Spring Rain: Of Injuries and a Thousand Truths

She wasn’t one to be caught with mister I’m-so-tough here, but all misfortunes must’ve decided to go her way today when the heavy downpour greeted her as she was stepping out of his household.

What she was doing there was a question she would rather not answer. 

They came from a Lacrosse session and he came down with an ankle injury, so their coach asked her if she would kindly, though not gladly, bring him home since his parents are not there and his nearest neighbor who apparently had a key to their house was her mother.

She swore she saw a smug smirk on his lips when she was forced to agree. On the other hand, she heard just the faint ghost of cheers from her friends who insisted that she looked great with Mister Bad Boy there.

“Why don’t you come inside? Or, you know, maybe walk five blocks through pouring rain? Who cares?” he said, standing by the door way as he watched her observe the rain on their front lawn.

He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his clothes now changed from Lacrosse practice uniform to his casual home bearings. She rolled her eyes.

“Why, in your unbearable kindness, won’t you lend me an umbrella?” she asked, turning to face him.

He shook his head before answering her. “No, I insist you stay. The winds are strong. Who knows, if I let you, maybe you’d find Oz.”

Wow, she thought. The big gorilla actually really cared about her. Would she, or would she not take his offer?

Maybe put up a little fight for her own amusement, just to see if the equally brutal, equally egotistical boy would fight.

“I’ll shake up your house just to find anything that will sufficiently shield me from the rain,” she said, storming inside, doing just what she had said. She looked inside the cupboards and inside cabinets like it was her own house.

He followed her around, looking at how persistent she was with her own words. He smiled at it because he honestly thought it was cute having her barging around his territory.

“Somehow, soon enough, you’re going to find out that my parents only own three umbrellas,” he said, leaning against the kitchen’s door frame as he watched her look inside kitchen cabinets. “Two of which are with them at the current moment, and one is in the basement. We like to feed them, rats, umbrellas every so often.”

She stood slowly, puffing out an exhale and turned to look at him with a smirk.

“Fine then,” she said, “I’m going to find that umbrella.”

She walked past him, making sure she nudged the injured ankle he was merely supporting.

He, in an honest turn, gasped in pain, but nevertheless, followed her downstairs. Surprisingly, though, she found the basement door and slid in.

She crinkled her nose at the stale stench of the concrete basement. 

“Is this where you sleep?” she asked, “Because I can smell your scent here.”

“Oh cute,” he returned, “you know how I smell. Isn’t that sweet, darling?”

She chuckled at his sarcasm. Then, spotting a bright yellow thing on top of a dysfunctional refrigerator, she let out a scoff and walked to pick it up, only to realize that she had just stepped on a part of the floor where the house rats take a poo. 

She grumbled. She really wasn’t one to complain, but she was just too frustrated that this happened… in front of him. 

So, she closed her eyes and expected an all-out evil laugh to erupt from his vocal chords, but instead, she felt hands under her knees and on her shoulders, sweeping her off entirely from the ground.

She heard a grunt and opened her eyes to protest, but was cut off short by his words.

“Can’t have you walking around the house with poo under your soles,” he said, breathing heavily.

All surprises were revealed, but one stayed with her. It was the moment of pure shock that she found herself unable to fight him with words like she used to do. Was it because he was injured, but he still carried her like she was paper? Or was it because his scent, contrary to her own words, weren’t as foul as the basement?

“Your ankle—”

“Never mind that,” he interjected. “Besides, you like this, don’t you… princess?”

“Shut up,” she said, still pondering on her inability.

He set her down on the couch and he, quite surprisingly, took her shoes off and set it on a rag near the door. He, then, returned and sat beside her.

The rain was still on its crazily heavy mood, so much so that it was the rolling thunders and the lightning that set her off. As much as she loved the rain, she hated the ferocity of the currents it brings.

He must’ve felt her shudder as the thunder crackled, because he shifted on his seat to give her more space.

“Tell me if you need anything,” he said in a whisper barely audible. But, she heard it alright.

That was what made her shoot him a look of skepticism and disgust.

“I should be the one telling you that,” she said, shifting so that she faced him and crossed her legs on the sofa. “And I should be telling you one more thing: I hate you.”

“Yeah?” he said, biting words ready on his tongue. “Well, I could never hate you any more than I hate you right now.”

“I hate your guts.”

He has a lot of those, by the way.

“Well, I hate your face,” he shot back.

But, it’s beautiful.

“I hate your whole existence.”

“I hate your hair.”

“I hate your eyes.”

“Who would love those outfits you wear?”

“I hate your voice.”

“I hate…” he was put on pause as he looked at her lips. He was meant to make a comment about them, but he can’t lie anymore. The look of exhilaration on her face made her look like she’s going to bite, but it makes her more sexy.

“What’s the matter, big boy?” she said, and she did not know what effect it gave on him. “Ran out of smart words?”

But, it was then that he was so quick she almost didn’t feel his movement when he closed the gap between them with his lips on hers. She felt the impact.

She felt everything. From how lovely he felt against her face and how his breath tickled her cheeks to the trickle of current it sent down her spine.

For once, she was reminded of the warmth of kissing. And the exultation of being held.

Then, she pulled away, out of breath and dizzy. “What was that?”

It came out coarser than she had imagined.

“Guess what?” he said, smirking as he held her face again. “I don’t hate you at all.”

There was no point denying it, too. So she said:

“Well, guess what, too?”

“What?”

“Neither do I.”