[High school romance]
Bad girl x good boy
"Don't be shy, Boris. If you want me to do something, to do something to you, to touch you the certain way or something else, you should just ask and I'm gladly going to do it. But don't be shy and embarrass...
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I put my bag on the floor as I close the door of my bedroom. I unzip my sweatshirt and take off my sweaty T-shirt. I take clean clothes and head to the bathroom. Before I step into it, I hear my parents' moans coming from their room.
"M-marko, mislim da je Boris došao." (M-marko, I think that Boris came.)
"Dobro, pa šta?", my dad breathes out heavily, "može sve sam. Opusti se. Blizu sam." (Okay, so? He can do everything alone. Relax. I'm close.)
I roll my eyes and groan, stepping into the bathroom.
I take off the hairband from my messy hair. A lot of people say that I look like a girl with these curls and this hairband. Sometimes I was anxious, and I would get a haircut, but I ended up looking way worse. Short hair is just not for me, it doesn't suit me at all. Longer hair does. My curls love me and I love them. So, I don't care if I actually look like a girl.
I remember that once, one girl told in my old school told me that she'd love to have curly hair like me. I don't know why that to me didn't sound like a compliment, maybe because of all the insults I heard about my hair, but I took it as if it was, and thanked her, while she giggled and left with her friends.
I wasn't really the victim of bullying, but there were times when kids were mean to me. And I don't exactly know why are their insults crossing my mind right now. But I guess, we never forget bad things as we do good ones.
Whenever I play tennis I have to collect my hair somehow, because it bothers me and it gets sweaty really fast. So, I'd be always collecting it into a ponytail or a bun. My mom told me that I looked cute and sometimes she'd help me calm down my wild curls. She was the one who helped me find the right shampoo, conditioner, and other stuff for styling the wild hair of mine. I glance at my products and smile. If any girl could see them she'd be shocked, and never in a million years guessed that they belong to a guy.
I know you don't care about my hair routine, and don't worry I didn't want to describe it to you.
The insults that were told by my tennis mates, appear in my ears, echoing.
Oh, look at our girl! Her bun is so cute!
Why don't you try braiding your hair? I bet it'd look cute.
Or just straighten it, other would add.
After those insults would be spoken, I would run to my house, leaving my practice and lock in my room. My mom tried to talk to me, but I didn't want to. Then she found another key and entered the room, finding me in tears. A boy in tears. A boy with curly hair that resembles a girl's in tears. How pathetic. I begged her to take me to a hairdresser, and she tried her best to convince me how my hair was nice and how I shouldn't care about those kreteni (jerks) who said that it didn't look good. My dad was the one who told her to let me do what I wanted. He said: if he wants to show them that they got him and succeeded in hurting him, then let him do it. Even if he cuts his hair they won't stop teasing him. No, they will realize that they are winning in that sick game of theirs and that Boris cares about their idiotic comments.
