it, but I felt like that could be one of the reasons he was holding back. When it came to me, on the other hand, it looked as if he had plenty of opinions. It just went to show how he saw me and how different I was from Lindsey. It was depressing, I admitted. However, at the same time, it was revealing. Holding on to my love for him would only bring me increasing levels of unhappiness.
Standing in the middle of his room that had one lamp on the side of his bed, the nautical-themed ambiance did little to comfort me. It wasn’t the first time I had been in there. In fact, I had been there mostly every time there was a get-together in his house, always surrounded by friends. That day would be the first one-on-one with him without any distractions.
If I was in my regular state of mind, I would probably start sweating and maybe even freak out over the possibilities of being alone with him in his bedroom. Of course, since I was mighty high and had a serious dose of cynic in me, the thought did little to give me a thrill. In fact, if he came up there to verbally attack me, I would bite right back.
Perhaps I had gone mad. Then again, maybe I was simply sick of it all, most especially with the men in my life in general.
Deciding to wait on him in the very same spot in the middle of his room, I folded my arms as I stared at the door, impatiently awaiting his arrival.
True to his word, he didn’t keep me waiting for long. Just before I was about to sigh, the door swiftly opened, and in came Mister Broody Man.
Upon seeing me standing in the midst of the room, he barely blinked at me as he leaned against the door, blocking it as if I was going to escape or something, before he directed me another one of those cold glares that had been rather abundant downstairs.
“What?” I snapped at him. “You have nothing to say after the shit you just did downstairs? They might not know me, but what you did was still fucking embarrassing! Who the fuck cares what I do? I mean, fuck, you don’t see me lecturing you about STDs and shit when you sleep around with random women. What I do or don’t do really is none of your damn business!”
From my standpoint, I could see his thunderous face, but I was shocked he wasn’t saying a damn thing. Maybe it was his tactic to let me go wacky. Well, it had worked.
“I snorted for the first time, and that shit was amazeballs,” I smugly declared as I stood my ground. “It’s my life—my body—so if you have nothing better to say, I’d rather be around people who would be less judgmental about my actions.”
He snapped.
“Judgmental? Me?” he barked out a dark laugh before shaking his head at me, gradually pacing towards me. “What the fuck, Amber! Why do you have to be so fucking rebellious all the goddamn time! If it’s not drinking, you get into deeper shit! Is this the kind of life you want to lead? Heck, if you want to be a reckless crackhead, then fucking say it instead of skirting around shit that doesn’t really matter.”
Aw. Hell. To. The. Mother. Fucking. No.
My proverbial gloves were off. Claws out.
“What the fuck do you care, huh? Look at you! You have a solid family; you’re a soccer stud; you hop on and off different beds; and no one seems to care. You’re fucking hot, smart, funny, and annoyingly stupid and stubborn at the same time. You have everything—every damn thing that’s not going on in mine—so don’t give me this bullshit! You have the perfect life, all except for you holding onto a torch for Lindsey. Apart from that, your life pretty much is perfectly sickening to think about. So, no, you don’t get to fucking watch and judge me because I don’t act the way I should be acting to please you. I’m done with you! I’m done pleasing anyone. From now on, I’m going to do me and do what makes me comfortable and happy. So, fuck off!”
“I give a damn because I care about you.” His nose flared as he peered down at me like some hot beast ready to blow his gasket. “I care enough to want you to be better than this. I