I tried to have fun and flirt with various people, but that all came to a standstill when I saw blondie hovering over Juliette. I couldn't focus on anything else.
“Well, stay out of it next time!” She snaps in a chastising tone.
That annoys me. Stay out of it? I know she could handle it herself, but would it kill her to be polite and thank me? What a silly question! Of course, it would; she's a raging bitch.
“Or what? You gonna kiss me again?” I taunt, narrowing my eyes.
There it is. I've dropped the bomb and her face has turned completely beet red; the same red that's matching what she's wearing—a dark-red corset with black, leather pants and god…she looks so sexy.
I hate it.Stop getting distracted.
She slams the bathroom door shut. “Are you crazy? Someone could have heard you!” she half shouts, half whispers at me.
“Aww, are you scared people will know that Juliette Kingston likes kissing girls?” I sneer at her with a smile.
Does she like girls? I have no idea. Maybe I do, but I don't want to admit it because if I do, that means she felt something when she kissed me, then that would mean that the kiss actually meant something. I can't have that, not even for a second.
How could she even like girls? She's the most homophobic person I know, but maybe that was just internalized because of the trauma she faced as a child.
No. I need to stop this. Why am I psychoanalyzing her sexuality as if it has any affect on me? It doesn't; I could care less about it or the fact that she kissed me.
“I was concussed!” she retorts, flailing her hands around.
“Oh? Were you concussed when you slammed me against the lockers too—”
“Yes! It was a mistake.” She bellows.
A mistake. Yes, that's what it was. Her lips on mine, the fireworks that overtook my brain and turned it into mush; I know it was a mistake, so why do her words send a pang to my heart? I ignore the feeling and try my best to mask it.
“Yes, it was,” I agree, not missing the way she flinches lightly, her breath hitching.
.“Don't even think about telling anyone.” She threatens.
Of course, her threat is laughable, but I refrain from actually laughing out loud. Why would I ever tell anyone—besides my friends of course?
“Oh yeah, I was about to profess to everyone how much of an average kisser you are.”
“Average? Don't be ridiculous!” she huffs, deeply offended.
Of course, I'm lying, she is many things but an average kisser is not one of them. I wish she was average, then I wouldn't be thinking about how much of an impeccable kisser she is.
Her soft lips tasted like how midnight feels; like the deepest desires that hide in my chest and like the comfort of a blanket on a cold day.
“I've had better.” I shrug in response, clutching the ice pack tighter against my knuckles.
“You fucking wish.” Her nostrils flare.
“Wish what? That you weren’t such an average kisser? You’re right, I do wish that.” I snide at her and put the ice pack down.
“And I wish you weren’t so full of yourself,” she retorts.
“Have you seen me?” I point at myself, stifling my laugh at her irritation, but I don’t stop there, I keep walking closer to her and she answers by backing away slowly.
Her back hits the bathroom door. “Yeah, all I see is an irritating little bitch who is too far up her own ass.”
“If I’m so irritating, why did you kiss me?” I whisper, my eyes darting down to her lips.
Her eyes widen in surprise. “I—I told you I was concussed.” Her citrus perfume is suffocating me as are her eyes, which are seemingly darkening more and more by the minute.
