Just got back home from a trip to la Ville de Lumière. :D
Bawling: crying your eyes out
Balling: Forming into balls, playing ball, ballin'
It's "should've," not "should of," "must've," not "must of," and so on for would and could. They're contractions of the first word and "have."
Writing tip: Vary your sentence structures. Pay attention to the rhythm and cadence of your writing, and use it in alignment with the pace of the story.
Scott can't seem to decide whether to search my face or turn away, whether to speak or keep silent, whether to cry or to turn into stone. The waitress returns with sparkling water before he's even begun to make up his mind. I take my eyes away from him just long enough to order two meals: a salad for me and a surprise for Scott, since he's still struggling with his thoughts.
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure how to say it," he answers hesitantly. "We were arguing, and now you're saying all these nice things, and—please don't take it the wrong way—I don't really believe you."
He didn't trust me before, but I broke something. I broke it on purpose, because I thought if it was gone, he would be too. "I guess that's my fault."
"I—I wouldn't leave. It's my fault. You warned me it would be my fault."
I'm not sure what right I really had to blame him, but he should have listened. "You were out of line. Why didn't you go?"
"I was stupid. You broke up, and I just... You were alone."
"So you thought you'd step up and help out by being my boyfriend? Seriously?"
"No!" he exclaims. I glare at him over the brim of my glass. He won't get away with lying or changing the subject, not while I'm watching. "That's not—It wasn't—I mean—" He struggles to find the right words. He fails, and blurts out instead, "No homo, bro!"
I'm pretty sure I'm dying. Note to self: do not ever snort San Pellegrino out of your nose in a classy restaurant. Painful, embarrassing, painfully embarrassing, 0/10, would not recommend. Okay, maybe 2/10 for being hilarious. I can feel my ears turning pink as I hastily pat my face dry with a cloth napkin. The entire room is staring at me, I'm sure.
"You kissed me!" I counter. I'm keeping my voice down, but it comes out a bit squeaky.
"You started it!" He has a point. "I mean, if someone had told me you were going to kiss me, I probably would have cancelled tour on the spot to come back. That was... you're a really good actor." So he liked it. I mean, I could tell as much, but he admits he liked it. He's really missing the point, though. "The point is—" Okay, maybe not missing the point so much. "—I did come because you broke up—" Unacceptable. Beyond insensitive. "—but it was really because, I just, I mean, after you came to my house, it felt like maybe we could—I had a question too, but I already know the answer..."
"Spit it out."
"It felt like I should be there for you."
Oh. That's sweet. That's really sweet.
"I know I'm not really comforting," he continues, "but... I don't know."
