Lonely, Drunk and Beautiful
Chapter 2
“Hey Jack!”
I know who it is instantly, without having to even turn, because really, there's only one person who’d dare to shout after me.
I haven't seen the other boy since yesterday, after the incident in homeroom, and already mentally discarded him as being scared away. I try my best to block the out the world, but my uncaring dismissal hadn’t stopped me from falling asleep dreaming of hot whiskey eyes.
“Yes?” I reply boredly, my pace not changing though my heart rate most definitely has.
Alex jogs in front of me and walks backwards, a lopsided grin quirking up the corner of his mouth and revealing a cute dimple. He's dressed in a button down checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, a pair of ass-hugging skinny jeans and black vans.
I sigh as I let my eyes linger for a second too long, and try to continue, but find my way blocked by a hand which slams against the locker next to me.
I meet Alex’s gaze.
My greatest intimidation tactic has always been with my eyes. I don't make eye contact all that often, and when I do, it's a clear warning to back the hell off. With my stare comes the ability to gather silence in a radius around me; if I were a flame, the silence that spreads would be the smoke. Time seems to stop when I make eye contact, and people become enthralled by a shadowed luminescence, unable to be the first to break the competition. They leave when I snap the connection, lashes demurely lowering to cover the opaque depths which look through their eyes as though they were merely a window into their soul.
Never before had I realised that my very own tactic of appearing to slow time could be used on me. And certainly not when the person is completely unaware of it.
Because whilst Alex is getting drunk from the bourbon colour of my eyes, I myself am drowning under a cauldron of molten caramel and chocolate chips, excitedly thrashing about as the child caged inside my soul sends pangs of painful joy to my very core.
I still release the hold first, but with it I release my breath, and judging by the ache in my chest and the empty silence around us, Alex and I have been staring at each other for a hell of a while.
“What the hell.” I murmur, and to my shock realise that there's no frostbite to my voice, only a dreamy, drunken edge tinged with awe.
I don't even realise my mouth is open until Alex drops a hard boiled candy into my mouth, winks at me and then walks away.
The explosion of sweetness on my tongue lasts long after he's gone.
_________________________________________
By last period I manage to regain my composure, and ironically, have my last lesson with none other than Alex.
But much to my annoyance, and as reluctant as I may be to admit it, slight annoyance, when I enter the math classroom, Alex is sat with a big group of the popular douche bags.
For the second time that day, our eyes meet. I'm shooting him a heated glare filled with red hot anger, and the blank, unapologetic stare I receive back only serves to piss me off more.
I throw my bag down next to an empty desk at the back of the class and drop down heavily into the seat, slumping down until I'm barely visible and scratching angry lines into the desk.
I don’t even know why it angered me so much, or why the slightly amused, wondering gaze that still lingers on my body is giving me butterflies and making heat rise to my cheeks. I don't know why I'm tearing the wood of the desk into shreds with my nail, or why there's a slight disappointment masked by my frustration.
Why had I bothered hoping maybe Alex might stay with me, when no one else ever would?
I know who it is instantly, without having to even turn, because really, there's only one person who’d dare to shout after me.
I haven't seen the other boy since yesterday, after the incident in homeroom, and already mentally discarded him as being scared away. I try my best to block the out the world, but my uncaring dismissal hadn’t stopped me from falling asleep dreaming of hot whiskey eyes.
“Yes?” I reply boredly, my pace not changing though my heart rate most definitely has.
Alex jogs in front of me and walks backwards, a lopsided grin quirking up the corner of his mouth and revealing a cute dimple. He's dressed in a button down checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, a pair of ass-hugging skinny jeans and black vans.
I sigh as I let my eyes linger for a second too long, and try to continue, but find my way blocked by a hand which slams against the locker next to me.
I meet Alex’s gaze.
My greatest intimidation tactic has always been with my eyes. I don't make eye contact all that often, and when I do, it's a clear warning to back the hell off. With my stare comes the ability to gather silence in a radius around me; if I were a flame, the silence that spreads would be the smoke. Time seems to stop when I make eye contact, and people become enthralled by a shadowed luminescence, unable to be the first to break the competition. They leave when I snap the connection, lashes demurely lowering to cover the opaque depths which look through their eyes as though they were merely a window into their soul.
Never before had I realised that my very own tactic of appearing to slow time could be used on me. And certainly not when the person is completely unaware of it.
Because whilst Alex is getting drunk from the bourbon colour of my eyes, I myself am drowning under a cauldron of molten caramel and chocolate chips, excitedly thrashing about as the child caged inside my soul sends pangs of painful joy to my very core.
I still release the hold first, but with it I release my breath, and judging by the ache in my chest and the empty silence around us, Alex and I have been staring at each other for a hell of a while.
“What the hell.” I murmur, and to my shock realise that there's no frostbite to my voice, only a dreamy, drunken edge tinged with awe.
I don't even realise my mouth is open until Alex drops a hard boiled candy into my mouth, winks at me and then walks away.
The explosion of sweetness on my tongue lasts long after he's gone.
_________________________________________
By last period I manage to regain my composure, and ironically, have my last lesson with none other than Alex.
But much to my annoyance, and as reluctant as I may be to admit it, slight annoyance, when I enter the math classroom, Alex is sat with a big group of the popular douche bags.
For the second time that day, our eyes meet. I'm shooting him a heated glare filled with red hot anger, and the blank, unapologetic stare I receive back only serves to piss me off more.
I throw my bag down next to an empty desk at the back of the class and drop down heavily into the seat, slumping down until I'm barely visible and scratching angry lines into the desk.
I don’t even know why it angered me so much, or why the slightly amused, wondering gaze that still lingers on my body is giving me butterflies and making heat rise to my cheeks. I don't know why I'm tearing the wood of the desk into shreds with my nail, or why there's a slight disappointment masked by my frustration.
Why had I bothered hoping maybe Alex might stay with me, when no one else ever would?