SEVEN | LAKAD
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I honestly have no idea what to answer him. What's up with me?
What kind of question is that, really? What urged him to ask me that kind of question? There's something up with everyone. There really is something wrong with every one of us; no one can have that perfect life that we form in our head.
So why me, out of all people; out of everyone?
Do I look like I have a one giant sign (with neon lights) that states: Ask me! in my forehead? I definitely do not stuck out like a sore thumb. I am just neutral. Just . . . there. Actually, just barely there. Every single time when I'm left alone with my thoughts, when music fails to comfort me, I was teetering on the edge of abyss that I made. When I'm alone I really have this urge to claw myself, to feel something when I'm feeling everything.
Like right now.
Wow. That makes sense at all.
"Maryssa?"
I was pulled back from the abyss when he spoke. Instantly my dull eyes connected with his intense ones and time, I was sucked in his gaze (well let's face it, when am I wasn't?). But I wasn't pulled that deep. See? Like me, he had his own abyss to fall into. He tipped his head back and laughed. "Good god, we've been talking for a while, and I'm sure I didn't tell you my name yet. Lucca Easton, by the way." He added a wink. Whoa.
"Maryssa Carlton."
"I know." he said.
Well that wasn't so creepy at all.
"Now that the introduction's over, what's up with you?" Lucca repeated for the nth time.
I know, I know. That the question's simple as ABC; I can choose to tell him something, I can say anything that may come from my blabber mouth. But the thing is, no matter how many times he asks me that question; I can never really give him a straight and brief answer. I really have no idea what to say to him, so I let my blabber mouth do its job: blabber.
"You know I was surfing Pinterest some days ago and I found some really helpful tips. They call it 'Life-hacks' or something. You know, you can eat marshmallow when you have a very bad sore throat! Like seriously. But the thing is, I am allergic to marshmallow so that life-hack was pretty much useless. If I tried that . . . well, my life would definitely be hacked from me. I do not have a very strong immune system, ya ken? Oh goodness, I have to reduce watching Outlander; one day I'll find myself with a very strong Scottish accent--"
"Uh. Maryssa--"
"--mixed with a sexy British accent. Or I'll find myself in 1723 or something and I'll be with those highlander and they'll use me as a healer and--"
If I had a wolf in me, she'd be banging her nonexistent cage in my head. She'd be ashamed of me for my blabber mouth. Damn, I'm ashamed of my blabber mouth too. Once I start, well let's just say it's very hard to stop. My mouth's got a loose brake; I don't even know what I'm talking about either.
"--And when you see my dad, it'll remind you of an airport because---"
"Maryssa!"
"Yeah? Thanks, I need that. And sorry too." Thank god I finally calmed down.
"All the babbling you did there, and yet you still didn't answer my question." I think I heard him mutter.
"To be honest? I don't know, too." I finally answered his question.
Lucca looked at me incredulously.
"I know, I know!" I laughed. "Sometimes I really couldn't stop rambling, you know? It's like I have this out-of-body experience, watching my mouth ramble 200 miles per hour- oh, um. Yeah, I'll stop now."
Once again silence reigned afterwards and I made a mistake of looking at him. Hot damn. He's already looking at me with a slight smile on his face!
I took my time drinking in (and definitely appreciating) his features. He was giving off some kind of dangerous aura around him and like those cliché romances, everyone is drawn to it. I can see that every time he walks into a room, his presence almost commanding to be recognized.
He was really a fine piece of specimen. Lucca is a six-foot something with a lean built with his ebony hair in some kind of comb-over that suited him really well. Day-old stubble covered his chiseled jaw, but it did nothing to deter his beauty--in fact, it just added the dangerous vibe that he seemed to carry. Thick brows framed his almost-black orbs and if you look thoroughly, you'd see it is brown in color, especially if he has that smile (like now) that reaches his eyes. Intense eyes that never failed to make my knees buckle- internally of course. That'd be embarrassing if I always topple every time he freezes me with those orbs. Oh, and don't get me started on those lips!
"Done checking me out?"
"Not yet--uh . . . yes. I'm done-dammit! I'm not checking you out." I stuttered.
I did not expect his laugh. It is melodious, and sexy and right in all places. A kind of laugh that isn’t loud and awkward, like mine. When he calmed down, he’s still smiling and turned to me, twirling a strand of my hair with his finger. “If there’s any consolation, I am checking you out, too.” He stated, busy twirling my hair with his finger, as if it’s his first time touching a hair longer than his. Then he turned to me and gave me a full-blown smile, teeth and all, making him look boyish (and adorable). Cue a tomato blush here.
My left eye twitched, for some reason. I am not used to people checking me out, or complimenting me or anything like that, so I looked away. “What about you?” I asked instead.
“What about me?” Twirl. Twirl. Twirl.
“What’s up with you?” Twirl. Pause.
He pondered his answer, too, and let go of lock he’s been playing for a while before looked at me until I was resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze.
And then he answered: “A couple of things.”
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a/n: This is a flashback. Oh, and I’m sorry for the shitty chapter. I do not know how to put a picture in here (SORRY!), so just search 'Andrea Denver'. Why? Because that's how I see Lucca Easton. Sorry, I’m not that good at describing places and people. XD571Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk4bDAOCbxc
