Subject Me To Life [Book One] ✔️ *EDITING*

Chapter Twenty-Five

*Not edited* Not proofread*

Chapter 25— You lost me at 'I care about you':

        "So, Spanish?"

        His blonde hair falls into his piercing blue eyes like it always does, but he makes no move to brush it away, as usual. He sits on the mattress, his back against the wall, with his large tattooed arms crossed over his clothed chest. His legs are laid out straight in front of him, one crossed over the other, the blankets bunched up at his shins.

        "Mexican, actually," I correct as I sit in front of him, next to his feet, my own legs crossed. I'm leaning over with a blue pen in my hand, the black one had ran out hours prior, now doodling on the white lined paper rather than tainting it with complicated words.

        "But you speak Spanish."

        I lick my dry lips and put the pen down, an irritated exhale escaping my throat as I straighten my back and peer up at him. "Yes, but I'm Mexican," I grit in annoyance at repeating myself. I think the conversation is over then. I think he's about to leave it at that, but he doesn't. When he asks me why I don't speak my native language often, I freeze for a moment. "Because I'm in America," I tell him nonchalantly. "I don't know anyone who speaks Spanish, and even if I did I probably wouldn't talk to them."

        Dakota takes my response with little reluctance. Why wouldn't he believe me, anyway? My answer is logical, there's no reason to think I was lying, despite it not being the whole truth. There are many reasons I choose not to acknowledge the language I had grown up speaking, but all because I have no one to speak it with is not on the top of the list.

        Another beat of silence passes around us, no longer uncomfortable like it had been the very first few times we had found ourselves engulfed in it. I don't mind this kind of silence— it's surprisingly calming.

        Dakota stares above my head, looking through the gap in the treehouse that serves as a tiny window. There's not much to look at, only the tops of a few tree's and perhaps a handful of acorns and the odd birds nest. However, I don't think he's gazing at the limited view, but rather lost in his own thoughts like he normally seems to be.

        I watch as his irritating, ugly smile overtakes his frown; it's the small but genuine kind. "Do you always do that when you think I'm not looking? Stare at me?"

        With his words, I find he's right. I do stare at him a little too much when he's busy doing something else. He shouldn't flatter himself like he's doing, though. The only reason I find myself observing him more than the average human is because I don't fucking understand him. I've had this habit of staring at the object of my confusion until I figure it out since I can remember. It normally happens quite quickly; the missing piece to the metaphorical puzzle always seems to come easy to me. But it's different with Dakota.

        And I fucking hate it. Despise it. Loathe it as much as I do him. It's so fucking infuriating and it makes me want to hurt him even more than I already do.

        I shrug my shoulders and adjust my position so I'm sitting beside him, but not too close in case I accidentally murder him on purpose. "I don't get you," I tell him truthfully, not too sure about what exactly it is I'm doing. Did I want to get him? I suppose to some extent I do. It will cause me physical pain to actually have a proper conversation with him, to have to listen to what he has to say and pretend I give a fuck, but it would benefit me to know who Dakota really is.

        "And what is it you don't get?" He asks gruffly, his voice smooth, however, his question peaks my anger. I just fucking told him, didn't I? Seeing my jaw tick, he rephrases his question. "I mean, what about me specifically do you not get? You need to elaborate more, Kodes."