"Ready milady?" Damien's voice snapped me out of my typhoon of angry thoughts. Looking up at him, back into those green pools, I felt an irritation surge through me as I steadied myself, creating as much distance as I could between us.
"I already answered that question in French and I still have the same answer: Not. With. You."
Pushing past him, I slowly walked ahead of him but could feel his presence behind me.
"You still have no idea where you're going though May," he whispered into my ear, causing it to tickle slightly.
Swatting his face away with the back of my hand, I replied, "I'm pretty sure I can ask someone else. You're not the only 'friendly' person in this school. If not that, I can guess my way around."
"Turn right here," he said, laughter so evident in his voice. Glaring at him over my shoulder, I sharply swerved to the direction he'd indicated and started ascending the stairs. One question bothered me so much, the question that caused the revulsion I had towards this hormonal teenage boy.
"Why do you even like me?" I hissed, frustration leaking into my voice. Damien smiled and shrugged, now appearing by my side as he tried to lead the way through the twists and turns of the staircase.
"You're different," he answered, simply.
Snorting, I thought to myself: what a typical reply.
But Damien's line had no effect on me. I'd heard it so much in the movies, read it in melodramatic teenage love stories. Everytime, the heroine would just swoon so easily for the protagonist saying it. But it never worked with me.
Seeing this though, Damien's grin widened. "Why do you ask?"
"Any girl, stuck with a pest like you, would," I spat back. His smile didn't falter as his expression stayed glued to his face, joyful as ever. Lightly holding my elbow, he steered me to the left as we entered a new hallway. Only two doors away, a plate stuck to the door read: French
We were here. Finally, some peace. Or so I thought...