EMOTIONALLY ENTANGLED

Chapter 03.

CHAPTER 03: making an entrance

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The one day during this week came that I was dreading more than anything, especially once rumours circulated that Owen was placed into my chemistry class for my first lesson.

He's certainly made his return quite the momentous occasion.

When he got here, everyone's attention was practically drawn to him, people admiring the way he's changed since we all last saw him. Then he proceeded to bask in that attention before his brother could pull him away from potential massacre.

The way he carried himself was with an effortless demeanour, calm and collected yet it all infuriated me and even I couldn't deny that. Everyone knows I don't like him; everyone knows he doesn't particularly like me either. We get on each other's nerves and yet we love to piss the other person off just to get a rise out of them.

His outer core may seem calm right now, but I guarantee as soon as we're placed in the same room as each other, he won't hesitate with the snarky remarks and I, too, will not hesitate with a response. Despite his obvious and successful attempts of getting a rise out of me, I couldn't help but think that maybe my dislike for him didn't just arise simply because we fell out and became bitter.

My internal heartbreak of my ex, Jordan was enough to drive me up the wall whenever he was mentioned; the way Owen looked and carried himself like him made it worst to even look at him.

It was so easy to forget his existence, but when I looked at Owen, I couldn't stand to remember he ever existed to me at all.

I hated myself and I hated him for hurting me the same way Jordan did.

So as he entered our chemistry class that morning, I ran my tongue against my cheek in frustration. My glare remained on him whilst a completely unfazed look stayed within his features. Instructed to sit by me, I rolled my eyes and moved my things over on the desk to make room for him. He dropped his bag next to him, settling on the stool before turning the pages within his notebook.

To say he was miserable was an understatement. Probably the understatement of the century. The guy was practically a mess: tie all crooked, ruffled hair and he looked like he hadn't got any sleep last night.

"You good?" I asked him, glancing over to him out of the corner of my eye. The teacher had started the lesson, everyone beginning on the notes but Owen next me hadn't even produced the energy to get a pen out of his bag, "you look terrible."

He gave me a snarky grin, "thanks."

I watched the way his mouth widened when he yawned, eyes screwing shut before he glanced forward blankly with a few blinks, "my aunt's driving me crazy."

"Kiara?"

"Who else?" I simply arched a brow, finding his current behaviour peculiar, not because I've never seen a tired person before, but this change in Owen was something I've only ever seen a few times when we were younger. The way he arrived at school when we were kids and fell asleep by our first morning break was almost the same to this situation. He would blink once and again and again. Multiple blinks before he'd rub his nose twice and shake himself awake, "do I really look that bad?"

Worst, I thought, but I figured it'd be best if I didn't push his buttons. I coughed, averting my gaze back to the teacher at the front of the class.