Page 91 of Through My Window
I understand him now. I know it doesn’t justify his actions, but at least it explains them. My mother always told me that who we are depends a lot on the way we were raised and what we experienced in our childhood and early adolescence. Those are the years when we’re like sponges, absorbing everything.
And then I see that the guy in front of me isn’t the cold, arrogant jerk I first talked to through my window; he’s just a guy who had a rough start. A boy who doesn’t want to be like the person he used to admire, who doesn’t want to be weak. A vulnerable guy, angry because he doesn’t want to be vulnerable. And who does? To fall in love with someone is to give them the power to destroy you.
Ares laughs, shaking his head, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now you don’t say anything.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m too shocked at the turn this conversation has taken. My emotions are a mess, and my breathing is no better.
“Shit,” Ares mutters, turning his back to me. He rests his forehead on the wall.
A laugh escapes my lips. Ares turns to me again, and the confusion is obvious on his face.
“You. Are. Crazy,” I say with a chuckle. I don’t even know why I’m laughing. “Even your confession had to be ridiculous.”
“Stop laughing,” he orders, approaching me with a serious expression.
But I can’t stop. “You hate me because you love me? Are you listening to yourself?”
He doesn’t say anything and just grabs the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand you. I finally have the courage to tell you what I feel. And you laugh?”
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, really, I’m just . . .”
His expression wavers, and a crooked smile forms on his lips.
“You did it.”
I furrow my brows. “What?”
“Do you remember what you told me in the cemetery that time I asked you what you want? ‘Something very simple,’ you said. ‘I want you to fall in love with me.’”
I grin. “Yes, and you laughed at me. Who’s laughing now, Greek God?” He tilts his head to the side, watching me.
“You caught me, but you also fell in love along the way.”
“Who said I’m in love?”
His approach forces me to step back until my back meets the wall, and, to prevent my escape, he leans over me, caging me in with his hands. He smells of that delicious mixture of expensive cologne and his own scent. I swallow, staring at that perfect face in front of me.
“If you’re not in love, then why did you stop breathing?”
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I have no answer to his question, and he knows it.
“And why is your heart beating so fast when I haven’t even touched you?”
“How do you know my heart is racing?” I ask.
He takes my hand and puts it on his chest. “Because mine is.”
Feeling his racing heartbeat under my hand makes my heart flutter.
“This is what I was trying to show you the last time we were together: how I feel about you.” He rests his forehead on mine, and I close my eyes, feeling his heartbeat, holding him so close. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “I’m sorry.”
I open my eyes to meet that infinite sea of his eyes. “Why?”
“For taking so long to tell you how I feel.” He takes the hand I have on his chest and kisses it. “I’m really sorry.”
He moves even closer, and our breaths mingle. I know he’s waiting for my approval. When I don’t protest, his sweet lips meet mine. The kiss is soft, delicate, but so full of feelings and emotions that I feel the famous butterflies in my stomach. He takes my face with both hands and deepens the kiss, tilting his head to one side. Our lips move in perfect sync. God, I love this boy. I’m so fucked.
He stops but keeps his forehead on mine. I take a breath and speak.
