Lauren actually had the nerve to laugh at me as I stormed into my room and slammed the door in her face. I wasn’t surprised when she let herself in behind me. Somehow I knew my overly dramatic tantrum wasn’t going to work with her.
I flopped down on my bed with a book, preparing to ignore her as best as I could. I’d agreed to let her spend time with me, but I hadn’t promised to entertain her. And I wasn’t about to do anything that could give her the impression that I enjoyed her company, even if part of me did. The girl had a big enough ego as it was. She didn’t need to add me to her list of victories.
She stayed quiet for a minute as she looked around my room, and then decided to just make herself right at home. She climbed up next to me on my bed, leaving a whole three inches of space between us.
"Do you mind?" I snapped.
"Yeah, a little"—Lauren chuckled—"but I’m dealing with it, so you can too."
"Well, if it bothers you so much—"
"I didn’t say it bothered me. I’d just rather be closer, is all."
"Closer? Can you even get closer than you already are?"
I knew I’d put my foot in my mouth the instant the words escaped it, and Lauren didn’t miss a beat in putting her arm around me and pulling me tightly against her. "Never ask if I can get closer," she said, refusing to let me go. "The answer is always yes." The way she clamped her hands together so that I couldn’t push her away was playful, but I didn’t think she was teasing when she shuddered. That’s probably because I haven’t been held by anyone in a really, really long time, and I reacted the same way I did when I kissed her. I guess it’s not so much a superkissing ability as it is a case of superhormones.
Ever since I got juiced up by some knocked-over power lines, I’m more amped than a power generator. The fact that there was friction when Lauren touched me meant that it doesn’t just seep to the surface when I get angry. I guess it’s every time I lose control of myself in any way.
Obviously, that’s not good, so when she shivered, I panicked, elbowed her hard enough to leave a bruise, and made my way across the room to the much safer single-person chair that sat at my desk.
"You should have stuck with the compromise," I grumbled. "I probably wouldn’t have moved if you’d kept your hands to yourself."
"It was worth it." She was laughing at me again.
"Why are you so annoying?"
"Why are you so compelling?"
It was useless. I was never going to win. She was much better at the witty comebacks than I was and a lot less easy to get flustered, so I gave up the argument. I was pretty sure getting on my nerves was what she was aiming for at the moment, so I figured not fighting with her would be a better tactic. I dropped the attitude and probably sounded a little bit desperate as I asked, "Why are you doing this? What exactly do you want from me?"
"Is it really so bad to have to talk to someone other than your parents?" she asked in all seriousness. "I don’t want anything from you. Okay, no, that’s a lie. I would love to make out with you again, but that’s not why I’m here tonight."
"Then why are you here?"
"I just wanted to understand you. I couldn’t imagine why anybody would exile themselves the way you do."
"Yeah, well, now you know. I killed my girlfriend, and my friends hated me for it. The whole town did, actually. People can turn on you and hurt you, even the ones who say they love you. I don’t want to go through that again. It’s that simple."
