▲ Chapter 16 || Confrontations ▲
If I had to pick one word to describe this situation, it would be 'awkward'. Turns out Blake does remember last night's events and that was shown crystal-clear through his body language and behaviour this morning.
Now here we were, sitting side-by-side in the exact spot where he tried to kiss me - eating coco puffs. Déjà vu, right?
I scoop up a spoon of coco puffs and shove it in my mouth, my mind running all over the place.
This is awkward. Should I say something? Why hasn't he touched his coco puffs? Am I really that off-putting? Why hasn't he insulted me yet? What should I do? Should I ask him about it?
"Sooo..." I drawl. At the sound of my voice, Blake's head snaps upwards and he looks at me with a scowl on his face.
"What?" he asks coldly.
"I know you remember what happened last night..." I state, watching him dubiously.
"Yeah," he grits out, "My friends and I went to a party, I came back home late, you helped me to bed. That's. It." He says the final two words with conviction in his voice, as if daring me to go against his recount.
I push away the sadness that crashed over me at his words and build up the courage to ask the simple four-word question that could easily give me no home for the next four weeks. I knew that if I didn't say it, however, the awkward tension between us would live with us until I go back home. "Why'd you kiss me?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says blankly, though I could hear the anger and tension in his voice.
"Don't play dumb, Blake. You know what happened, I know what happened. We can't just never talk about it and ignore the-"
"Problem at hand?" he fills in, and I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, "The problem at hand: I was drunk out of my mind and needed a distraction. That distraction was you. And so now, you don't understand that that was all there was to it, nor do you understand that it has been my biggest mistake yet."
I fall silent and look away. I knew that was the truth from the moment he kissed me, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt when he confirmed the obvious. I was just like every other girl to him, and the fact that I even hoped he might be nice gave me the urge to hit my head against the kitchen countertop. Repeatedly.
"Jesus, why the fuck did I try to hookup with you?" he mutters to himself as he absentmindedly plays with his food, "I thought my standards were better than that."
I wanted to scream at him: To tell him to shut up and remind him who has been there for him when he's drunk out of his mind, who has treated him with full respect despite everything he's ever done to me.
Instead, I hastily push out of my seat, which results in a loud, scraping noise to echo throughout the house. Blake seems a little shocked at my reaction because when he looks at me his lips are parted open and his eyes are wide.
Without a word, I storm out of the room. Tears brim my eyes and a sob rises in my throat, though I force myself to hold it back.
It's no big deal; just my feelings.
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A frown forms on my face when I feel a presence take a seat beside me and my eyes meet Blake's. He nods his head at me awkwardly and I restrict myself from smiling goofily at him. I was still very angry with him, but his simple gesture of sitting beside me in history class made it very hard for me to act mad at him.
"Hey," he says. Knowing that I can't let him off the hook that easily, I nod my head in response and quickly divert my gaze to the teacher. "Are you giving me the cold shoulder?"
Yes.
"Are you ignoring me?"
Yes.
"Come on Bronte. Talk," he whines, and the corners of my mouth lift upwards slightly, "Hey, I saw that," he teases.
"Please stop talking to me and get on with your work," I reply in a monotonous voice, "I don't want to talk to you and I think it's better for the both of us that we leave each other alone."
"Fine," He snaps rudely and I roll my eyes.
"Class..." Mr. Hamilton announces, "I have your test papers from last week sitting in my office, so I'll be just two minutes to get them," he states, walking over to the classroom door. The class cheers in approval and then he was gone.
"You know this is the first time I have ever reached out to you and now you refuse to talk to me. Unbelievable," Blake scowls.
My head snaps in his direction and I look at him in disbelief, "Unbelievable?" I reply incredulously. "You know what's unbelievable? The fact that you have been treating me like crap for the past two weeks and you expect me to forgive you regardless of everything you've said and done."
Blake rolls his eyes, "Please. You're the type of person who can forgive anyone and everyone which mean you're just upset because I'm not into you at all and this morning's incident confirmed that, so you couldn't help but feel sorry for yourself because, despite everything you've tried over the past few weeks, I still don't want to hook up with or fuck you."
I stare at him in shock at his words, "Is that what you think this whole thing is? You think I've been consistently trying to befriend you because I want to sleep with you?"
"Yes. Isn't that what they all want?" he rolls his eyes.
I open my mouth, prepared to admit to him the real reason why I have been trying to befriend him over the past two weeks: That I felt he needed a friend and that I wanted help him out.
Sensing my hesitation, Blake narrows his eyes on me, "Why have you been nice to me after everything I've done?" he asks suspiciously. "It can't be for popularity because everyone seems to love you except me - I don't know why. So what is it?"
I sigh and look down at my desk. "It's because..."
"Just tell me, dammit, it's a simple question."
"It's because I thought you needed a friend," I mumble awkwardly, pinching the bridge of my nose and feeling my cheeks flush a crimson red.
"What?"
"Because I thought you needed a friend!"
Blake's mouth shuts as he stares at me intensely for a moment, his hazel eyes studying my expression. "You felt sorry for me?" he scoffs.
"I didn't say that. I just thought you might be lonely and I know that everyone needs a friend, so I-"
"You felt sorry for me," he repeats, letting out an incredulous laugh as he watches me for another long moment before speaking, "That's a real fucking laugh, Bronte. A real fucking laugh."
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
"The only person I feel sorry for is you," he tells me, "You have no backbone whatsoever, you think that everyone loves you, when really they just use you because they know you'll take them back regardless of anything, you act like you're a saint, you're boring, you're plain, and you're the most obnoxious girl I have ever met. You have it so easy compared to most people, yet you think and act like you're this angel sent to help those less than you, when really you've experienced nothing to understand what real hardship is."
I grit my teeth. "What's my middle name?"
Blake's eyebrows draw together in confusion, "What? How am I supposed to know that?"
"What's the date of my birthday?" I then ask. Once again, he doesn't know. "What's my favourite colour? My favourite movie? My hobbies? What things do I like to do in my free time?" Blake stays silent, "You don't know the first thing about me, so how dare you act like you know my life story."
"But you are still such a fucking an-"
I cut his rant short, "There's more than enough negative energy in this world and I'll be damned if I contribute to that when I have the ability to make people happy," I snap, before continuing, "So yes, maybe I am a bit of a pushover, maybe I am too chirpy and positive to the point that it's annoying, and maybe people are only my friend because I'll always be there for them no matter what they say or do, but at least I'm not a jerk. So screw you, Blake!"
Blake opens his mouth to speak but a panting Mr. Hamilton cuts him off.
"I found them!" he announces, waving the test papers in the air. I let out a breath of relief, relieved to be free from hearing whatever insult was on the tip of Blake's tongue.
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