falling for the Badboy

chapter twenty eight

Confusion is probably an understatement of what a person looking at my life would be getting. How am I getting moved by the proximity? Weird right? Yeah, because if I count the many encounters I've had with Christian that I never even mentioned in my diary, all would be well.

Was it the first consuming eye contact? Was it the lunch weirdness? Was it the kiss in my room? The free home escort service? The burnt arm tragedy? Was it him checking up on me when I left the cafeteria because I was overwhelmed but ended up being insulted by him? Was it him apologizing for calling me pathetic while escorting me to my project partner? Was it him smiling at me? Was it the wink?

See whatever it was, this guy continuously confuses the shit out of me. One day he likes me, the other he doesn't and the other he's neutral. I can't really comprehend his attitude towards me, and I know I'm delulu but trust me, whatever happened with the seat belt and the whole him driving me home shit is intense.

I think I like him but I'm in denial, but I also think I hate him but I know I have no good reason for doing so, so I try hard to find one. That does not rule out the fact that he's always soooooo hot and cold with me. I really just wanna know which unhealed part of me is attracted to him because I know I definitely am attracted to him.

If I'm to keep it real–which I won't of course because it's too bitter to swallow– Taylor is HOT, and he fucking knows that. He's toned, athletic kind of toned where he ain't holding on to too many muscles like a body builder or heavy lifter, he's just soooo lean. You can not describe Christian without mentioning the ice cold blue eyes because that is his identity. His lids have thick lashes any girl would be jealous of, they cover his slightly downturned eyes. The smile, that smile, the one that weakens my knees every time he blesses me with one. His voice, when he speaks I'm both annoyed and soothed at the same time. Annoyed because he only–mostly–says something awful to me and soothed because his deep voice and it's tone are just too soothing that they make up for it.

"What are you thinking about?"

There it is, THE VOICE. I'm imagining it but it sounds too real.

"You" I answer, in my head of course.

"Me?"

Look, I know I'm very good at imagining things to the point that they feel real, others call it delulu but I'm sure he spoke and it's just not in my head. His "me" was more of a question and for it to be a question can only mean that I said "you" out loud and it could also mean that he did indeed ask what I was thinking about.

Rumpelstiltskin, please help me turn into an ant and I'll give you my first born teddy bear.

I look at him only to find him already looking at me with a smirk on his gorgeous face. I just contributed to that ego. My cheeks heat up but I try hard, very hard not to show it.

KILL. ME. NOW.

"Where are we?" Yeah, the car ain't moving, and I'm sure it hasn't been for some minutes but the thing is, we ain't at my place, or his, actually. We ain't anywhere, we're parked somewhere and there's some trees around. Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is where my life ends because I trusted an angry Greek God to take me home.

You know how some people have trust issues, I on the hand trust too easily–this only applies to tall men–because I also remember trusting a tall masked guy with blue eyes, today I trusted Christian, another tall, blue eyed guy. Talk about consistency.

"I have a question for you."

He just sounded like the Christian I hate, the one who's closed off and blunt. Like he wasn't just smirking at me a few minutes ago.

"I asked you a question, answer mine, then you can ask me."

"We're parked at a park, any more questions ?"

It's the audacity he has to even ask me that. Yes I have questions about where we are and why we are here and he owes me an explanation as to why we suddenly stopped.

"I should have taken the Uber"

And I swear I didn't mean to say that out loud but I did and I don't fucking regret it.

"Look Christian, I really can't keep up with you. Your moods are everywhere and I'm tired of not knowing which YOU I'm interacting with.

The car goes silent, save for the faint hum of the engine and the rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the door handle. Christian doesn't say a word in minutes, his jaw tight, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. I am used to this—his brooding silences, his frustrating mood swings—but tonight, it is eating at me.I turn to him, unable to hold it in any longer.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” My voice wavers despite the sharp edge I intended. “You blow hot and cold, Christian. One minute you’re pulling me in, and the next you’re pushing me away like I’m some kind of—” I stop–he doesn't deserve to know how he affects me—, my chest rising and falling as I try to keep my composure. “You leave me so damn confused and I'm tired.”

When he doesn't respond, I let out a bitter laugh and turn to face the window. “Forget it.”

But then I feel it—his gaze. Heavy, burning, and far too intense, I need him to say something, anything that'll get the both of us out of this weird thing we've got going on. A god and a devil but my brain cannot comprehend all that.

I glance back at him, and my breath hitches. His eyes aren't just on me—they are on my lips, then back to my eyes, as though he can't decide where to linger.

“Christian…” I start, but my voice trails off as he shifts, turning his body slightly towards me.

“I didn’t mean to—” he begins, his voice low and strained, but the words don't come out right. His hand moves hesitantly to the seat belt strap across my chest, his fingers brushing against my shoulder as he fumbles with the buckle.

“What are you—”

“Just—wait.” His words are almost a whisper. His eyes locked onto mine, a darker shade than I’d ever seen them—not that I see them as much.

The belt clicks free and suddenly he is closer.

I should stop him. I should say something, anything, to keep the chaos in my chest from spilling over. But his face was inches away from mine now, his breath warm against my lips, and whatever he was trying to say is lost in the space between us.

When his lips finally meet mine, it isn't soft or tentative—it is raw, desperate, and demanding. My instincts screamed at me to pull back, but my traitorous body betrayed me.

I need some Christian resisting trainings.

I freeze but only for a second, then melt into him, my hands finding his shirt and clutching it as if it were the only thing tethering me to reality. His fingers held my neck, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepened, a battle of unspoken words and untamed feelings.

It was everything I hated about him—intense, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. And yet, it was everything I couldn’t seem to resist.

When we finally break apart, our breaths mingling in the charged silence, I can't bring myself to speak. His eyes search mine, as if waiting for me to say something, but I have no words. I really have nothing to say. I want him to say something, anything to clarify what just happened but expecting him to say anything is pointless. He won't say anything.

I want him to tell me that he kissed me because he likes me, I want him to just say something. Anything, even something like he kissed me because he was in the moment and he's sorry about it and I should forget about what happened, it'll hurt but I'm cool with anything at this point. I just want him to say something.

He doesn't.

He gets back into his seat, doesn't even ask me to strap up, he doesn't even strap up, he just drives me home.