When Perfect Meets Crazy

21 - The lying game

It's him.

I was certain it was. That tousled hairstyle that screamed, "Touch me, I'm as soft as I look" had to be his. I knew those dark locks just like I knew that physique. The tall and built but not excessively muscular in such a way that is off putting body structure. And the tuxedo. No one else could feel out a tux like that.

It was him.

It had to be, which could mean one thing; the sneaky little bastard was avoiding me and spying on me from afar.

I was 100% sure of it.

I had caught a glimpse of him two days ago at a café downtown during another entirely unnecessary prom committee meeting and again before that when I was picking Olly up from her piano lesson. I wrote it off because I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me but, clearly, it wasn't. He was spying on me and avoiding actual contact. Both times, as soon as our eyes met, he was gone. He disappeared that fast. By the time I turned back for a closer look to be sure my eyes weren't deceiving me, he was gone.

Sure, it happened passively and it could've been that he didn't notice me but I found that very hard to believe. I mean, he actively stalked me for over a month, following me everywhere but the toilet and now, he could unconsciously overlook me in a crowd? That made no sense. I was going to get to the bottom of his strange behaviour.

Who exactly did he think he was? If he thought he could just pop in, stalk me for weeks and then pop out with no warning, he was mad. How dare he even?

I kept my gaze trained on the dark locks that covered his scalp, tracking his movement through the crowd as I brusquely brushed past the people on my way to catch him before he bolted again.

How he thought he could avoid me in this crowd was beyond me and to an extent, it pissed me off. This was my turf. I had been coming here for years and this year, I was part of the organizing team for the show. Thank you, private elitist schools for your fancy events meant to 'create opportunities and nurture the talents of your students.'

Claire Anne High, like a lot of private schools of it's kind, believed in fancy events and affiliations that promote and strengthen their position as both advanced and elitist. In this case, that meant showing the works of some of her artistically gifted students alongside the works of locally renowned pros at the most acclaimed art gallery in town.

To be fair though, some of the students' works were really good and with the hefty fees our parents pay the school, it was safe to say this was paid for as well.

Masked Idiot must not have properly done his homework on this one because, opening night or not, he definitely was not going to escape me here.

"Hey!" I yanked him back, planting myself in his path.

His eyes widened, settling on me. "Avyanna," he breathed.

"Avyanna?" I hissed. "Really? Avyanna? That's it?"

"Hi?" He frowned.

"Hi?" I scoffed. "Hi?"

He shrugged.

I rolled my eyes heavenward, letting out a sarcastic laugh.

His eyes narrowed, darting left then right before settling back on me. Confusion filled his expression.

"Hi?" I repeated, my annoyance coming to a head. "Are you mad! Where the hell have you been!"

"I wa--"

"What the fuck is up with you?" I cut him off, eyes flashing with anger.

"Well, I--"

"Why the hell have you been avoiding me?"