Delicate - eng version

The Perfect Idiot

Time seems to stand still as I wait for him to kiss me back. My heart is pounding furiously, and I know that if he doesn't respond within the next two seconds I'm going to end up exploding with embarrassment. So two very long seconds pass and nothing happens. It's like kissing a corpse. Oh Merlin - have I read the signs wrong? How the hell have I done that? A bloke knocks you up, tells you he likes you on several occasions, says he loves you, is willing to help you raise your child...you'd think he'd be up for a bit of a snog but no. Apparently not.

I pull away from him. It's obvious he never closed his eyes during the very awkward five second kiss, because it looks like they're about to pop out of their sockets in shock. His arms are hanging limply by his side, showing no willingness to wrap themselves around me in the passionate embrace I was expecting. Once again, he's like a corpse. I wonder is he dead? Could I cross necrophilia off my list of things to do before I die? Or add it to my list and then cross it off? Because let's face it, nobody aims to get on a dead body. It's just one of those things...

Stop it, Rose. Think about normal things for once in your life. And look, Scorpius is now scratching his head uncomfortably, meaning that he's not a corpse and is in fact still alive. He clears his throat and then looks down at the floor.

"If you could say something that'd be spiffing," I break the silence. See, a normal person would just run from the room in shame, dig a hole in the back garden and live there for all eternity. And don't get me wrong, I'm going to do that, but not before I manage to embarrass myself to the furthest possible extent.

He opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again. Then he frowns and starts biting on his bottom lip like he always does when he's frustrated.

"You know, anything at all would be fine," I push, "Just so I know that you haven't completely lost the ability to speak."

I should turn and run, I know I should. I want to, believe me. But I suppose I want to know why the hell he didn't kiss me back more.

A minute passes. In that space of time he's cleared his throat nine times, ran a hand through his hair, almost chewed his bottom lip right off and stumbled sideways. And then:

"You don't mean it," he says.

Wow, for a bloke who got mostly Os in his OWLs, he's fairly thick.

"Yes, you're right, I just climbed three flights of stairs in the most uncomfortable dress ever and burst in on you in the loo for a laugh," I snap. Thicko. If I wasn't in love with the bloke, I'd probably kill him. In fact, I haven't ruled out that possibility.

"I don't believe you," he says quietly and now looks kind of angry.

"Why?" I ask, confused. Is he calling me a liar? Who the hell lies about stuff like this?

"Because you always do this!" he growls bitterly and turns away from me, "You act like you like me -"

"I do like you!" I snap angrily, "D'you think I'm the kind of girl who'll sleep with someone I don't even like?"

"I don't know anymore!" he snaps back.

Ouch.

I withdraw my wand from the horrible little electric blue purse and point it straight at his forehead. I'm really bad at this love rigmarole, aren't I?

"I didn't mean it like that..." he says nervously, looking at my wand very apprehensively.

"How did you mean it then Malfoy?" I hiss.