Playing Dangerous

XX

Silas's POV...

"Mate what the hell was that?" Dan spots me when I leave her room.

"I don't even know." I say and walk towards my room.

"You're an amazing performer," he laughs.

"Not good enough. She's still mad."

As we enter the room he continues. "Of course she is. Who wouldn't be? But what did you do today? Why? What's going on in your head?"

"It's her I want, you were right. You were right about everything." I confess and sink into the armchair, covering my face with hands.

"You bipolar fuck. Why couldn't you realize that earlier?"

"I did now," I sound pathetic.

"So what's next?" I shoot look of annoyance. But truly what's next?

***

Tonight's a New Year's Eve. Of course there's a massive party and Tate and I aren't invited. I would love nothing more than marching in and taking the spotlight. However, I'm not myself lately. Ever since I realized I was drawn to Tate I can't stop thinking about it. She's been in her room, I've been in mine. I've texted her, yet she hasn't responded to any of my messages.

I'm patient with her but this patience is slowly ending me. I'm worrying too much, I'm thinking too much. At first I loved competition between us as much as I hated it. Then I lost all kind of interest to beat her. At last I found myself in a condition to give up this challenge for her. But somehow I can't find peace. She's still in my head and I unfortunately I understood reason too late.

Sometimes I believe I'm the worst human being for wanting to hurt my loved one the same way they did to me. God I hate my character but it's so hard to put out fire of my anger. She brought something terrible upon me in a form of my father's fury, and burning fire in me won't be put out without a revenge.

My favorite spot in this damned school is a single bench by the lake. With my new book I enjoy the cold winter breeze and snow falling while I sit under the bench's roof.

"Something adventurous?" I hear Tate's voice and watch as she places two cups of tea on the table as she sits in front of me. She's pale like snow, her big brown eyes are glistening while her hair catches snow flakes.

"No. It's an Arab writer who talks about connection between paranormal phenomena and human beliefs. She's stuck in a desert with her hallucinations." She smiles and sips from her cup.

"And what does he have to say about it?"

"She says that we see what we want to see and believe what we want to believe. She also writes that it's coming from the depths of our minds which are created by our childhood." I feel the warmth of green tea on my palms and take a sip.

She snickers. "Everyone knows that. So she says that we cannot see the truth because we don't want to. Is that some sort of coping mechanism?"

I shake my head and smile. "No, she says that everything has a different perspective and it's up to you to choose from which angle you look at it."

Humming she tucks her sleeves and avoids my eyes. "Won't you ask if I forgave you or not?"

"No,"