Another Serving of Attitude, Anyone?

Possibilities

I could feel his fingers plunging into the back of my neck and I let out an abrupt “Ouch”. I didn’t even know I said it loud enough for him to hear but obviously sensing my discomfort; he released me from his iron grip and just sat there staring at me for all of 5 seconds before agitatedly getting up and stomping into the house.

And there I was, rooted in place by the only person who seems to be able to make me feel dumfounded. For not so good reasons. It took Bradley’s car alarm sounding like Nicki Minaj to startle and scare me and eventually got me running to the security of my room.

Morgana greeted me as always, like a faithful servant. “All good, Miss?” She quizzed me, raising an eyebrow in worry.

“All good,” I replied, wishing for the words that came out of my mouth to be reality.

The rest of the night, I just lied in bed. Daydreaming. Thinking of the happy possibilities tomorrow might hold if I hadn’t screwed things up with Bradley. Then I thought, hey why should I be upset? This is HIS fault. NOT MINE.

Though the whole “reviewing his football scholarship” didn’t make me feel any less guilty.

Thinking sucks.

So I was unmistakably relieved when I heard three raps on my door. I jumped up eagerly, rising up to meet the face of my hero.

The person who had saved me from the unthinkable depths of over-thinking.

Now if only that hero wasn’t a 6 feet, messy blonde, I would be feeling much better.

“Err, hey?” Bradley muttered, running a finger through his already messy hair.

“Hey.”

Well, what was I supposed to say?

“Yeah, okay. So…” he trailed off, not meeting my eyes.

“So.” One-word conversations were after all, my forte.

Awkward silence filled the air. Now I understood all those “Awkward moments when” which had been invading social networking for quite sometime.

“The awkward moment when a guy knocks on your door and says ‘SO.’”

“Can I come in?” He made eye contact now. With the inside of my bedroom.

“Umm, okay?” Maybe he liked my new blue comforter. It did have an unusual appeal.

He hustled in frantically, brushing me aside as he walked past.

He was fidgeting with his hands, interlocking his fingers and undoing it and I could tell that this was an “awkward moment” for him too.

“You need something?” Like maybe a tranquilizer? He seemed extremely on edge.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. Your shoulder…neck…whatever. Are you okay?” he rushed his words.

“I’m good,” I said, unconsciously rubbing my hand over the back of my neck where he had earlier laded with pressure.

Now that I thought of it, it did hurt. A bit.

Just a tiny bit.

“You don’t look good. Here, let me take a look,” he grabbed me by my arm and spun me around so my back was to him.

His fingers pressed lightly on the nape of my neck, sending an almost tingling sensation down my spine.

I was a very ticklish person. But my neck receptors were never so responsive.

“Does it hurt here?” He laid heavy pressure and I let out a low grunt.

“I told you, I’m fine,” I said, turning back around to face him.