A Fool
The things I write when I'm given free time. Aigoo.
Unedited coz yeah.
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A Fool
It was one of those days... when I wonder if I had enough. If it was too much already. If I was being a fool already.
I stared at him as he smiled at the girl before him, eyes truly shining with emotion. The girl was pretty, tall and slim. One of those he met at work. What was I compared to her?
I felt that telltale tightening in my chest, as I tore my eyes away. I shoved my hands in my pockets, then forced myself to walk away, away before I break down.
The next time we met, I brushed him off.
"I'm busy." I quipped, shutting the door behind me. He surprised me that day, arriving unannounced with plans of eating dinner out. But the girl's face was fresh in my head.
I saw his face fall and for a moment, I felt guilty for treating him this way. "How about another day?"
He took my hand and twined our fingers together. I felt the instant tremble in my resolve to stay angry at him. "I only have today off."
What resolve, anyway. "Okay."
That night, as he slept beside me, an arm tucked around my waist, I wondered if I was a pushover.
For me to see it with my own eyes might have been what I needed.
I stood frozen by the door, shell-shocked. What was there to do? What was there to say?
His eyes widened the moment he saw me, then he pushed her away, back of his hand wiping over his mouth. The move jerked me back to reality.
Disbelief, anger, hurt and betrayal mixed up in one ugly mess in my chest. I felt the hatred rise and I didn't even think of quelling it. I wasn't one to directly confront people when it can be done with just us.
But I wanted to hurt him. Badly. For betraying me.
Because I felt that, I did the most sensible thing I could think of. I turned around and left hurriedly.
He had the nerve to show up on my doorstep.
"Leave." I spat, then tried to slam the door on his face. But his hand shot out faster.
"Let me explain --"
"I don't want to hear it!"
When he grabbed my wrist, I could not hold it back anymore. I striked out and hurled a punch at him. It was a dangerous move. I was never the type to act violently. And in his line of work, his face was an important factor.
The pain singed straight up my arm, making me stumble back and curse. I turned around, cradling my hand. Only then did I realize I was crying. I stopped by the couch, leaning against it as I tried to control myself.
"Are you hurt?"
I shrugged off the hand that touched my arm. "I'm fine. Just leave already."
"You're not fine. Let me see it."
I was about to shout at him when he forced me around. But the urge disappeared when I saw him.
"Oh my god, you're bleeding!"
There was blood on his chin, and it looked like he tried to wipe it away. I reached out to touch him, only to see my own hand shaking badly. I cursed softly and took it back.
Much to my irritation, he laughed. Then held my hand that was still pulsing in slight pain. "You've got a pretty good hand." He murmured, massaging my arm. "You pack a punch."
I scowled. "You should be more concerned about yourself."
"What's a blow or two to a guy's face?" His hands were gentle as he moved them over my arm. I noticed the pain beginning to dissipate but I didn't take my eyes off him. I couldn't.
He was gazing intently at my arm, head bowed almost submissively. His fingers felt rough on my skin, but I was used to them. It was a proof of his hard work throughout the years of training. His face was lined with worry and fatigue. The line of blood on his chin looked a little ridiculous.
I wiped it away before I could stop myself. His hands paused when my thumb grazed over his lip lightly. It got busted with my punch.
When he looked up, I took back both my hands and shifted my attention away. "You should get that fixed." I murmured before turning around.
He caught me in his arms before I could really move away. "I'm sorry." He murmured, pressing his face at the crook of my neck. His breath was warm on my skin. "I'm so sorry."
My resolve threatened to crumble. It was painful to hear him so broken and apologetic. I never saw him as the type to be either. But then, did I even really know him?
"Go home." I said. "Just go home already."
"No, please!" His grip tightened around me when I tried to step away. "It was you all this time."
I froze but didn't say anything, waiting for what he had to tell me.
"She provoked me. Told me I was too dependent on you, that I wouldn't make it without you. I said you didn't control me. You never will. 'Cause you aren't the type to. And she challenged me to do something you'd despise. Because you didn't own me." His arms fell dejectedly but I remained rooted at the spot, refusing to comfort him.
"I was pissed. Her words affected me. So I did what I knew was wrong. I didn't think you'd see. I thought I could forget after but I was wrong."
I heard a small sound from behind me and I turned around to see he had fallen to his knees. The wall I forcibly built around me cracked in several places, chunks falling as I watched him. Why he wanted to reach this pont is beyond me. He could have anyone else but he was still here, begging to be forgiven.
Why? Why is he doing this?
"I'm sorry." He whispered. His hands fisted on his lap. "But it was you I thought of when I kissed her. Saw you. Smelled you. Felt you. And I realized," his fists opened, "what was wrong with that."
If I was a fool for anything, it would be for him. He knew me too much; sometimes I wonder if I gave myself away too easily. What was I to do then, with him kneeling before me, head hanging? The most dejected I've seen of him.
"Get up." I grabbed his arm and hauled him up. He towered over me, tall and handsome. I don't deserve him.
"You never," I hit him on the chest with my fist, "kneel or beg before anyone."
His eyes widened but he didn't say anything.
I hit him. "You hear me? You don't do that to anyone."
"I --"
"No." I interjected. "You don't. You are better than that." I backhanded his arm. "You kneel to no one."
He nodded, conceding.
Then when he stepped forward, I closed the distance. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he locked his around my torso. When our mouths met, I sighed.
I was a fool for him, alright. But who wasn't a fool when in love?
-END-
Unedited coz yeah.
===========================================
A Fool
It was one of those days... when I wonder if I had enough. If it was too much already. If I was being a fool already.
I stared at him as he smiled at the girl before him, eyes truly shining with emotion. The girl was pretty, tall and slim. One of those he met at work. What was I compared to her?
I felt that telltale tightening in my chest, as I tore my eyes away. I shoved my hands in my pockets, then forced myself to walk away, away before I break down.
The next time we met, I brushed him off.
"I'm busy." I quipped, shutting the door behind me. He surprised me that day, arriving unannounced with plans of eating dinner out. But the girl's face was fresh in my head.
I saw his face fall and for a moment, I felt guilty for treating him this way. "How about another day?"
He took my hand and twined our fingers together. I felt the instant tremble in my resolve to stay angry at him. "I only have today off."
What resolve, anyway. "Okay."
That night, as he slept beside me, an arm tucked around my waist, I wondered if I was a pushover.
For me to see it with my own eyes might have been what I needed.
I stood frozen by the door, shell-shocked. What was there to do? What was there to say?
His eyes widened the moment he saw me, then he pushed her away, back of his hand wiping over his mouth. The move jerked me back to reality.
Disbelief, anger, hurt and betrayal mixed up in one ugly mess in my chest. I felt the hatred rise and I didn't even think of quelling it. I wasn't one to directly confront people when it can be done with just us.
But I wanted to hurt him. Badly. For betraying me.
Because I felt that, I did the most sensible thing I could think of. I turned around and left hurriedly.
He had the nerve to show up on my doorstep.
"Leave." I spat, then tried to slam the door on his face. But his hand shot out faster.
"Let me explain --"
"I don't want to hear it!"
When he grabbed my wrist, I could not hold it back anymore. I striked out and hurled a punch at him. It was a dangerous move. I was never the type to act violently. And in his line of work, his face was an important factor.
The pain singed straight up my arm, making me stumble back and curse. I turned around, cradling my hand. Only then did I realize I was crying. I stopped by the couch, leaning against it as I tried to control myself.
"Are you hurt?"
I shrugged off the hand that touched my arm. "I'm fine. Just leave already."
"You're not fine. Let me see it."
I was about to shout at him when he forced me around. But the urge disappeared when I saw him.
"Oh my god, you're bleeding!"
There was blood on his chin, and it looked like he tried to wipe it away. I reached out to touch him, only to see my own hand shaking badly. I cursed softly and took it back.
Much to my irritation, he laughed. Then held my hand that was still pulsing in slight pain. "You've got a pretty good hand." He murmured, massaging my arm. "You pack a punch."
I scowled. "You should be more concerned about yourself."
"What's a blow or two to a guy's face?" His hands were gentle as he moved them over my arm. I noticed the pain beginning to dissipate but I didn't take my eyes off him. I couldn't.
He was gazing intently at my arm, head bowed almost submissively. His fingers felt rough on my skin, but I was used to them. It was a proof of his hard work throughout the years of training. His face was lined with worry and fatigue. The line of blood on his chin looked a little ridiculous.
I wiped it away before I could stop myself. His hands paused when my thumb grazed over his lip lightly. It got busted with my punch.
When he looked up, I took back both my hands and shifted my attention away. "You should get that fixed." I murmured before turning around.
He caught me in his arms before I could really move away. "I'm sorry." He murmured, pressing his face at the crook of my neck. His breath was warm on my skin. "I'm so sorry."
My resolve threatened to crumble. It was painful to hear him so broken and apologetic. I never saw him as the type to be either. But then, did I even really know him?
"Go home." I said. "Just go home already."
"No, please!" His grip tightened around me when I tried to step away. "It was you all this time."
I froze but didn't say anything, waiting for what he had to tell me.
"She provoked me. Told me I was too dependent on you, that I wouldn't make it without you. I said you didn't control me. You never will. 'Cause you aren't the type to. And she challenged me to do something you'd despise. Because you didn't own me." His arms fell dejectedly but I remained rooted at the spot, refusing to comfort him.
"I was pissed. Her words affected me. So I did what I knew was wrong. I didn't think you'd see. I thought I could forget after but I was wrong."
I heard a small sound from behind me and I turned around to see he had fallen to his knees. The wall I forcibly built around me cracked in several places, chunks falling as I watched him. Why he wanted to reach this pont is beyond me. He could have anyone else but he was still here, begging to be forgiven.
Why? Why is he doing this?
"I'm sorry." He whispered. His hands fisted on his lap. "But it was you I thought of when I kissed her. Saw you. Smelled you. Felt you. And I realized," his fists opened, "what was wrong with that."
If I was a fool for anything, it would be for him. He knew me too much; sometimes I wonder if I gave myself away too easily. What was I to do then, with him kneeling before me, head hanging? The most dejected I've seen of him.
"Get up." I grabbed his arm and hauled him up. He towered over me, tall and handsome. I don't deserve him.
"You never," I hit him on the chest with my fist, "kneel or beg before anyone."
His eyes widened but he didn't say anything.
I hit him. "You hear me? You don't do that to anyone."
"I --"
"No." I interjected. "You don't. You are better than that." I backhanded his arm. "You kneel to no one."
He nodded, conceding.
Then when he stepped forward, I closed the distance. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he locked his around my torso. When our mouths met, I sighed.
I was a fool for him, alright. But who wasn't a fool when in love?
-END-