The Boy who blocked his own Shot

June 7, 2011
By Anonymous

His eyes are blue daggers, sharp and shining, played up by the sun’s rays perfectly. A cramp develops at the nape of my neck from the strain of looking up into his face. But I don’t look away, it’s this little game I play. I stretch the silence—just a little longer. I keep my gaze steady, resisting the urge to blink—I know I’m stronger.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice, like gravelly silk, breaks my reverie.

I take advantage of the break of this stalemate and blink, deliberately, slowly, letting my tear glands lubricate my eyes.

“I don‘t know what you‘re talking about.” I feign detached concern.

“I think you know.” His lips are set in a deadly thin line, much like the one I’m walking—but don’t worry, I’m quite the acrobat.


“It‘s not fair to me,” he rants, the cover’s off the pot, and all the steam’s letting loose into the summer’s air, “to sit around, watching you play bait. Watching you keep track of all the other guys out the corner of your eye, relishing the attention—rewarding them occasionally with a glance, touch or smile.”

I tilt my head, “It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or something.”

“Don‘t act like I haven’t made my intentions clear.” He scoffs, looking away at the fields past the roof of his car.

“ I’ve been willing to do anything to keep you around, to make sure you might be mine alone. Not just mine on Tuesdays, or on days where you feel like dropping by.”

I like this game, “Like what?”

His eyes are burning holes in my face, if looks could kill—I’d be crumpled on the ground, right now.

“I‘m not like the other guys—you know that.” He struggles to filter his thoughts to words that will keep me around but see a whole new perspective—I know that, “I‘m not trying to be conceited—but I‘m all you need.” He takes a step closer and I take a step back. “I‘m what the other guys all promise—but I keep my promises, I don’t break my word…” He shakes his head, slowly.

“But you already know that…don’t you.” He lifts his right eyebrow, quizzically.

I nod my head, slowly and I smile, the smile I reserve for teachers, rock stars and cops that pull me over, “I know a lot of things.”

I grab my car keys out the front pocket of my purse, and I make my way gracefully (I hope) to my car. As I drive away, I watch him shrink in the rearview mirror. The startling blue eyes that have half the school’s female population dreaming, stare intensely. They even look wet—just a little…but that could be a trick of the light, couldn’t it? Because guys like him aren’t sensitive, capable of sentiment and feelings.

I never lied to him, not once.

Sometimes I just know things. And I just know, I’ll never, ever be capable of loving Chad Cameron.

The author's comments:
Based on event that WOULD have happened...had I said yes.

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