Nineteen

Chapter Sixty-Seven

I sit down on my bed and take my shoes off to throw them under my desk.

"Who the hell was that?" he asks me.

"My friend," I say and shrug my shoulders. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy aggravating him most of the time.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Real damn funny. Who was he?" He bends down until we're eye level and he uses his arms to steady himself on the bed.

"A friend," I repeat, "a friend that is nice to me. He doesn't yell at me, or make me confused, he's a normal person who made sure I had a fun night and listened to me when I spoke!"

I didn't realize I was standing now. At some point I backed him into the wall. 

He snaps back to reality and starts to back me up. "If he's such a good friend, did you tell him about the night we just had? That's what friends do, isn't it? Tell each other things?"

This time I roll my eyes, but he continues.

"We had some drinks and woke up in bed together. I remember most of it, and I know you do too. It was purely an accident, but we both wanted it to happen, and the alcohol made it easier. Did you tell him that?"

He's now backed me into the wall. He uses his arms and slams them beside my head, trapping me between them. 

"Did you? Or did you tell him about how much you adore me? I'm all you think about." 

He keeps talking and I want to scream at him. He has no right doing to this me.

"Stop!" I should and cover my ears. "You don't know anything about me."

He drops his arms. "You're right. But I know myself, and I know you feel what I do, regardless of what your mind tells you."

"Yeah? What makes you so sure?" I reach on my toes to be closer to him, showing him that he has no power over me.

He leans closer to me, as well, probably asserting his power over me. "Because you still agree to see me."

I shrink. He's right. He's been awful to me, and I still want to see him all the time. I still think about his brown hair and light brown eyes. I think about the tattoos on his arms and the way his truck smells like a garage. 

"Just because I find you attractive, does not mean that I want you as my boyfriend or anything," I say.

He just laughs. "You think I want to date you?" 

I feel my face get red and begin to heat up. "No, I was just making it clear."

"Well, message received," he says and pretends to take a bow. 

I cross my arms. I really should let it go, but why the hell not keep it going?

"You say you don't want to date me, but you just like my company? You kiss me and take me on dates, ignore me or be rude to me, but then fly off when you find out I'm with another boy."

He sits down like whatever I'm saying has no appeal to him, but I go on anyway.

"You don't get to tell me that you don't want me, but then give me signals like you do. Tel me right now what your intentions are."

I sit down on the other bed and wait. He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me.

I look back. I feel as if we're two children who got into a fight, waiting for the other to apologize first. 

"Well?" I say. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to go find Mac and hangout with him some more. Maybe we can go get some drinks," I lean up and rest my elbows on my knees. I practically whisper, "and I have a record of doing stupid stuff when I drink."

He narrows his eyes at me. I smile at him and lean back into place. He lets out a sigh and grips his fists together. 

"You sure you have time to hear what I have to say? It could be stupid," he says, obviously mocking my last few choice of words.

I smile and stand up, grabbing my shoes. "I hope Mac hasn't gotten too far by now."

"Fuck, alright!" he shouts and falls back onto the bed. "Sit back down."