Enemy Basis | COMPLETE

25| perceptive and deceiving

Dorran insisted on driving me to school. I would've said no, but I was already very late and did not need any more delays. Plus, we had formed some sort of truce, an almost friendship and I didn't want to ruin that.

He quickly went to shower and then slid into the car, leaving me to wait in the passenger seat. He emerged freshly washed, his hair still damp but styled with a careless grace. He'd changed hoodies, and the new one smelled incredible – clean and faintly musky, a scent that made me want to lean in closer.

"Did you use my shampoo?" He asked me randomly, as he pulled out of his driveway.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye.

"What did you expect? I was in your shower." I replied flippantly, "Why do you care?"

"I don't. You smell good."

I scoffed. What a narcissistic comment! Yet, the admission, delivered in that low, gravelly voice, sent a shiver down my spine. I hated that I found him attractive, that his words had that effect on me. I berated myself internally, this unexpected attraction quickly becoming a source of major frustration. I could easily distance myself from him when he was being a bully, but now? Now, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore him and the pull of his presence.

But I had to remind myself that he had bullied me, made me feel so small, so powerless for so long. And I was not the type to forgive so easily, nor was I weak to be enamoured by him after everything. I was worth more than that.

These thoughts seemed to do the trick and I managed to look straight out of the window, and not reply to him. We were allies at the moment, but nothing more. It was silent for a moment before he fiddled with his Bluetooth, music suddenly filling the car. I listened to the first couple of beats, the music letting me dissociate completely as I continued to watch my surroundings.

But before too long, I began to feel a dull ache at my ankle. My bag, carelessly tossed onto my feet, was awkwardly compressing it. For anyone else, it probably wouldn't have been a big deal, but for me, the slightest pressure on that ankle could cause pain that just did not dissipate. This ankle was always such an inconvenience. I gently shifted the bag to my lap, instantly feeling the pressure release and the relief was immediate and profound.

"I was going to ask what happened to that ankle of yours?" Dorran asked, and I had to will my mind to focus again. But, I just couldn't. His question, which was asked so randomly confused me and I just couldn't make sense of it.

"What do you mean?"

"You walk and run on it funny," He instantly replied, eyes focused on the road, "Just now, it was hurting you."

Huh. That was probably the most perceptive thing I'd ever heard from him, or anyone– it was uncanny. How on earth did he even begin to put that together?

"That is almost creepy that you've noticed that," I muttered.

"You've already called me a creep - do you want to move past that or are you going to call me one again?"

"If you're a creep, then I'm going to call you up on it," I countered, "If you don't like it, stop acting like one."

I would have smiled at this back and forth, had it not been for the uncomfortable reminder of the incident that brought us to this point.

The link back to my ankle was a painful one. All those years ago, after I fell down those stairs, the night of the tragedy that sent my father to prison, I neglected to seek proper medical attention. It hurt, of course, but at the time, complaining felt insignificant compared to everything else, so I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't until I returned to school that a teacher noticed the unusual way I walked. She referred me to the school physician, who diagnosed it as a sprain and treated it for me.