I don’t know why I ask that but it simply comes out and his eyes narrow even more. He bends even further down until the rim of his cap is grazing my forehead. Until his lips are so close that when he opens his mouth to reply, I feel him writing those words on my skin. “No.”
"Why?
“Because I want you to keep being who you are. Who you’ve always been.”
“W-Who am I?”
“The little sister. The one who hangs out in the background and doesn’t get seen. The one who keeps her head down and doesn’t make a noise. And the one who definitely doesn’t demand my attention. So are you going to walk or not?”
He’s so freaking pissed off that I do as he says.
I walk.
I make my way out with him at my back as if he’s my bodyguard and we take the hallway in the back that leads out to the parking lot. A few people are lingering outside, but no one pays us any attention as we make our way to his bike. He’s still at my back, as if I need protection here as well.
By the time we reach it, I’m a panting mess. I have my arms wrapped around my waist and I don’t know what to do.
How to make them go away, the past few minutes. How to make it better.
All I wanted to do was give him a little hell for being so awful to me this past week and then make peace with him.
“Arrow?” I say in a small voice.
Without responding, he leans over the seat of his motorcycle and grabs his helmet, offering it to me. “Put it on.”
“Can we talk, please?”
His chest jerks up and down with a harsh breath. “Put it the fuck on.”
My eyes sting. “Please. I didn’t know you’d freak out like this. I was just… You were so mean to me last night and I just wanted to make a stupid freaking point and I know I got a little dramatic back there but I… I honestly didn’t mean to make you mad.”
His nostrils flare. “Salem.”
I take a step closer to him.
My name from his lips, even curled up in anger, makes me want to touch him. Makes me wanna put a hand on his chest and fist his t-shirt and press close to him but I don’t.
I don’t want to make him even more angry.
I don’t want him to reject my touch.
“Please? Don’t be like this, okay? I don’t like it. I don’t like it that we’re fighting and you’re all angry. And we’re acting like we’re enemies. We’re not. You’re not my enemy, Arrow, and I’m not yours. Please, I’ll do anything. Just… can’t we be friends?”
As soon as I say it, my witchy heart starts pounding in my chest.
It’s pounding and pounding, making my body vibrate.
With a certain need, a craving.
A desperate desire to be his friend.
A bone-deep desire. A desire that has burst forth from my soul and I can’t ignore it.
Because for some very strange reason, we keep clashing, him and I.
For some crazy reason, we keep rubbing each other the wrong way. We keep creating sparks and friction. We keep creating fire.
And I’m done.
