Dead Hearts

Chapter 7 - Reckless and Jealous

HELLO CHAPTER SEVEN IS NOW UP PLEASE SAY SOMETHING OUT THERE IS THIS GOOD DO YOU LIKE IT TALK TO ME I DON'T BITE PLEASE ???

THANK 

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Chapter 7

Mara

Then

We walked into the pizza restaurant, Aiden’s eyebrows furrowed in deep thought and my triumphant smirk spread proudly across my face.

That’s right. I was fearless and brave and wild. I’m showing this douche face who the boss is. He obviously doesn’t trust me either, so why should I? Exactly.

I almost even high-fived myself. I could not get over how brilliant my thinking had been up to now.

We were already sitting down, staring at the pizza types we could get.

I was just thinking about how I should probably get a job here for summer, when Aiden cleared his throat.

I turned my head from the menu and looked up at him.

“So.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“What do you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, what makes you happy? What floats your boat? What do you love?”

I stared at him, my eyebrows raised in surprise.

Might as well.

“Well… There are many things I really like…” I generalized this as much as I could. I didn’t want him to know anything about me. The less he knew, the better.

He raised his perfectly scarred eyebrow, quietly urging me to continue.

I managed a half forced smile.

“Well… I like music a lot. And I like running, even though I’m really slow.”

“Which music do you like?”

“Which kind of music DON’T I like?” I retorted, smiling now.

“I like Young The Giant. I also like FUN. I like Daughter too, and Taylor Swift is a pretty sick songwriter.”

He stared at me, the space between his eyebrows in the middle of his forehead wrinkling.

“I mean, I like a lot of different stuff,” I rambled on. “Daughter is amazing. But so is Young The Giant, and then Taylor makes all these beautifully tragic songs, and there’s also this David Bowie song and Whitney Houston is incredible and-”

I was out of breath, I was talking so fast, and Aiden laughed at my red, puffy face.

“This is the longest conversation we have ever had.”

He said it like he was really serious, so I took his word for it, and looked at him.

“No, it’s not. The longest conversation we have is the rooftop one.”

He looked hurt now.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m sorry.”

It came out silently, and I wondered at his choice of words. What was he to be sorry for?

“What for?”

“Nothing.”

His face said enough. He cut me off, turning his head sideways, looking at something seemingly more interesting than me.