

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