Lessons On Love

13: Naive Or Stupid

            We had a rather quiet moment after mainly because the outcome had turned out a bit differently than what we had expected – Marshall bracing himself for the pain to follow, and me, half expecting my fist to be jabbed up somewhere between his eye socket and his brain.

            Marshall’s gaze and mine were locked on tight, his eyes jittery and shifting to and fro as if he was a mental patient on a series of hallucinogenic drugs. “Di- di- did you see that?” His eyes went bigger. “You missed.”

            I frowned and then withdrew my fist. It wasn’t like I meant to punch him anyway – more like a reckless, barbaric reflex I had whenever I heard a guy sprouting a cocky line – but nonetheless, Marshall’s exaggeration on how I missed made me wished I had landed a hard one on him. “Whatever. You got lucky.”

            “Yeah right. I don’t think so.” He gave me a challenging gaze. “Anyone else you ever tried to hit get lucky?”

            Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever missed. “No.” I crossed my arms in front of me and grinded my heel into the pavement. “What are you trying to say?”

            “I’m saying that wasn’t luck. That was skill.” He pointed a finger at his chest. “I’m an athlete Camila. Do you know what basketball players do on court?”

            “They play with their balls.”

            “No,” he snapped. “They dodge things. Well I guess they do a lot of other things to, but the point is they also dodge a lot of players trying to sneak the ball out of their hands. To play well on court, we need quick reflexes.” He smirked. “Just like how I dodged your punch right now. I bet you anything you can’t hit me again.”

            I sighed and then swiped my keys from out of his hands. “Don’t provoke me. Just believe whatever you want to believe.” I was only a second away from getting inside my car when I felt his hands on my waist, pulling me back out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

            “I just want you to punch me in the face,” he screamed.

            “You’re a freaking idiot!”

            “I just want to prove my point!”

            “You don’t have a point! All that’s going to happen is me punching you in the face and you crying right after!”

            “Then all you have to do is punch me,” he retorted, “since you’re so full of yourself.”

            I placed one hand on the side of my head and started rubbing my temple. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually being swept up by this useless idiot’s pointless argument. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it. Prepare yourself.”

            He gave me a smug grin before gesturing with his hand for me to initiate attack. “Come then foxy lady. Give me all you’ve got.”

            All I knew was it must have been a weird display for the people around us since we were doing that in the middle of the parking lot, but the scene only lasted for a split second before it was all over. Marshall was squatted into a little ball after, his body shaking, making weird sounds as I threw the last two things from our shopping cart that he didn’t get a chance to inside my trunk. I couldn’t even tell if he was laughing or crying, but I was pretty sure that black eye he had wasn’t planning to fade any time soon.

            I didn’t even try to comfort him either. I mean, he was a big boy and I’m not his babysitter, but when I came back after I returned the shopping cart, Marshall still looked up at me with a hopeful puppy pout. “Well aren’t you going to apologize?” He murmured.