Subject Me To Life [Book One] ✔️ *EDITING*

Chapter Nine

*Not edited* Not proofread*

Chapter 9– The hangout; part 2:

        I don't want to be here. I really, really don't want to fucking be here. However, when Jace had messaged me asking if everything was okay, I told him what had happened and he insisted that I stayed at the Hangout with everyone else. He claimed that, this is what 'normal kids my age' do. I don't see the hype about spending my Saturday night at a bar for teenage kids, eating stale peanuts and listening to shitty music with people I don't even fucking like, but apparently it would help me blend in and draw less attention to myself, so that's what I do.

        "I like your tee-shirt," Lilah compliments as she sits opposite me, a drink in her hand as she slurps it through the straw. I want to take the plastic object and stick it through her eye, but I just ignore her instead. It's a plain white top, I don't know what there is to like about it. Perhaps the whiteness? I look around the room again, the side of my head resting on my open palm. I'm bored out of my fucking mind. "You have nice eyes."

        I sigh loudly, "Okay, what do you want Lilah?" I raise an eyebrow at the redhead. She has been complimenting me for the past half an hour, and I have no fucking clue why. It's getting on my fucking nerves, though.

        She shrugs, "Nothing. I just wanted you to know that you have nice eyes."

        I purse my lips and nod as I stare at her. She picks up her straw again and chews on it. "You also wanted me to know that you like the colour of my hair, you think I have nice teeth, you said my breath smelt of strawberries, my tattoos are beautifully artistic, and I have very feminine hands." She blushes. "So what do you want?"

        She rolls her brown eyes at me, "Why do you think I want something?"

        I scoff, as if it wasn't obvious. "People are only nice when they want something," I explain, fiddling with a round paper thing that people seem to be using to rest their drinks upon. "So drop the fucking act and just tell me what you want."

        Lilah looks down at the table, a tinge of pink coating her pale skin, her ginger hair falling like curtains around her face. "I just wanted to ask whether you wanted to stay at my house tonight."

        I nearly choke on my tongue as the words come out her mouth, having not expected it. Immediately I shake my head. "No fucking way," I blurt out almost instantly. Lilah looks a little hurt but I don't feel one ounce out of guilt. I haven't even known her a whole week and she wants me to stay at her house, for the whole fucking night? Not going to happen. Ever.

        "Why not?" She pouts, her hazel eyes seeming bigger than they already are. "We're friends."

        I shake my head again, "No we're not, and we won't ever be friends, Lilah. Stop pushing it so fucking hard," I snap. Honestly, I'm getting pissed off with her constant nagging. I don't want friends, why can't she understand that?

        "Yes we will be," she retorts stubbornly. "Just look at Dakota. He was exactly like you, and look at him now, he's my bestfriend."

        I'm getting sick and tired of the fucking comparisons between that blonde headed fuck and me. Me and Dakota are nothing alike. Perhaps we both have attitude problems, maybe talking isn't our thing, and there's a chance that we both like to keep our secrets a secret and our pasts in the past, but that doesn't mean shit. She needs to stop acting like she fucking knows me— she doesn't.