Spark

9 - Cruel Mantras

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel–Heather

Storming out of the school, I run and cry and scream in my head. I cry and run and keep screaming in my head. I cry and I cry. I run and I run. I scream and scream until I can't take it anymore.

I'm pathetic.

Weak.

Vulnerable.

Incapable.

A joke.

Absolutely going mental about being dragged into this dramatic world of his and putting myself in situations I knew I couldn't stand, I pound on his door with my fist, disrespecting the unspoken law of silence on a day like this. I look a mess. My scalp hurts from where she'd been pulling, my face is an odd shade of crimson and my eyes must be sporting a similar colour as tears continue to pool and trickle, disregarding the fact that I was about to have a major scream-down at this boy who seemed to never want to go away.

I pound and I pound until the door swings open. It isn't Miles. It's Kayla and she wears an expression of absolute horror at my expression.

"M-M-Miles." I choke out.

She looks like she wants to do anything but that and calm me down herself but I'm uninterested in that at the moment. "Miles! Can you come over here for a second?"

I don't hear his usual taunts and remarks when Kayla speaks to him. His footsteps approach instead and within seconds, he's right in front of me, towering behind his sister. His eyes widen when he sees me and he steps past Kayla and reaches over to touch me.

My hand shoots out to stop him. "Don't. Don't touch me," I sob, swiping at the falling tears on my cheeks. "You made it clear that day, Miles. You don't like me. You hate me, don't you? So why do you keep doing this? Why does this keep happening? Why's your drama seeping into my life?"

He stands there, seeming so restrained, forcing himself not to reach out. "Did someone say something to you?"

My pathetic self begins crying even more than usual then. "I don't like you, Miles. I really don't so can this back and forth stop now? I-I j-just...I-c-can–"

My impairment kicks in at one of the worst possible times and I groan, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. "G-G-od, I h-hate th-this."

Dropping my hands from my eyes, I sniffle and stare him straight in the eyes again. "Can it?" I ask, silently.

His brows furrow as he stares at me. "Can it what?"

"Stop," I reply. "Can you just do your thing while I do mine?"

"No." He responds, sardonically, his eyes not leaving mine. His brows burrow in deeper together. "Fuck no."

My chest begins heaving again and before I swipe at a stray teardrop, he pulls me flush against his chest and holds me there with his hand on the back of my hair. I grip his shirt in my hands then, fingers clenching tightly as I sob into his fabric.

It feels like we stand that way for minutes before I finally feel exhausted and come to a stop. My grip on his shirt loosens but doesn't leave it. I sniffle and glance up to look at him, feeling more like a mess than when I'd ran over.

He cocks his head to the side and stares back at me with a shadow of a smile. "You done?"

Feeling flushed, I drop my head and press it back to his chest. Realising what I was doing then–cannoodling with the boy I was chanting cruel mantras about this morning–I jump back in horror and cover my face with my hands.

"Oh God," I say, putting those words on a loop as heat crawls over every part of me. "I-I–"

"Do you want to come in?" He stops me mid-crisis and leans against his doorway, arms crossed against his chest as he watches me.

"No!" I blurt out, sniffling. "I'm fine. I really–" a hiccup slips out from my throat and I mentally cuss my body out for having the worst possible timing for everything.

"Can I have you here?" He asks outright. I force my gaze to meet his but level it with the ground when I meet his hard, unyielding eyes.

"What?" Another hiccup slips out.

"Would you stay here?" He asks, imploring me with his gentle tone. "With me?"

My heart soars in its usual fashion whenever I was in his presence like this. I almost cling to my chest to command it to settle down. To tell it not to fall for this again.

I don't have a chance to respond before Kayla reappears. "Starr? I made some cupcakes. Come taste-test for me."

I love cupcakes.

Miles reaches out a hand for me and I stare down at it warily.

This is it.

I'm doing this to myself all over again.

He's going to do it with a hammer this time. Smash it all to pieces. Ruin it so you don't feel again. You don't hate him yet. You've been lying to yourself. You're pathetic and mental over him. At his bid and call. All it takes is for him to be there at the right time and he's going to bring the worst times to you.

All these thoughts swamp my head, making their appearance in the form of a raging headache. Glancing up at Miles, into those blue, imploring, trusting eyes and then back down at his hand, I silently hope I'm not making the wrong choice as I slip my hand into his and let him tug me to himself.

He hugs me for a couple of seconds, his hand tangling through my curls in the way I knew. When his hand touches the side Veronica had been tugging on, I flinch and pull out of his embrace. Staring at the rug a few inches away, I fidget with the sleeves of my hoodie, avoiding eye contact with him.

"Starr!" Kayla calls from their kitchen and I'm instantly glad I have an out.

Sauntering off, I round the corner into their huge kitchen, meeting a smiling Kayla at the kitchen island with a batch of cupcakes in between us.