"You're beginning to sound like the person you vowed never to become."
This is the story where one wrong decision leads to a dozen of others. Even if Scarlett tries to compensate for everything she's done, it all spirals downward.
author's note: as a form of gratitude for reaching 600 followers, i come bearing gifts. the other chapter will be posted as soon as possible, once I come around finishing it. pleasevote and comment if you liked this one.
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08 : exulansis
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"Sometimes it seems safer to hold it all in,
where the only person who can judge is yourself."
- Sarah Dessen
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exulansis (n):
the tendency to give up trying to talk about
an experience because people are unable to relate to it.
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AS THE GUY RELEASED HIS SHIRT from his grip, I caught a sliver of his face. It was just about enough for me to come to a realisation that I knew who he was. I felt as my breath had hitched in my throat, with reasons not yet set in stone. Had I not met him, I would've said he looked enthralling – in terms of facial features anyway — and wholly driven by a sense of passion.
He then juggled the soccer ball from his left foot and then to his right. The oscillating movement caused me to feel marginally unsteady, only because he had been going way too speedily and dexterously.
It was quite beyond me how he could do freestyle kicks, but by the way his attention never deviated from the ball rebounding midair made me come into an inference that, perchance, he had been inculcated his whole life.
While he caught the ball with his right knee, Giselle had jostled her elbow to my rib rather friskily. It was enough, and just about effective to draw my engrossment away from him.
"Love at first sight, huh?" she badgered with a flippant tone, patting herself in the back. "I'm such a fucking great matchmaker,"
"Not exactly," I rolled my eyes, prodding her shoulder rather impishly. "This isn't even the first time I've seen him."
She knitted her eyebrows together at my remark, blinking at me in perplexity. "Does that mean...you know him?"
Only to bristle her even more, I echoed my former comment. "Not exactly,"
I flicked a furtive glance at him as he punted the ball as soon as it flew right out of his friend's hand. Without a second's hesitation, it shot straight through the goal, the net protruding as the ball rammed through it. Even for someone who glossed over whatsoever that coupled with sports, I knew he was much more than the front he put up so faintly.
