"Do you always get late everywhere you go?" Ethan asked me, dumping my bag in the backseat of the car and helping me into the seat almost as if it was a natural thing. I had to force myself to not act all awkward.

After school had ended, I visited Molly, who did some mumbo-jumbo-massage-thing to my ankle, wrapped it up again, and promised that it wouldn't take more than a couple of days to heal. I wasn't surprised because all the years I spent falling and breaking bones had given me the ability to recover a lot faster than should be possible. Mom said that wasn't correct, but I honestly didn't believe her, even though she was the one with a medical degree. I liked to think that all the time I broke my bones was at least paying off in some form. Molly had taken up a lot of time, and after that, I had to visit Horry - who first got mad at me for missing training in the morning, then saw my wrapped-up ankle and got red in the face and shouted at me for being a "careless girl with a loose screw in her brain", then got even redder in the face until his bald-patch was glowing brighter than Christmas lights when he found out about the one-week detention, and stormed off to the principal's office to have "words" with him about how no one was going to make his players sit around in a class room to waste time. Needless to say, I didn't have to worry about detention anymore. But then what I did have to worry about was the punishment Horry would put me through for coming late (he hated tardiness) - fifty laps around the ground for an entire month, having to run up the stairs every day for the year, eating the diet suggested by Horry my whole life until the merciful release of death. Anything. Anything was possible with Horry.

With all that, I'd made Ethan wait nearly forty-five minutes, according to him. How long he had to wait didn't bother me as much as where he chose to wait - at the end of the street, where he could hide from all the school kids coming out after the day. I had to walk all the way out of the school, and to the end of the street, just to get to him. Obviously, if he was making a girl with a bad leg walk everywhere, he should expect to have to wait at least forty-five minutes. "Not if I don't have to hop everywhere," I retorted, leaning back on the seat.

He frowned at me. "So you're telling me it took you forty-five minutes to get here after class? Or did you get side-tracked?"

I shrugged. "Had to visit the nurse for my ankle, then Horry to get out of detention. Having to hop around didn't help."

"Why did you get detention?" He was still frowning at me, sounding a little too patronizing for my liking. The only people allowed to patronize me were mom, Preston and Horry. Mom because she was mom, Horry because he could get me out of detention and Preston because he could look fierce even in a pink frock.

"They're fun, you know? I mean, who doesn't like a good old detention. And there's an added benefit of meeting Horry. His company is very enjoyable, especially when he's glowing brighter than your brains are right now."

He stared at me blankly. "Huh?"

I rolled my eyes. "I was late, remember? If only you had picked me up on time in the morning, I wouldn't have gotten a detention."

His eyes widened. "Excuse me? Did you ju-"

I cut him of before he could go all justifiably annoyed, laughing. "I'm just kidding, okay? Lighten up a little."

He snorted. "I would if I saw something bright in front of me." He glared at me pointedly.

I smiled. "Does that mean you're blind? No wonder you're terrible at driving. You should've told me before."

He groaned. "Why did I agree to act as your chauffeur, again?"

"Because you couldn't say no to a sweet little girl like me."

"'Sweet little' indeed. Why don't you try the 'devil's curse to the earth'? Would be more accurate," he muttered, starting up the car and nearly running over a small kid crossing the road, proving my statement right.

-----------------------------------------------

"So . . . you won't change your answer even if I offer you all the chocolate in the world?" I asked Ethan for the fifteenth time, unable to believe it. The whole car ride from school to home had consisted of me and Ethan arguing about Nickleback, until I asked him to name a song by them. Apparently, his favourite song by Nickleback was Let it Be, which would have been a great if Let it Be was by Nickleback - but it wasn't. It was by the Beatles. The freaking Beatles! How the fuck does anyone get Nickleback mixed with the Beatles! After a little more severe questioning, it turned out that Ethan didn't even like music.

"I don't like sound," he'd said. "Any sound when I'm working just gets irritating, so I don't listen to music when I'm doing anything important. It's just once in a blue moon when I'm in the mood that I play a song or two, and listen to Nickleback - sorry, Beatles. Most of the time, music feels like an annoying fly near my head. A little like you, now that I think of it."

I'd glared at him, ignoring the obvious insult. "You don't like music?"

He shook his head. "No." And that was the end of it. He wouldn't change his answer, even when I'd threatened to steal his car. He just wouldn't.

"No, I wouldn't. And what does chocolate have anything to do with it?" he said, answering my question.

"But you sounded so sure about not liking pop music!" I protested.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Because I really do hate it."

"And you said you liked rock. The Beatles don't do rock," I whined.

He looked a little puzzled. "They don't? I thought they did. A friend of mine said that. He probably didn't know." He shrugged again, as though it didn't matter.

I hit my forehead with my palm in frustration. He smirked at me. "Don't do that. You might lose your brain cells. You don't have many as it is."

"Oh shut up! How can you not like music."  

"I just don't, okay? Can you let it go? I have stuff to do after dropping you," he said, softening his tone into a sigh.

"No! I want an explanation!" I argued, acting no more mature than a five-year-old.

He shook his head. "I need to go, alright? We'll talk about this later."

"No!"

He glared at me. I glared at him. He frowned, took a deep breath and shook his head. Something dark passed in his eyes, the beginning of a thunderstorm, and just like that, all the humour in his expression melted away like wax, replaced by a tight, barely-held-together smile. "Maybe it has something to do with the music that dad loved to play whenever he came into my room. But then, I can't be sure, can I?"

I felt like I'd been slapped on my face. Slapped, punched on my mouth, kicked to the ground and run over by a truck. Or at least wished I would for being so damn insensitive. What the fuck is wrong with you? It was always like this, I would talk to him, remind him of a bad memory, then he would either run away or kick me out. I really wished I could keep my mouth shut. He was like a minefield. You take one wrong step, and he would burst. "Ethan . . . I'm so-"

"Don't. Forget it. Just get out.

I shook my head. "I'm so-"

"Just get out. I don't want to talk."

But I did. "No." I sounded so firm and mature that I suddenly wanted to pat myself on the back. I decided to save that for later.

He turned on me like an angry cat. "No? This is my car."

"I don't give a shit."

"Well, I do! You can't just keep sitting there when I tell you to get out!" He was losing his temper again. I wouldn't be surprised if he actually punched my face.

"Watch me!" Turning away from him, I folded my arms across my chest stubbornly and glared at the road ahead of us. I am stone, I told myself, I will not move even if the strongest winds try to knock me down. But then I'd probably have to get down if he decided to literally kick me out.

I heard him take a loud harsh breath. "What do you want?" Each word was laced with frustration and . . . desperation to get out of this situation.

I peeked at him from the corner of my eyes. He was glaring at the steering wheel with enough intensity to burn holes through it and I wouldn't have been surprised if the whole car had burst into flames. When it didn't even after I waited to the edge of my patience (which frankly speaking wasn't much to begin with), I spoke, "I want you to stop hiding."

"Hiding? You want me to stop hiding? Why? From what? You? So that you can feel sorry for me after I tell you a fucking sob story?" he spit at me like a viper, full of spite, eyes bright with anger.

I refused to look at him or raise up to the bait and argue with him. That's not how you deal with a person who was hurt by people. He had enough idiots to deal with in life, he didn't need another. At least, I hoped so. I wasn't exactly experienced in this field. "Is that what worries you? That someone might feel sorry for what you've been through? Or is it that you don't trust people to understand you? That they'll take take it all lightly?"

Silence. Utter silence ensued between us. A loud motorbike passed the car, making the magnified sound of a cat chocking on a hair ball, then it was quiet again. If the silence wasn't the proof of the truth of my words, I didn't know what was. Making a false accusations against Ethan always warranted a strong retort, but now that the truth was out in the open, he couldn't argue with it. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't disagree. Unlike me, he was a shitty, shitty liar. He sighed softly, breaking the silence. Sadness seemed to come over him in a sudden wave. He slumped a little on the seat. Then sighed again. "It's a bit of both, I guess. They either don't believe me, or feel sorry for me, or they're disgusted. Disgust and pity are the worst. Like it was all my fault. Or like I deserved some special treatment."

I bit the inside of my cheek, tearing away the skin and nearly drawing blood. I wanted to hug him, but I didn't think he'd appreciate it. Just like music, he detested physical affection of any sort. Either the after-effects of a bad relationship or the terrible side-effect of being physically abused on a regular basis. I wished I could get my hands on both these people and show them how hard I could punch. Maybe not hard enough to knock the stupidity out of them, but just enough to feel satisfied with myself for doing social service. "Ethan . . ." I bit my cheek harder. "I'm a girl who enjoys pepperoni-and-chocolate pizza with extra cheese. How do you think I would ever be disgusted with you for having a traumatic experience in your life? Whatever it is, I would never blame you for something you didn't do. And even if you are to blame, I would never be disgusted with you. That'll be like blaming a victim, being disgusted with a victim. And you are a victim. Anyone with half a brain can tell. And I like to believe I have a full one." I wrinkled my nose at the taste of blood on my tongue, and stopped demolishing my cheek.

He clenched his hands and pressed his fists against the steering wheel. I could hear him breathe. That forlorn expression on his face didn't help my urge to hug him. "I don't want your sympathy either." So sad, so lonely, so hurt. Head down in defeat. No wonder he turned to drugs to make him happy.

"It's okay to feel weak sometimes. And I'm human. How do you think I won't have sympathy for you? I'd be a monster if I didn't. And you're human too. You'd be an idiot if you didn't want some affection after so much pain." Maybe you should become a psychologist. You're way too good at talking and getting nothing done. I ignored my bitchy, usually right, sarcastic side, and focused on Ethan, who seemed to be fixed in one position.

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaned back and relaxed his clenched fists. Somehow, he didn't look as sad or lonely as he had before. "You're terrible. I've spent a long time telling myself that I don't want people feeling sorry for me, but you just sit here saying 'hey Ethan, you're an idiot for not wanting sympathy. Maybe you should stop feeling sorry for yourself and let others do it for you.' And I can't help but think you're right." He looked at me with his bright, grey eyes that reminded of the clear sky after a storm, a small smile on his lips seemed too small to represent the brightness on his face. "Maybe I'm going to do that. Let other people do it for me." He shook his head, still smiling. "Not right now, but soon."

I blinked in surprise at the sudden change, grinned at him slowly, then unable to help myself, reached out and petted him on the head like a dog. "That's my boy! You keep this up, and I'll even stop calling you Mr. Grumpy!"

He pushed my hand away, forcing down a laugh. "Shut up. Do you think I didn't notice that you said 'chocolate-and-pepperoni pizza? What the hell is that? I don't think I've ever heard of something more gross!"

I laughed at him. "Trust me, the pizza is amazing. Especially with extra cheese. In fact, I think we should go get it, to celebrate you not literally kicking me out of the car."

He tilted his head to a side, staring at me thoughtfully. "If I refuse, are you going to throw a tantrum?"

"Worse. I might decide to egg your car tonight."

"One of these days, I'll disappear, never to be seen. And it'll all be because of you," he said, but in such a playful tone that I couldn't help but laugh again.

"Don't worry. I'll chase you down. For all I know, you will be hiding in McDonalds."

Author's note: Hello! Thank you so much for reading. I'm so sorry for the late update, it's just that I've been feeling a little down-in-dumps lately (nothing to do with wattpad), and couldn't write for shit. Anyway, as of now, this book reached 1.1k reads! Can you believe it? I can't! It happened so suddenly, and all I could think was how fast it happened! It's 1.1k! Do you what that means? It means 1100 (one thousand and one hundred - written in words because numbers suck sometimes)! Seriously, this is too good to be true! Thank you so much again! :)

By the way, don't forget to let me know what you think!

*Were any of the scenes forced?
*Did it move too fast?
*Is Em too immature to be 18?
*The scene with Em and Ethan, could it have been better? If so, how?                                                                     *Should I describe it better? What parts?

Please let me know, I never turn down advice or criticism! :)

Thanks for reading! :)

Cyan.  

The song above is for Ethan (I know it's ironic). But I really love it, so I thought I would put it up. Let me know if you have a more appropriate song!