Lies Written by the Stars

Whirlwind of Emotions

Chapter 12: Whirlwind of Emotions

ELLE’S POV

After getting ready and putting on some of my usual clothes at home, a short and a shirt. I went downstairs and found a very comfortable Chris eating his own breakfast and drinking coffee.

He looked at me as I enter the dining area, roamed his eyes from my head to toe and smiled.

“Do I look like a feast to you?” I snared.

His eyebrows raised over what I said, amused.

“Well…” He trailed, placing the spoon and fork at the both sides of the plate and tapping a tissue over his mouth he continued.

“That depends if you want to be consumed.”

Heat rose through my cheeks. What the hell is wrong with this guy? Telling that to a girl? I tried to ignore how elegant he was eating earlier and tried to disregard what he just said.

I tried.

I rolled my eyes at him. I went my way over the seat next to the food he brought for me. Acting as what he said, did not affect me at all.

 Let's just get this over with.

"So, how are we going to do this?" I asked him, opening my food.

Pancakes and bacon. I looked at the drink, ice coffee. Looking over at him, I can see that he's observing my reaction. How does he know? And as if knowing the question in my head, he winked. Telling me he just knows.

"Well." He took a bite out of his own pancake.

"We are just going to ask each other questions and we'll see what we found out about each other. We will be the judge of the lie or truth anyway." He shrugged, but I can see the seriousness in his eyes.

"Ask the right questions, Elentiya."  I remembered.

I looked away from him and ate my own pancakes.

Drinking and getting a shot of courage from my coffee, I looked at him. He smiled at me, encouraging.

"Where were you on the last few days that you were absent?" When you left me by the fire exit, I wanted to add.

His smile faltered.

But he quickly replaced it with a small one. If you were not fast enough, you would not have seen it.

"Maybe ask me that later?" He softly asked.

There was something with his voice that tells me he is not ready for that conversation yet so I let it go and saved that question for later.

"Fine, ask me first then." I said.

This time, all the smile on his face has been replaced with seriousness. He looked at me straight in the eye, the kind of look that consumes your soul and asked.

"Do you hate me?" I did not expect that question.

I guess I should just be ready for surprises whenever I am with him. I c****d my head on one side. Still looking at him, with every memory that I have of him, I answered truthfully.

"I don't know." He sighed and looked away from me. Relief? Disappointment?

With this I asked, crossing my arms. "Is that important to you?"

He quickly returned his eyes at me and answered in a matter of time. "Yes."

I creased my forehead. "Why?" I followed through.

He smiled and shook his head. "It's my turn."

“So, if you don’t hate me...” He trailed, placing his chin at the top his hands.

Arms at the table, he leaned towards me, “Do you like me?”

My eyes widened as I leaned back. “Stop asking foolish questions!”

He leaned again, smirking. “Just answer the question.”

“Of course, I don’t!” I said, throwing a piece of tissue at him.

He dodged that by leaning back to his seat again.

I sighed. Finally, some space.

“Fine, your loss though.” He said, settling down comfortably.

Arrogant jerk, I thought; my turn.

“Have you ever considered running away?” I asked him.

I don’t know where that question came from. Just a thought, I guess.

“Yes.” He timidly answered.

I can’t tell what he thinks right now, he’s blank. Lost in thought? Now, I’m curious.

“Why?” I asked him.

He smiled knowingly. “Easy girl, my turn.”

I shrugged at him, letting the question rest at the back of my head. "What were you doing at the rooftop?" He asked me.

I creased my forehead again. We were having such a good time.

Why is he asking me what I was doing at the rooftop? He was the one there remember? Then a flash of a broken glass flashed through my brain. I closed my eyes, holding my head in my hand. What was that?

"Are you okay?" Chris asked concern on his voice.

He stood up and went beside me. I breathed. This is his fault. He shouldn’t have asked that.

"Don't touch me!" I shouted at him.

I can feel the panic starting to arise, and I tried to control my breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale-

He tried to touch my hair but I flinched. 

"I said don't touch me!" I almost fell on the chair.

"What is going on here?"  Mom.

I looked at her. I didn’t hear her coming in.

I tried to calm myself down. She can't see me like this.

"Nothing mom, Chris was just leaving." I said in between breathing.

I look at Chris, and menacingly I said, "I don't remember, I just remember you're there."

I answered him, and I knew he knows what I'm talking about; him, with blood on his hands and his face, nothing else.

"Now leave."

My mom went to grab a glass of water and proceeded to soothe my arms.

“Can you do what she asks Chris? I’m sorry we had to meet again this way.” Again?

I lost that train of thought as I struggle to continue breathing. From my peripheral vision, I saw him nod his head.

There is a change in the mood and I can't bear the thought of him walking away and me not being able to have something in return. So while he was making his way through the front door, I called him. 

"Chris." He stopped on his track.

Not even looking at me, only his back and his side face. Just like at the fire exit. He must be having such a good time leaving me breathless, because it always happens when I am with him; crumbling my walls little by little.

Then I looked at him and asked, "Where were you?"

"Maybe ask me that later?" Maybe this was not the 'later' that he has on his mind but I did not falter.

I waited for his answer. He can't be the only one having answers.

From his side image, I can see the corner of his mouth raised. He smiled.

Then he faced me.

It has got to be the most painful and saddest smile I have ever seen in my whole life, and what he said surprised both me and my mom.

Placing his hands on his pockets, something he does when he's being reserved or uncomfortable... and then he said before leaving,

"I was attending my dad's funeral."