Once Upon My Polka Dot Undies | C H A P T E R 2 | Dealing with the Devil
"You’re that girl who kicked me in my-" Keith shouted, seemingly fully awake now. His sleepy eyes were suddenly gleaming with fury.
"Yeah, yeah. No need to have a 'blast from the past.’” I interrupted his rant as I waved my hand. My confidence was back in full after my little flashback moment. I could feel the corners of my mouth pulling up in a mischievous smirk as I looked down at him, only to finding him glaring at me from the couch he was sitting on. His appearance looked tousled, but still hot. I'm assuming he was planning on changing before his father got back, because he was wearing a plain grey t-shirt and athletic shorts. He had a sexy case of bed head.
"What are you doing in my office?" He asked. I could feel his curious eyes studying everything about me and linger more than necessary at my legs and chest area. I inconspicuously pulled down at my skirt and snapped my fingers in front of my face. “Over here.” I said to him before crossing my arms in front of my chest.
He rubbed his eyes once more, probably to make sure that I was really there. His bewildered eyes made him an open book to me. “Please tell me that you’re not one of those psychotic girls who are hopelessly obsessed over me cause this time I swear I’ll call the cops.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? Sorry to disappoint you but the reason why I’m kind of psychotic has nothing to do with you.” I answered him flatly. Could anyone really be that conceited? I sighed inwardly. This was so not worth the two hundred bucks if my therapist - and I use the word therapist loosely – probably thought that he was God’s gift to the female race.
“Oh, so you’re still a psychopath. That’s nice to hear.” he muttered sarcastically.
I kept my face emotionless when I finally decided to answer his question and said, "I came for therapy." It was hard admitting that I needed help. I would admit that I’m a proud girl when it comes to that. His mouth formed a small O as his eyes stared down once more at me, examining me. You see, this exactly why admitting that I needed therapy hurt me. When people looked at me, they would see a slightly messy and clumsy yet hardworking girl. But whenever I thought about telling anyone that I was going to therapy, I always imagined them wearing the look on their face. That judging look that made me feel like a nut job who needed to be recovered and locked away in a mental institution for life.
“Don’t give me that look.” I said in irritation.
“What look?” he asked indigently.
“That look. It’s annoying.” I replied as I pushed a rebel strand of my hair behind my ear.
“That’s not a look. It’s my normal face.” He said slowly, obviously realizing that I needed more help than my looks let on. He was staring at me with utter confusion written all over his face.
“Well then look away!” I retorted. He kept staring blankly at me before he started rubbing his ears. “Don’t shout. I’m hung over as fu-“ I cut him off before he could cuss. He did look pretty hung over.
“Yes, but as my therapist I don’t think you should cuss. It doesn’t exactly seem professional.” I told him frankly. He breathed a sigh of annoyance as he looked back at me.
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Once Upon my Polka Dot Undies
Teen Fiction"This is all your fault, you know." I said to him with narrowed eyes as we stood in the small cubicle in the women's toilets, trying to hide from our families. "How is this my fault? Our parents planed this behind our backs, I had nothing to do wit...
