99 Reasons Why It Wasn't Love

6 | Reason Six

This next chappy is up a lot faster than the last one, don't ya think? Suprisingly, it was so easy to write that I almost doubted myself. I thought that it secretly sucked and I just couldn't see it. But I love it anyway, so here it is. Two notes before we begin - see that dedication? Yeah, this lovely Wattpadian made my beautiful new cover! Yay! Next order of buisness is kind of just a fun fact; I looked up this kind of personality test we did in English class, and found out what Bronwyn would be. She would be "The Reformer" meaning she has a "sense of mission" and can be "moody and irrational." Hm.

Reason Six

“I think you overreacted,” I grumbled, but I pressed the bag of frozen peas to my throbbing nose anyway. “My biggest concern is actually how I’m going to get the blood out of my shirt.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Thatcher replied, looking a little sheepish.

The rules always advised going shopping as a plus. That way you were in an easy position to dictate and produce the best results. But frankly, if I knew shopping with Thatcher was going to involve him hitting me in the face with a metal rack I would have stayed in the car.

“I forgive you. Whether the local hospital, will, however, is hard to tell.”

“Look, I thought you were dying,” he protested, but his flimsy argument fell apart after I snorted with laughter. “You were on the floor! There was blood! I wouldn’t have called the ambulance otherwise.”

“Good to know I can count on you in a ‘crisis,’” I teased, knocking his elbow with mine, and giving a wan smile. “Honestly, though, I’m fine. You can stop worrying.”

Thatcher nodded glumly, and I could tell that he still felt bad. Responsible. He leaned his palms back on the sidewalk, staring at the cracked sign above our heads, lost in thought. I wondered if he ever accidentally hit Gina with inanimate objects.

I hit him with my elbow again. “Hey, stop looking so glum. I’m the one with the bloody nose, remember?”

“Sorry. I’ll try and feel horribly guilty about it some other time,” he said dryly, not even bothering to look at me while he spoke.

Great. Now I felt horribly guilty for making Thatcher feel horribly guilty. And my whole face was throbbing. And he still had my groceries, and the only access to my only mode of transportation anywhere. This day was just peachy keen.

“If you’d stop feeling horribly guilty for about ten minutes, I’d be able to tell you the next reason.”

Now he looked at me, no longer upset, but puzzled. “You, Bronwyn – uh, whatever your middle name is – Kirk, are going to willingly give me the next reason?”

“Not willingly,” I pointed out. “I told you the conditions. Only if you stop moping around like you ran my cat over with your car.”

“Ah, but see, usually your conditions involve your own personal gain. This is about me. You like me!” Thatcher waggled one finger in my direction, and I bit my lip angrily. One tiny little misstep and this was what I got – wild accusations and a blush creeping across my cheekbones.