Sweetly Yours

Chapter Twelve; Sweetly Perfect

Sweetly Yours

Chapter Twelve; Sweetly Perfect

I'd say, although I couldn't be completely sure, that it's in human nature, to think that whenever we do something stupid, it isn't us. We blame something, anything, as an excuse. To cower away from our stupidity. Convince ourselves to believe our own lies. Delude us into a false sense of morality.

I, for one, was no different.

An adrenaline rush.

A sudden burst of energy and hormones, that can sometimes make you do stupid things in the heat of the moment.

That was what I was blaming my angry episode with Kye on.

I'd received an adrenaline rush, which had then in turn fuelled my fire and caused me to lash out at poor old Kye.

Oh, please. In all truth, I knew that this wasn't really true at all. Maybe I had received a burst of energy, but an adrenaline rush hadn't been the main fuel to my fire. No, it was worry, and anger that had caused this mess.

Worry about Kye telling Jamie everything, and anger at Kye's attempt to blackmail me.

Whenever I became worried or got angry, I had a tendency to do irrational things. Like, for instance, just snap. I'd become an angry, aggravated animal, utterly reckless and irrational.The consequences were never pretty; I'd been in numerous verbal fights because of this stupid snapping thing that seemed to strike up out of nowhere. Now, it seemed, the snap had stuck once again.

I'd given permission for Kye to tell Jamie everything he knew . . . and then called Kye a meddling, unwanted knob.

Oh my freaking gosh.

I'm such a horrible person.

What had happened to the stupid freaking plan?!

Normal people don't lash out like that. The plan was meant to ensure my normality, it held the key to leaving the Bright household with a shred of dignity and a reputation with Jamie that was half decent. And I'd ruined it all. Completely ruined, before it had even properly begun.

My face crumpling, I slouched against the cool, painted wall in the hallway. That person back there in Kye's room, it wasn't me. It could not have been me. The real Farah--the real me--wasn't like that, at all. She wasn't malicious, or nasty, she never even implied or suggested horrible things. She didn't lash out, or shout, or slam doors.

What had I done?

The proper, normal thing to do would be to march straight back into Kye's room, apologise like a blubbering mess and beg and plead for his forgiveness on my knees, but I knew that I couldn't do that.

For one, what if I walked back in there and snapped again?

What if I turned all shy, awkward and embarrassed?

What if Kye wanted some alone time?

What if he tried to blackmail me again?

What if he told me he was going to tell Jamie the story anyway?

And lastly, the issue that concerned me the most . . . how would Kye react? Would he get angry, be dangerously calm, perhaps lash out himself?

It was for the best--for both Kye and I--if we both took some time to cool off. Think over about everything that had just happened. Even though I honestly had no real clue myself.