Then It Hits Me

Chapter 25: Like Puzzle Pieces

He doesn't answer me.

"If you're gonna tell me sorry, it's not going to work this time." My voice chokes. "You can't apologize your way out if a lot of things."

Miller stares at me like he's forgotten how to speak. I grip my stool so tightly that my skin is a peachy white. My hair feels incredibly heavy and my eyes are being pulled open by it's tightness. It could be a good thing. It keeps me from breaking into tears.

We haven't talked in weeks, unless you count that time he said he loved me. Well, the way you played with my already shattered heart, really shows that. I thought, if we ever have another conversation, it would be him trying to get me to talk. I want to talk to him. I want it more that I've wanted most things. Miller clearly is blanking out or just wasting my time. He has dark circles under his eyes, as though he hasn't slept for a year.

"If you're just going to sit there and act like a bastard-"

"Stop." His voice his harsher than it needs to be. It's raspy and frightening in all sorts of ways. I cant help notice the way his soft red lips that tasted like vanilla and cinnamon, form around the word. I love the was the 'p' at the end only gets a little pop. He seems out if breath after he says it.

The other side of me that is not admiring the curve of his lips has rage flowing through my veins. "HOW DARE YOU MAKE IT NECESSARY FOR ME TO TALK TO YOU AND THEN TELL ME TO STOP TALKING?" I gently romove my fingers from the edges of the round stool and actually give them some circulation. As I look down at my red hands to keep tears in, I hear Miller take a sharp breath.

"I never told you to stop talking. I hate it when you call me names. Bastard, bitch, manwhore. Whatever other hell you can think of. It's just not you, Cait!"

"OH LIKE YOU HAVE ANY RIGHT TO TELL ME WHO I AM!"

He's becoming impatient. He neveris impatient. His beautiful dark gray eyes, the ones that look like they came out of a wolf's, are no longer in my view. Miller's eyes are shut tight. Our situation is hell multiplied by 100 to the power of 80. I already told him that I can never forgive him for playing me like he did, so why us he still trying?

"I need to tell you something."

Well, no shit sherlock. Why else would we be locked up in the muffly room, only illuminated by yellow florescent lights? It certainly isn't my ideal place to be.

"Nothing has ever stopped you." My arms draw across my chest protectively.

"Actually something has." His knee cap brushes against my own and stays there. I have a vague feeling that he's just as aware of his actions as I am. "The first time I saw you. Sixth grade. All the other girls thought that they were so cool and grown up, but you were so chill and I was attracted to that part of you. I tried talking you into going to the movies with me, but you denied, saying that boys like me are Heartbreakers-"

"Clearly, I was right."

Middle school weren't my best years. I was the awkward kid in between fat and skinny. The one with the two chunks of meat hanging from my hips. In 8th Grade, I started hardcore competition dance, which slimmed me down so much. I can barely remember Miller in middle school. He was the same gorgeous jock he is now. How does he remember our first conversation?

Miller ignores my cold interruption and continues, "I went off to date other girls, but I could never get you off my mind. I was constantly staring at you, it was gratifying. Obviously it was a feeling I couldn't place. In books, guys like me get girls, no problem, but I had to work to even be near you."

But I could never get you off my mind. Could he just be saying that? It all sounds too good to be true.