Chapter 82

I get into the car to be confronted by the waft of freshness that always seems to envelope a new car. The fact that he has just bought this makes me feel a thousand times more nervous, as I can only imagine what he would be reading from the fascinated expression on my face.

It would make me look like a nervous street urchin if he caught me running my hands along the beautiful interior of this car. Most girls would die to have a guy who has such a car, it seems to be all the rage as it is only the guy who has the car that gets the girl. But yet here I am behaving like a bimbo in the car of someone who seems to have enough money to buy a Lamborghini, and take it to school.

I almost wonder how I hadn't noticed this before, when I remembered that we had used the old car park. I wonder how he got to know of that place, as it was only known to some older students of the school, and this guy didn't seem like an old students.

If he was I would have known. The thought he has put into carefully concealing this beacon of attention he owns, makes me find myself unconsciously smiling. If it was someone like Aron, the Aron I so desperately loved a few days ago.

He would have packed it smack dab in the middle of the hallways for each and every person that walked past to see and let them know who owned it, and admire himself afterwards.

I had always known Aron was something of a showoff, but yet it never seemed to bother me as much as it bothered me now. It bothered me that I had seemed to spend so long being in love with someone whom I thought was perfect, but that wasn't really the case.

It's turned out, I was just overlooking each and every flaw he had, and telling myself that I loved him exactly the way he was. I can't see the evidence that feeling was reciprocated, as I constantly found myself changing my attitude because of Aron. Our relationship was a happy one, but I think it was just me being blinded.

Then, I was blinded by the desperate need for care and attention, that I had that I seem to overlook each and everything about myself, and I shipped myself on the whims and fancies of one guy.

I wore more makeup. I wore more revealing clothes. I became friends with girls like Britney, who had nothing but pure evil and meaness in their heads. I talked to people I would normally never, ever, talk to on a normal day, and yet it seemed I was always happy.

I always saw him as perfect, and so I would go to any lengths to make sure he saw me the same way too. It seems now I can readily remember the subtle little hints he always dropped about how he got this today, or he got that yesterday, and the pride that I would see so heavily leaking from his voice. He's a showoff.

Clay isn't a show off, I think silently to myself as his eyes are fully concentrated on the road, and I smile.