I stood to one side of the hallway, waiting. Not because I wanted to, but because I had been asked to. Charr had stomped into my tiny room and said “He wants to see you,” and had marched out, with her hand attached to my collar. In other words, she hauled my sorry ass all the way into the medic ward, and left me here to wait. Now my neck hurt, and I felt clutzy. It wasn’t FoxFace (she wasn’t a he), but rather Conan who supposedly wanted to see me.
So I crossed my arms and waited. If I hadn’t almost killed the guy I wouldn’t still be here. But – I guess I owed it to him?
Anyways, I was there when Charr walked him out, half supporting him and half trying to murder me with her eyes.
“Hey,” I said, holding up a hand.
He managed to lift a hand, the other arm wrapped around his stomach, which was bandaged. He was wearing jeans, but no shirt. How did he still look good despite looking so sickish? I hated him more.
Charr planted him on the wall beside me, where he leaned on it with a grimace. Then she walked away with a scowl at me.
The minute the door to the stairs closed, Conan turned his attention to me. “So,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows. He continued “We’re doing this. Right here, right now. Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t,” I mumbled unconvincingly.
He shook his head. “There was five other vampires but you attacked me. Why? What have I done to you?”
I looked away, down the hall. Then I shook my head. “I don’t have to explain to you. First of all, there was three vampires, not five. Second, you were in the way. Happy? I’m done.” and I picked myself off the wall and began walkign away.
A hand on my shoulder – but I shrugged it off and kept going without looking back.
“Hey!” he called after me.
But that was it. I didn’t owe him anything else. Nope, no, his so-good-looking ass could manage fine without me.
I had a hand on the stairwell’s door when he grabbed me with his powers. It was like a giant vice over my entire body. Slowly, I began sliding backwards.
“You asshole!” I shouted, whirling around. He had one hand lifted and a smug look on his face. I stomped over to him, lifting a fist to his face. “Want me to try again?” I yelled.
He was nonplussed. As always. Where did he get that nerve from? Especially for someone who couldn’t fight! “You don’t like me,” he said. “But why?”
I shook my hands over his shoulders, resisting rattling him but that might hurt his stitches. “I don’t like you!” I said stupidly, but that was all I could manage that would make sense.
“Keep going,” he said too calmly. I wanted to punch him. Just to get a rise out of him.
“You’re so friggin’ irritating!” I snapped, shaking my hands in the air beside my shoulders, feeling ready to snap. “Just stay out of my face!”
That smug look turned smugger. “You like me,” he said nastily. I realized in a flash that he already knew it, and was just choosing now to wave it around.
So I punched him. So he fell. Big deal.
Uhm, well, I kind of felt guilty as he groaned on the floor. I stepped to his side and crouched down.
“You’re annoying,” I said half-heartedly.
He looked up at me, propped up on an elbow with the side of his face all red. “You’re such a jerk,” he said.
I snorted. “You’re the one who pulled me on, saying all ‘oh you like me’.” I quoted him in the most annoying pitch I could manage.
“You do,” he said sharply. “I can read it in you.”
I blanked. Oh, shit. “You can read minds?” It was my feeble attempt at changing topic.
“I control energy,” he said with a grimace as he sat up. “So I can read a few general signs. Like,” He brushed his hair from his face. “You like me. A lot.”
I looked away with a huff. “Alright. Now you’re just begging to be punched,” I said but there was no (hah!) punch to it.
His hand gripped my shoulder. “Help me up.”
I scowled at him. He looked back, unflinching. Rolling my eyes and cursing under my breath, I did actually help him up. He hissed, held his stomach, but got up.
“You know, you almost cut me in half,” he said.
“Still not sorry,” I said snarkily. “You talk too much.”
He laughed. His hand stayed on my shoulder. I looked at him. “You’ve got a girlfriend,” I said, not exactly un-jealous but certainly not, well, I was upset.
“We’re open,” he said in the way people do when they’re trying not to laugh at you. I gawked at him. He chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. Then he began making his way down the hallway, a hand on the wall.
I was rooted to the spot, brain trying to digest that. If he and her- did that mean -? I whirled around. “Hey!” I shouted at his retreating back. “What do want? I mean – what’s your point? Why did you?”
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t I talk too much?”
I cursed and stalked over to him. He smirked at me. I reached to rattle him, but stopped myself at the last moment. I pocketed my hands. “Why are you messing with me?” I snapped, putting on my best glare.
“I’m not,” he said. “But you’re the one throwing a tantrum.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Get over yourself,” I muttered.
“Or you could do that,” he said cheekily.
I flushed, angry and embarrassed all at the same time. “Okay, you – what do you want? You want to get me mad? Fine! I’m mad!”
“I actually didn’t want you mad; but that’s like, your default setting?”
I snorted and looked aside. Yeah, I was always upset these days. So what? Life wasn’t a cakewalk.
He patted me on the shoulder. I scowled at him. “Be less of a jerk,” he said sweetly. “And then maybe we can date. Okay?”
My jaw fell. He looked ready to laugh at me again. I fled, turning and darting away as fast as I could walk without running.