Brown Eyes
Introduction
That was Then, this is Now
by xoxluurve

I wasn’t supposed to like him.

I didn’t at first; you need to know that.

I knew him all my life. I couldn’t imagine a life without him (it was sad, but true) since our parents were best friends and practically forced us to be together 24/7 when we were toddlers. Don’t get me wrong; when we were little we actually enjoyed spending time together. We even hugged (I have pictures to prove it), but then . . . I don’t know. It just died.

I think the first time I actually saw him in the light (you know, the light; the light where you notice things?) was when we were nine years old. Well, technically, he was ten and I was nine at that time (stupid January birthdays) and we were on our regular visit-each other-every-month kind of thing.

Okay, let me cut straight to the point.

I was walking, he tripped me, I fell, got a nasty bruise, and he was laughing.

I think that was enough to start fueling my growing dislike for that boy.

Soon our dirty glares and looks turned into verbal assault, before I finally had enough and slapped him across the face. It was satisfying (very much so) though I did get in trouble for that . . . but seriously, it was worth it. Then, for a few months, we didn’t see each other, but when we did, if possible, he became even meaner. I know. What a bum, right?

He would tease me every chance he got, trip me when no one was looking, tug my hair when our parents weren’t observing us, he was just . . . he was just mean.

Of course, all that time I’ve been silent. The only time I ever protested against him was the first time he tripped me. And that was when I was nine. And five years later he was still doing that, I’ve had enough. I finally decided to tell him to shut up politely (hey, it’s not my fault that my parents drilled manners into my head) but since he didn’t, I finally screamed at him, slapped him across the face, and knocked his head against the wall.

I knocked him unconscious.

Again, not my fault.

My parents screamed at me (loud) before I looked over their shoulder and realized… (dramatic pause) that he was actually awake. Can you believe that? He faked being unconscious just so I could get in shit.

What a loser. I was grounded for three months because of him. And when my parents decided to rush him to the hospital that was when he decided to open his eyes.

Uragh . . . I hate him.

Oh, and he has the most enormous ego you will ever come across in your life. It’s like . . . twice the size of Asia. Not even, triple that and more, then you have his ego. It all began at puberty when girls began to notice how hot the male population was, and vice versa. I was glad that I didn’t have to go through that phase in school (I was home schooled) but since he had gone to a private school (he was rich) he got worse.

Not that he was better before. It’s just… you know, rich girl, rich guy, both good-looking (not that I’m admitting he is) . . . bam. You have yourself one hormonal couple going through puberty. Erugh . . . ugh. Ew. Then he had to be some stupid moron and rub it in my face that he’s hot.

I didn’t even know what the word hot meant that time, okay? Like shut up. No one wants to hear your cracking deep voice that half the girls you meet think it’s sexy.

Ruhiiight.

Then in our next visit, he was showing off his wonderful taste in clothing (even better than before, he claims) and proceeded to make fun of my own attire. I was wearing the same thing he was wearing. A shirt, jeans, and hoodie. I pointed that out and do you know what he said? Do you know what he said?

He said I was copying him.

Uh, yeah, okay buddy. I come, stalk you every day, and watch what you pick out to wear and be like, hey, since he’s wearing this, I’ll wear it, too!

Your face. God, he has got to get over himself and get a life.

Those years through puberty sucked. It sucked. But then . . .

(Oh God, don’t kill me.)

I . . . I actually started . . . you know, feeling something else towards him.

Ew, I know.

(Wait.)

EW, I KNOW.

(There we go.)

Don’t worry, though. I got over that tiny attraction when I realized how mean, and . . . well, so unlike the guy I go for he was. Not that I’ve been with anyone. I’ve dated here and there, but there wasn’t that special guy, you know?

Besides, guys suck.

Especially him. He personally made my life a living hell, and that bastard enjoyed it.

His teasing soon became words that were based on the truth; and stepping on my pride right now, it actually hurt the first few times. Oh, haha, then I got over it and started being a rude bitch right back at him. He started it.

He really did. But back then I didn’t realize that the whole time he’s been doing that, he’s been doing something else.

That jerk was like my guardian and he didn’t even tell me.

Bastard.

I didn’t know that he was the one that stopped my cousin from always putting me down.

I didn’t know that he was the one that stayed up with me in the middle of the night when I was crying from a bad dream.

I didn’t know that it was he who convinced my parents to let me finally go to Highland Academy.

He’s always been there. I knew, in this twisted sort of way, but just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Not until now. Probably too late . . .

Like I said, I wasn’t supposed to like him.

I was supposed to hate him.

That was the plan. It was fool proof. I’ve already had my short phase of attraction towards him. I was certain that it died out. But can you believe the shock I went through when I found him at my school? Wasn’t he supposed to be living in Europe or something?!

This was supposed to be my turf! He’s not supposed to be where I’m comfortable around, damnit! Really, if I didn't know any better he probably knew how him moving to my school is damn well uncomfortable. But of course, nothing good lasts forever. Where was my hatred disappearing to? I mean, it was perfect in the beginning. I hated him, I was sure he hated me . . . but then. . .

Then he had to go all . . . blah on me and. . .

Oh God, this is what I’ve become because of him: some moron pathetically wishing that she could change the past and undo what wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to do that. Why must he be such an ass and push me out of the way? Why does he have to be so goddamn protective? Does he enjoy watching me suffer?

Oh, sorry. Confused? Yeah, well, you're reading my pathetic yet boring, pointless yet organized life, turned to pure agonizing annoyance which was wrapped nicely in a little package named Dante Anderson. His arrival started everything. It's his own fault I'm in this mess. His annoying twinkling brown eyes and his infamous irritating smirk . . . Those things about him annoyed me the most.

But now? Now I'm desperately wishing that he can turn his stupid head and look at me with his curved lips and utter the words my Belle one last time. He was my guardian, right? Well, he did a pretty damn good job about that. But now I'm wishing that he could just be those annoying jackasses at school who I don't give a crap about. He didn't have to, God. He promised he wouldn't leave me.

And like a fool, I believed him.

Well . . . yeah. Just stop reading. Why continue reading little tid bits taken from something big when you could just read the whole story? Yeah, that's right. I'm considerate like that.

Let's start from the beginning, shall we?

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