Too Bad For Her Own Good

Chapter 8

His lips, as per usual, were captivating; a reminder of his adamant and persistent personality. The way the captured my top lip possessively and needy, it was all Logan. His kissing, his lips, they were an on point representation of who he was. A thought and connection that only made me crave them more. But it's this craving, this want, need, even, that ultimately scared me. I'm not needy, clingy, or any other attributes I find common among the teenage species. And it's this new feeling, a feeling of being utterly powerless and succumbed to his will and want, that scares me. I've always been one to hold my own, but recently it's him I want holding me. And that's something that I can't be thinking, can't be wanting. It would ruin me. Absolutely tear apart all that I've worked for. My confidence, while most of its a show, people buy it. My charisma is one of a control freak, and that's truthful. But with him, all my control is gone. I have no control over him, no one does. But what's worse than all of that, is that I have no control over myself when I'm around him.

And here he is, possessing my mouth with his in a way that's familiar, a gesture that shouldn't be habitual, but is. Habitually mind-blowing.

He said he wanted me, that it's weirding him out that he wants me. He didn't say he likes my personality, or thinks I'm decently attractive. He wants, me. Maybe he wants me for sexual pleasure, that would be new. But definitely more believable than wanting me for my charming personality, although his isn't much stronger than mine.

That aspect doesn't matter. He said he wants me, maybe and most likely as a ploy to pull at my delicate heart strings. And it worked. I was here, kissing him, giving him all that he wanted.

I don't respond. I can't, I need to gain the control. It's what ultimately keeps me, well me. Without it, who exactly are you? If you're not able to control your life, no, if you're not able to control yourself, what does that say about your strength? And while my will isn't strong enough to push him away from from me, to deny myself a release from this craving; I have control. I'm not kissing him back, I'm not pushing him away, but I'm not kissing him back. And for now, I can be proud of that.

"Kiss me, Kat." Logan's words seem to pierce right through my very heart, marking his territory as usual. But I can't let him. The stake he implanted on my heart needs to be removed, effective immediately. I can see it now, his charm, (when he wants to use it), his charisma, his talented lips and beautifully crafted body, it all fits the criteria for my broken heart. He wins, makes me bow down to him in a way that shows true weakness.

Our story would be simple. The man I'm forcing myself to hate would take my virginity, and I'd fall madly in love. He'd stop with the cute nicknames and friendly kisses, and I'd be forced to live with him for the rest of eternity. Pessimistic, but definitely plausible.

I should write a book.

But books are a work of fiction, a fantasy of the mind that writers use to express emotion and creativity. This isn't fiction. This is real. And reality is more interesting than any novel ever was. Novels are predictable, the girl gets the guy 99% of the time, and a guy like Logan, well he would turn out to be not so bad. And we'd live happily ever after. But this isn't a book. There's no definite ending, the ending doesn't even exist. I can't turn the page and see what asshole move he's making next, or what sweet comment is coming out of that charming mouth of his. I can't read ahead, than look back and praise the main character for her good choices. I can't do that, I can't predict with him. I can't predict anything because he is by far the most unpredictable human being to walk this earth.

But I need predictable, like I said, I'm just a tad of a control freak. Just a little. But at least I admit its a flaw.

"No Logan." I whisper, harshness clear but not as forceful as I'd hoped. He doesn't kiss me again, he just brushed his lips against my own, keeping his eyes closed in what I hope isn't anticipation.