Broken ✔

Chapter Twelve

Song: CCTV — King Promise ft. Mugeez

**Unedited**

"No one else is having a drink, by the way," Michael warned, feeling the need to inform us. "I refuse to go out with a bunch of drunk teens."

"Geez Mike, you're talking like we're a couple of addicts. We drink wisely you know?"

Michael ignored them and inched his way back to me. "I have a surprise for you later tonight."

I smiled and nodded, feeling a burst of euphoria exploding through me. I didn't know whether it was the alcohol or the anticipation of what was to come. It was probably because he'd forgiven me so quickly and easily.

"You're not going to ask?" He quizzed, looking a bit disappointed.

I could bet my soul that he wanted us to play that stupid game where I keep begging him to reveal the surprise and he keeps refusing, smiling because he was the one with a secret.

"Nope. Do you understand the word 'surprise'?" I joked, laughing when he frowned.

"If you keep annoying me, I'm going to throw you out of the car."

"Oh no! Please, what must I do to prevent such a calamity?" I lamented, sarcastically of course.

"I won't talk to you," he crossed his arms and looked out the window, glaring at them when he remembered that they were tinted. And he calls me cute.

I rolled my eyes and the next few minutes were spent imploring him to tell me what the surprise was and him refusing and seizing the opportunity to continuously pinch my cheeks.

Even though it was a useless and stupid interaction, it made me realise how sensitive my body was next to his. The thoughts that were running through my mind scared and shocked me. Turns out I wasn't the innocent girl I thought I was.

We ended up going to Papaye. The branch we went to was quite filled and even though it was a laidback restaurant, Michael somehow managed to have a table waiting for him.

"So none of you are ordering anything, we're all having fried rice with grilled chicken. Capiche?" Jake said.

"Do you want fried rice and grilled chicken?" Michael asked me. "You can have burgers or potato chips."

It was like he didn't know how much I detested foreign food. Actually, he didn't. I nearly sighed out loud. We'd changed. By the time I knew him like I knew the back of my palm, he was just a kid. He'd changed. I'd changed. We shouldn't be getting married. We didn't know each other.

"Fried rice is fine, thank you," I smiled, but the nagging voice at the back of my mind kept reminding me that I shouldn't be getting married on the thirtieth day of the next year, no matter how badly I wanted to make love to him.

I stole a glance at his freshly shaved face and felt butterflies in my tummy when he smiled, revealing his pearly whites. He and Jake were arguing about something trivial, Linda was rolling her eyes and tapping her phone, which meant no eyes were on me.

I studied his beautiful profile, all the while feeling the oil sloshing in my belly. He was so beautiful, but that didn't mean we should get married. Marriage was so much more than just attraction.

I sighed and turned away. For those few minutes that I consumed the amazing food and laughed with those amazing people — except Linda — I forgot about the sea of guilt that was filling my stomach. I forgot about all my problems and I forgot planning how I was going to tell Michael that I couldn't marry him.