Forever Like That (#Wattys2015) (#YourStoryIndia)

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: Night Mistakes And Spills.

Leah Simpson

He shrugged.

I stood erect in front of him, looking stern, my arms folded in front of me over my chest. I tapped my foot to the posh tiled floor, patiently. He stood up to his legs, without answering me. “You still wanna celebrate? That kinda got interrupted,” he asked. My eyes lit up at the thought. I knew he was trying to switch the topic and I wasn’t blind. I could see he was not comfortable talking about it.

But then again, we just got chased, didn’t we?

I took this thought and asked again, “do you know who was the guy chasing us?”

He didn’t turn around. Maybe he was hiding something. He might as well. How long have I even known him? A month? I wouldn’t expect all the answers from him. Let alone straight answers.

Nobody expects someone to just lay their life out in the open for people to see, unless of course, you have a special and trustworthy bond.

But, I do believe that maybe, just maybe I might be able to develop that bond with him. And I honestly hope I can, because I will not deny it but I am attracted to him. He has this thing radiating from him. I don’t know what exactly it is but it’s something that attracts.

He shrugged again. And that was my cue not to press anymore. He wasn’t ready to tell me. And that’s okay. But one day, he will speak. I’m sure of that because I’m very keen to know about this.

I was taken out of my trance when something smacked into my face. I successively caught it in my hands without making a fool out of myself. It was some fabric. I looked at him with confusion filled eyes, as my eyebrows knitted together. A smirk fell upon his lips as he returned back to rampaging through the stuff.

I looked at the fabric in my hands and my eyes widened. It was a pretty sleek black and white dress. Designed especially for a slim, hourglass figure. Good thing I had one. T was a one piece, with shoulders off, with a relatively deep neck. On a scale of one to ten, for slutiness, I’d give it a five. It was somewhere in between. It actually depended on the way you wear it.

If you use your face as a colouring book, caking it full on with makeup, it’d make you look like a total slut. On the other hand, it would look elegant with mild, normal makeup.

“Since when did you opt keeping woman’s clothings?” I asked, with a mused smile on my face.

“That thing is barely five hours old with me,” he replied, now smirking big.

“Well, when did you get it then?”

“Oh, just put it on. We’re going out,” he said, turning his back at me.

“No,” I said, “It’d make me look like a slut,” I told him. I was actually very self conscience. I didn’t show it, but well, it’s a fact really.

“Correction,” he said pointing towards me, “it makes you look hot. There’s a difference,” he said. I felt my cheeks burn to flames when he said hot.

I shook my head and turned around. I heard him sigh behind me. “Are you going to put it on or do I have to do that for you?”

My eyes widened at what he said. He wouldn’t. But he would, as far as I’ve known him, he does what he says. That is a good thing as well as a bad thing. “You know I would,” he said and smirked wider, if that were possible.

I shook my head vigorously, “I’ll wear it,” I said, grabbing the fabric again. “But if I get raped, you’re to blame.”

He came closer to me. Another few seconds and he was dangerously close to me. Our skins touching. His breath fanning my delicate skin. He leaned closer to my ear, as his breath now fanned my shoulder. “Wouldn’t let that happen love,” he whispered, sending chills down my spine with the word love.