I HEAR YOU

XVIII: SOFIA

Arrogant.

He was that rude guy from the screening area. I didn't expect that he'd be the one I'll be asking an explanation from. From the look on his face, I don't feel like I should ask for an explanation. He looks like he swallowed a glass of lemon juice. I thought a person can't have too many negative descriptions and here I am thinking of another word yet again that matches rude and arrogant for him.

But looking at his grayish orbs makes me feel little. There's something in his eyes that seems to taunt me. His gaze seems to be digging deeper into mine and even if I wanted to snatch my sight away from him, I can't.

The first time I saw him, my chest felt heavy. Like it's twisted cruelly and I felt alone. But now, it makes me feel sorry. Like I should be apologizing.

Why do I feel the need to cry?

I almost forgot what I came here for and him raising his eyebrows snapped me back to reality. I need to have that explanation. I deserve it.

"I need to know why you did it?," I asked politely. There are scraping on the floors made by the chairs no doubt but I didn't feel like sitting down. I just want to make this as quick as possible.

"Which one?," he isn't looking at me. Instead, his eyes are now on the papers on the table in front of him. Though his actions did offend me a little, I'm reserving my pride for the painting and not for how I'm going to be dealt with as of the moment. "The one where you didn't pass? Or is it something else?," he added.

"I'm going to throat punch your friend," I heard Gabby hiss and I'm assuming she's hissing at her boyfriend. It reminded me that I haven't met her boyfriend yet.

"The mural," I answered.

"Oh," I heard him chuckle. "What about it?"

"I just need to know why you did it," I answered yet again. I made it sound as polite as I can even if I'm starting to get frustrated.

"What exactly did I do?," he asked. It's clear to me that he's taunting me. He's trying to wound my ego as an artist and pouring salt on it.

If I succumb to the feeling of inferiority, I won't get the answer I barged in here for. I can't give him that satisfaction. I can feel but it doesn't mean I have to show it. I just have to endure this and I'll be good to go.

"Why did you paint red all over it?," I asked.

"Why do you think?," he answered my question with a question.

I'm not a violent person. Or at least I think I'm not but just by listening to him, I feel the urge to punch him in the face.

Is that reasonable?

No. I have to be patient. I can get mad later. Yup. Later.

"I wouldn't be here asking you If I had known," I retorted and for a moment there I can see clearly the way his shoulders tensed. I did say I won't get mad but I didn't say I won't be sarcastic. He must have not expected me to challenge him. I didn't even expect myself to get this sassy but I can't help it. It's like I'm experiencing a roller coaster of emotions when I'm in front of him.

"Why don't you go home and think about it? Then you come here after you have the answer yourself," he looked at me and perhaps he didn't expect me to still stare at him intently because he quickly averted his gaze onto someone from the back. I had to turn around and saw the owner of the mural I admired the most smiling at me so I smiled in return but the little exchange was cut off by the throat clearing in front of me. I returned my gaze to the front but he isn't even looking at me and still so focused on the paper which I caught was being flipped over and over again.
Why would he flip it over and over again?
Wait. Is this his way of telling me he's bored?
How daring for him indeed. Self-conceited butthole. I could almost hear myself saying it to his face but I stopped myself.