The Girl Who Never Acts Like One

Chapter fourteen: The Boy With Hazel Brown Eyes

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Thunder and lightning roared and roared more loudly than ever, like two white tigers clawing at each other, taking each other’s livers out. (Yuck. Gross.) 

 Rhainne pasted her nose on the car’s windows, and looked up. The dusk-supposed-to-be skies, turned very black, as black as a squid’s black yummy (when cooked into something yummy. Yum.) squirt. Oh, how her stomach grumbled at the thought of such yummy fried squid dish. She no longer care if she’s allergic to such food (she’s allergic to almost all kinds of VERY YUMMY foods such as chocolate, chicken crab, lobster, egg, etc.) and get stupid itchy rash-like things between her eyebrows and eyelashes. As long as she could eat…eat…eat and eat.

DAMN. Why in the first place, should they be trapped in this stupid knee length flood and long traffic? Their car definitely, can’t cross the road properly anymore. 

And she’ll stuck with this bastard, for another set of hours, if this continues to happen. 

Grrrr, her stomach grumbled again. She hold unto it tight. Right now, she haven’t taken any dinner yet. And that’s. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! 

Speaking of dinner. How must’ve been her mother doing, right now? Before she left, she seriously promised her that she would cook dinner for both of them, but now, thanks to this damn typhoon, she can’t do that anymore. They can’t eat dinner together, and right after attend mass in the nearby church, just like what they always do every Sundays. 

She put her mother’s hopes down.

She glanced at Ian, “My phone is lowbat, as in black screen. So, could I borrow your phone for awhile? I need to call my Mama. She doesn’t like it when I arrive home late.”

Instantly, from his pockets, he threw his phone out, and landed it—sure ball—on her ready, outstretched hands, his look, obviously not caring, his eyes just bored on the other car’s bumper ahead them. He didn’t make further comments. Of course, what would you expect from a spoiled, rich, self-centered brat? 

Rhainne stared at him. In disbelief. Debating to whether she should utter a thank you or not. But in the end, she did end up thanking him, though something like…is he deaf or what?

With a shook of her head, she dialled her mother’s number, putting the phone to her ear. The rings began.

“Seriously, you simply regard things that easily? Just catch and throw, like that?,” she asked Ian, an eyebrow raised, as the rings continued…to what seemed like endlessly.

“My uncle gave that phone anyway,” he explained dumbly as though that was the complete obvious, “Why? You seem not to take any regard of yourself either,” and he looked straight at her chest, where—damn, is he really a pervert?!—Rhainne’s bra could be evidently seen, due to the water that soaked unto her shirt so badly.

 Her bra is pink. A push-up one…to lift her cap B (in adult size) to cap C (in teen size) boobs. Or else, it’ll end up sagging like an enderly grandma’s boobs.

Rhainne quickly covered her hands over her breasts, reddening, curling into a ball. What the hell?!

Ian’s eyes travelled further down to her down…and legs.

Is he seriously being a pervert?, Rhainne thought.

“You even bruised your knee like a kindergarten. Is that your way of taking regard to yourself?,” he asked, a fake look of innocence on his face.

Rhainne let out a big exhalation from her lungs despite of the temptation to kick this bastard on his groin again, like before. What a relief. She seriously thought that this bastard was being a total pervert, like looking at something on her…which shouldn’t be looked.