Remember that time you got really pissed at me during that party?
You were having a conversation with the rest of our friends, they were all making you feel at ease, welcoming you wholeheartedly, inviting you to have fun. And you talked, laughed, drank, enjoyed - and then I saw you standing up when Mars asked you to dance with him.
You held his hand, so I looked away. Like I said—you made me feel these fucking unusual emotions.
I don't know but I just fumed up seeing you dance with another guy.
It was jealousy Nebula. And back then, I didn't want to admit that to myself. I was just so confuse how one girl can take control over me.
And the next thing I know, sweet but bad temptations whispered and lingered, and I just followed some of my friends to smoke weed, accepting their offer.
I didn't know you went to look for me, never did I even expect that you'd notice I was gone. And how did you notice? Why did you look for me? I thought you were busy dancing with another guy.
"Neptune?" I hear your familiar voice through the dark room filled with smoke. It was with fear, and maybe disgust.
You saw me smoking weed and holding a drug you're not familiar with, while I'm surrounded by strangers and other friends in the party who looked at you like you were some sort of alien from a different universe, and at my side – there's a girl I don't even know that was hugging my waist, wanting to smooch and devour my face.
There was fierceness in your eyes when you saw what I was doing and who I was with. I don't know if you were judging me. But I knew that you don't and will never like this side of me, so you walked out and closed the door. I got up and immediately followed you.
"Just go back to your business." You half shouted.
"What the hell? What's wrong with you?" I asked.
"Why do you act that way?" You turned to face me and asked insistently.
"Act like what?" I fired back, sort of confused and pissed off why you're suddenly mad and that you're acting like you're concerned about me.
"Like nothing can hurt and break you. You know that you are so much better than that, but you settle with that kind of crap?"
"I always act this way, Nebula. Me? Better than this? Please don't act like you're so surprised. I know you know that I will always settle with this kind of crap." I sarcastically replied and smirked.
And before you answered, I turned my back at you that night, because I can't stand to look at such beauty while I've done something disappointing. I hated looking at the truth in your eyes or hearing what beautiful sounds like when I know I could stain all of that.
When you actually said that I can and I have the possibility of being better, I wanted to believe it. I wanted so much to believe that I can be better for you, that I can stop acting like a pathetic piece of crap. And I know what you thought of me: A playboy and a bad influence—that's your first impression right? Just like everyone else. And I'm frustrated, because if you already have that kind of perception, why did you say I can be "better"?
I wanted to tell you that, to make you feel and believe that the moment I saw you on the beach, your smile already captivated me. Even if sometimes you're wearing hideous shirts or you have a messy hair and broken glasses (that I think you still wear until now) –I find you utterly attractive.
You assumed, but you didn't know what I want.
I wanted you.
Was it wrong wanting and liking you? Was it wrong that I never needed and wanted something so bad in my life, until I met you?