|Hook, Line, and Sinker
Author: monkeybar ohmaniac PM
I don’t like you. You think I think you don’t like me, but I know for a fact that you’re really in love with me. But now will you be able to make me fall for you? Please, girls like you can’t live up to a guy like me. ONE-SHOT.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Chapters: 2 - Words: 3,392 - Reviews: 41 - Favs: 105 - Follows: 9 - Updated: 11-28-10 - Published: 09-26-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2724532
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hook, Line, and Sinker
You growl at me, telling me to go away, and to stop stalking you. Right, like I'm trying to. Like I'm trying to "end up at every place you go to." Like I try to "get into every class you're in." Like I try to "see you at every public place in our town."
"I share likes with you, but not really with you. I share AP classes with you, but I'm just that smart. I'm social, like you, but I just have more friends. It's not that I'm actually trying to watch your every move and stuff, I'm just there. And you think that I'm stalking you? Get over yourself." You gape, your ordinary lips curved into that some-teenth letter of the alphabet.
And I leave.
Now you're stalking next to me, barking useless comments and swears about how I look right now, how much of an "ass" I'm acting right now. And you think that I'm following you? When you're obviously pining after me?
I tell you that, and you stop, curse one last time, and turn around, going back to your idiotic friends. I know you're telling them how much you hate me, how much you want to chop up every single part of my body and burn it in some kind of a sick bonfire, then laugh, but I know. I know your secret.
You're actually in love with me.
I know, strange as it seems, you like me. You, the normal girl, with the curly brown locks and dark brown eyes, like me, the guy with the glass blue eyes and wispy blonde hair. You like me, the guy with the grades, the girls, the "attitude", as you would call it.
Woo hoo, no surprise.
And I know some part of you, no matter how far deep into your mind where it lies, is waiting for it to happen. For that overkill, that clichéd that people are always so oblivious to realize; the enemies turned lovers. Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen.
You just don't understand-I. Don't. Like. You. I haven't ever liked you. Ever since we were little –yes, we are also childhood enemies- I've always thought that you, the girl with the pigtails and disgustingly sweet smile, were horrible. Just plain bad. I don't know, it was just a feeling. I didn't like you.
I don't like you.
I won't like you.
So don't go on dreaming in your sleep that one day, we will be together. Don't go hating on me during school, during games, during weekends. Stop it; ever since a few weeks back, right before I realized you liked me, when you blushed as I called you out during the student council meeting, you've been all… girly. All mad-flirting, all punchy; the only way you can possibly touch me without showing that you actually love me.
That's right, I didn't know you liked me that much before the first time you were red because of me. I thought the feeling of hate was mutual before; I was so wrong. I became to notice how many times you were around me, how you didn't seem to want to leave without the last, at least a bit satisfactory (without a confession of love, I mean), comment about hate.
Hate. Hate. 'I hate you.' That phrase has been used to so many times, it's not even funny anymore. You think you hate me? You can say that, but it wouldn't change; you don't hate me, though I hate you. I hate you. Stop acting all oblivious to others, like me.
It's now Friday. On the steps of the main entrance of our estranged high school, I spot you sitting, and, after a moment, flush red. You're trying to hide it with a glare directing towards me, but I see it.
"Blushing, aren't we? Ugly cow, go pine after someone else." My words set deeper marks into you skin.
"Shut up, you jerk. I was so not pining after the likes of you," you seethe, rubbing your mitten-covered hands together. "Besides, it's fucking freezing out here. That's why I'm red."
Excuses, excuses. I tell you that. You groan viciously.
"Why are you so conceited? I hate you for that, asshole." And then you get up and hop up to the school, leaving me behind, as if you won.
Please. You obviously didn't win. You used the 'hate' card again. It's been like that lately, as if you can't find any other thing to say to me. Face it, you're losing. You're going to crack soon, and I'm fucked up with it. I'll initiate.
After school, I find you again, sitting on the steps again, though now the only person in sight. We had both stayed after school for student council reasons –you still mad that I got the spot as president, while you were stuck with vice- and it had ended a few minutes back, the others already left. I stayed behind since I was the top seat, but you, I have no idea. It's like you were waiting for me.
How desperate is that?
"You," I say simply, giving a curt nod as I hop down the steps.
"You," you spit back, as if the greeting was deadly. I stop.
"Are you serious?" I ask you. Your expression is stunned, and a bit angry. I see the twinkle in your eye.
"Wh-what?" I try not to notice the stutter. Sure, maybe you'll just use the cold, winter weather as another excuse.
"I said, are you serious?"
"What do you mean, you idiot?" Using elementary insults now, how weak.
"I mean, when the hell are you going to tell me you like me?"
"What the- I do not like you, you stupid-"
"Oh, shut the fuck up, I know. I know already. But-"
"You know nothing, you annoying-"
"But," I interrupt loudly, stopping her speechless. "It's obvious that you are no match for me. I mean, you have no social skills, you suck at making yourself prettier than you won't ever be, if you even try, and you just aren't me type. There's no way I would like a person like you. Face it; I'm too much for you."
Your eyebrows flew up the second I started the insults.
"Oh, really? You think that I can't make you fall for me?"
That exactly what I'm saying, idiot. I tell you that.
You get up, and stride up to me.
"So, if I asked you out to live up to your so-called statement, would you say yes?" I pause for a minute, thinking over your words.
Then I smile.
"Of course," I tell you. Then I see it-that mischievous smirk on your face. I guess you're happy that you finally get a dream date with me, and that it would be the start of something oh-so wonderful. Insert gag of disgust.
I would never fall for you. You're too ordinary, too boring, too… not eccentric. You talk like the other bumbling bitches at our school, and you act like them too. You're not that smart, nor are you beautiful. You, all in all, disgust me.
"Tomorrow night, 7:00, my house." And then you leave.
I'm a bit surprised. At least you didn't say you hated me. And you regarded this as a formal date, insisting that I, the guy, should pick you up. Right. You think this is all under control. You think that you can outsmart me, probably show up in some wacky clothes, and try to seduce me? Sure, we'll do it your way, you'll see.
Saturday night, I'm in front of your house. I see your shadow pacing behind the lighted curtains; you're obviously fretting over what you're going to do tonight. But you have a plan, I presume- you'll say some words and act some up and somehow, at the end of the night, snatch me up. I'm laughing on the inside at the thought of you being able to come up and catch me. It's so funny; it scares the hell out of me.
I get out of my car, and go up the path to your house, a small, nice thing. I ring the doorbell and note that your figure behind the window froze, before it disappears to go greet your guest.
You open the door.
"Hi," you manage to fluster out, smiling widely. I have to say, I'm impressed. I was surprised with your outfit: low-rise skinny jeans, a printed v-neck, a slim jacket, and a wool mismatched scarf. Your dark hair was flung into a messy bun, and you looked like you've just finished running a marathon, breathing heavily. I try to ignore your loud sucks of air.
I know what you're doing. You think that you can try to go the hard way, wearing that average outfit, acting all sweet and blushing, but I know. You're going to catch me off-guard, getting to my good side easily.
"Hey," I reply calmly, forcing a smile onto my face. You frown.
"Stop trying to… " Your voice trails off, and you wave your hand, as if waving away what you were just going to say. I'm miffed again; you didn't try to attack me with words, since I know you know I wasn't smiling genuinely.
"So, what are we doing today?"
"Movie," you tell me immediately. I frown. How amateurish of you.
We arrive at the movie theater and you head on to the entrance, leaving me behind. I'm confused with you. Shouldn't you be trying to get to know me better, or something stupid like that?
I go inside, and find that you already bought the tickets, smiling at me with that stupid smile, flicking the paper back and forth.
"Slow-poke." I set my jaw as you turn around. You're annoying me. This doesn't even feel like a date anymore.
We go into the concession line, waiting to get movie-snacks. You pick a small bag of popcorn- I'm not even going to ask anymore. I pick a large bagful of the buttery goodness, and a box of candy. We pay separately, and I'm distraught with ignorance from you.
"I heard this movie was really good; this friend of mine saw it yesterday, and she said it was hilarious!" You're not even asking anything about me, about what I like, dislikes, other things. And 'hilarious'? Aren't movie-dates supposed to be romantic? You're crazy, you know that?
You pick a seat near the front, right where everybody else in the room could see us, if anything, and nothing will, happen. I shake my head at you-seats in the back were romantic. Seats in the front were not.
"What's with you?" I ask finally, perturbed in the moment.
"What?" you bounce back, settling into the middle seat of the third row. I roll my eyes; you really were stupid.
"What kind of date is this?" I mutter, sitting down next to you. You tense up, then giggle… wait, what? Were you laughing-at me? "What? What the hell is it?" You remember that I curse when I'm pretty angry, so the giggling lowers.
"You thought this-" you wave your hand around, gesturing the theater. "- was a date?"
"I-I-" I stop, regaining thought. "Yeah, I thought it was." You begin to laugh again, louder this time. I swear, this really is going to kill you. You're going to kill me.
"I never- I never said it was, you, you- you really are an idiot," you're in full-blown laughing mode now, your face flushed with glee from my suffering. You take off your jacket, but keep the scarf on. I stay still; it's still cold in the theater.
"What is this-" I gesture violently around the room. "-then?" You've stopped laughing, and give me a look that tells me that you think that I'm plain stupid.
"I don't know, something to get to know each other better? So we stop hating each other as much?" You used the 'hate' thing again. I sit back in the seat. I stop speaking, and you don't seem to mind.
So you got me there, but that doesn't matter. It was just a situation misunderstood-you did not win. You're still below me. And, for the record, you won't pass me.
For the next half hour, we sit quietly, watching the, God forbid, actually funny, to the slight, movie. Every now and then I smile from the cheesy joke, or the so-stupid-it's-hilarious scene. Then I accidentally do the mistake of looking over at you.
You're also smiling from the latest humor, but your arms are wrapped around each other, rubbing together for desperate friction. You seem to involved with the movie to grab the jacket next to you and put it on, also, since I have common sense, too, I was sure that the jacket would be cold anyways, since it was laying in the cold also.
I try to stop myself, but I couldn't help taking my arm and wrapping it over your other shoulder, pulling you a little closer to me, only because it seemed like you were about to freeze to death, no matter how funny the movie was.
The only thing I didn't expect was you to turn to me, gape, and shake my arm off. That was funny, and, after a while, completely stupid. I was starting to lose it. You, who was now staring at me amusedly, had tricks, and they were sneaky. I'd have to watch out now. We sank back into the movie.
It was so awkward the next hour, as we both sat there, silent. I wondered what was wrong with you; how come you didn't try to make a move? Do something? I was cold here, and frustrated. I thought you liked me. No, I was sure you liked me. You blush angrily and laugh and smile and frown, and I'm sure that's how you show your care for me. This sucked. This was horrible. This was really shitty.
Then you suddenly turned to me. I raised my eyebrows as you, shoulders square and facing straight to me, said, "You make me very hot."
I couldn't stifle my laughter.
"What was that? Was that a confession of lust, you idiot?" You opened your mouth to say something, eyes bright, but I continued, "I thought you could better, but that was sad."
It wasn't just sad, but really sad. 'You make me hot'? She sounded like some kind of robotic species lost in our world.
"That was from the movie, stupid." I froze. What?
And then I realized it; I hadn't paid attention to the screen in front of me. I kept thinking about you, how you were basically ignoring me, how you didn't even blush or care when I put my arm around me, when we exchanged strange looks at each other now and then throughout the movie, how I couldn't help looking at you from the corner of my eye, just to see if you were looking back.
"Right," I told you lamely, sitting back in my seat. I was such an idiot- so stupid. I really was losing my guard here, and you might even be able to catch up.
Hell with it, I didn't give a damn. If you liked me, fine, I'd deal with it. But, tonight, you were making me so crazy, I couldn't even think right, or watch the stupid movie. This… this was fucked up.
"We need to talk." You looked back from the screen, which you had returned to, then smiled that dumb smile.
"Okay, it's going to end soon anyway, I think. Soon-"
"No, we need to talk. Now," I told you, louder, so much so that a few others shushed us. You bit your bottom lip in a cutesy way, which was somewhat glossy, as if you used something when I didn't notice, then nodded.
Outside in the hallway, I turned around to face you.
"So… good movie, huh-"
"Do you like me?"
"Do you. Like. Me?" You bit your bottom lip again, looking down. I noticed how long your eyelashes were, how they hung over your dark eyes mysteriously, how they looked really beautiful.
'I don't… I don't know what-"
"Fuck it," I muttered, staring straight at your lips, and enclosed them with mine.
We broke off, and you looked back up at me; you were a few inches shorter than my own height, so it was inevitable that you were below me. Or that was what I had thought before.
"Do you…" I leaned in, closer to you, so I could hear you soft words. "Do you like me?" Your face was low, but you were looking at me through your eyelashes, and a pang rang through my chest. I was shocked, absolutely surprised. Was I? I was fretting over the fact that you didn't dress up for me, that you paid independently for me, that you didn't consider this as a date, that you even pushed my arm off your shoulder. Why would I be mad if I didn't like you?
That means… I did. I fell for you.
"Yes. Yes, I like you." I leaned in for another kiss, wanting more from the last short one.
Just as our lips were about to touch, I opened my closed eyes. Your own were crinkled with happiness, and something different, something that I haven't seen: mischief.
"Hook, line, and sinker," you whispered, and sidestepped away from my lips, strutting away suddenly, leaving me. I spotted a completely different side of you; lively, confident... sexy. And it hurt me. Then, you turned your head, still walking, and added, "Dumbass."
Wow. Just… wow.
You tricked me. You really did hate me, didn't you? I knew that, but I interpreted it wrong. I thought you liked me. I thought you actually loved me. I was so stupid to think that.
And, what's worse, I fell for you. I didn't even know it, but I fell for you. And now I'm the laughingstock. I'm the "dumbass". I'm the true idiot.
But I'm also the one who's going to get you back.
first [published] on fictionpress [on this account :D] kinda rushed this one, actually;; hopes for no errors/other stuff??
reviews and critique is very much appreciated :)