Cold
Very cold, like an icebox.
Omarion sings in the background,
There’s an icebox where my heart used to be,
There’s an icebox where my heart used to be
I’m so cold, I’m so cold, I’m so cold.
Where does he get the galls to just walk up to me as if we are friends, as if he didn’t single handedly break my heart with a couple of words, ‘I just never really liked you that way’
Well I don’t want to talk to you today.
“Jared, hey.” I nod my head and walk around him with my eyes set on Darth Vader.
His cologne, I smell it again, and my head begins to pound in remembrance. His soft hands, plump lips, that taunting assumption, ‘You like this, don’t you?’ and my feeble, hoarse whisper, ‘Y-yeah,I do.’
It’s all a game of his, he’s been playing me from the first moment he spoke to me. ‘Hey what’s your name?’
‘Ashanti,’ I sputtered.
God, and they just won’t go away. These memories are so damn persistent, and as I step further and further away from him, I can sense that he is as well. Never one to lose a battle that one is. He falls into step right beside me and then does this stupid whirl and I have to stop so I don’t run right into his chest. God that chest, the one that felt so good underneath my hot fingers.
“What do you want?” I whine more than ask.
His lips spread apart into a friendly smile, white teeth shine under the orange of the street lights. I hold back my urge to spit in his face and cry about what he did.
‘Can’t you see that you hurt me?’ I imagine saying.
‘Not my fault, that’s yours,’ He answers back.
But I don’t have the time or the sanity to entertain a mental conversation with my own self. I back away and turn around, Darth Vader is somewhere in the crevices in my mind. Shunned.
“I-I just want to talk.”
Do I hear a stutter? Or is that just another game of his?
Make her believe you. That’s what his devils say. Make her want to listen to you.
“Can we do this some other time?”
It’s pathetic on my part, I should be screaming at him to get the hell away from me. But here I am begging him to leave me alone, because if he doesn’t I’m going to fall in love with him all again.
“It won’t be long, I promise. Hear me out please?”
Please?
Why do people use that? As a clutch? As a last resort? The most respected form of begging? Please?
I can feel my resolve falling away, my guard breaking down and there he is holding a hammer going at the brick wall over my heart. That familiar feeling of heat whenever I’m with him slowly resurfaces. My heart flutters, my cheeks heat up, and butterflies swarm inside my belly. I’m sick, I have to be sick to even think about agreeing to this.
“Fine.”
But I do.
Because I’m stupid, because he’s so hard for me to resist and its tearing me up that he has this much power over me.
YOU ARE READING
The Night Is Young
Teen FictionI glower at him, but it’s soon replaced with a blush as he rises up and pulls me down to the pillows with him, “Stop frowning, it’s not good for your health.” “Neither are you.” “So we can both die together?” He teases against my neck. “What are you...
