Wasn't Supposed To Love You
By Dawn Martens
“Why are we here again?” I ask Alana. We’ve been dating for a few years now, and I still don’t know how her mind works.
She glances around the campus and rolls her eyes. “I told you already, Bryce, I want to take up a few classes. I want to open up my own business, you know that,” she says quietly. “Why do you think I followed you here?” I can hear the annoyance flickering in her tone, even though she isn’t being loud.
That’s been the one thing that I’ve always liked about Alana, she’s shy, quiet. But with me, she has this temper, and if I don’t do what she wants, when she wants, she gets pissy. I also know she’s wanted to go back to school for a while now, and part of me feels as if I’m holding her back.
I own a local BMX bike shop in the middle of town. Most people told me we wouldn’t get much traffic, because people buy their bikes from franchise stores. But real BMXers want the good shit, so they come to me. I make just enough to keep my shop afloat. Gotta say, though, this business is a dying breed. I want to start making more, branch out a bit, and get a website up and going. The back of my shop has a huge garage, and I’ve been debating on making that into a custom bike and car shop. I’ve already designed a few of my own bike parts, and a few engines for cars, but I need cash. I just don’t have the extra to do that. Yet. The cash I got for building a custom motorcycle for one of the Angels Warriors gave me the start up cash to get the shop open. Now I just have to get more money to outfit the back garage and order parts, and of course staff, then I should be good. It’s getting the money saved up that is the struggle.
I sigh, and rake a hand over my head. I stare down into Alana’s big brown eyes. “Babe, I know. I just want you to be sure.”
She smiles up at me, dimples popping out, “I’m sure. It would be nice for both of us, doing two separate things, making more money. Trust me,” she reassures, leaning up to give me a small kiss on the lips. She’s never been into public displays of affection, so this catches me slightly by surprise.
Alana has always been out of my league, why she went for me, I’ll never really know. Where she is all about uppity clothes and expensive makeup; I’m about jeans, tee shirts, tattoos, and piercings. We couldn't be more different from each other. I guess we are cliché in the opposites attract way.
“Make sure when you are here, you scope it out for someone that will want a job, I need some help at the shop. Since I want you focusing on school,” I tell her.
“I will, honey,” she says sweetly.
When I first met Alana, I thought she would stay away from me. But it was the opposite. She’d show up somewhere, I would happen to be, and just talk. After a few months, I asked her on a date. Her parents, I thought would hate me, didn’t. It was just the opposite. They were all great. I asked her dad once, why they liked me, and he just said, “Son, it’s not about looks, it’s about how you treat our daughter, and you treat her with respect and love. That’s good enough for us.”
I watch her skip, yes skip, off to the check-in booth by the front steps of the college. “She’s got this,” I say quietly to myself, and turn around.
I’m suddenly bumped into, and I’m knocked on my ass as books go crashing to the ground.
“Watch where you’re fucking going, huh?” a female voice snarls at me.
I look to see who just knocked me over, and I’m stunned. Standing in front of me, bending over is a chick, a stunning fucking chick. Small, I’d say about five foot one, long black, green, blue, and purple hair. Facial piercings, and a tattoo covering her right arm; actually, every bit of skin showing on her is covered in tattoos, even going up her neck. Holy fuck, she’s hot. My dick twitches at the sight of her. I silently pray that when I stand up, my dick will stand down.
I feel guilty, I don’t even have this reaction around Alana. I can’t remember ever having such a strong response to her. We were friends first before anything else. My attraction to this girl takes me off guard and I hope she doesn’t notice my semi-hard-on as I start to stand up, and help pick up her books.
“I got it, asshole. Hands off,” she tells me and snatches her papers out of my hands.
“Sorry, my fault,” I tell her, holding my hands up in surrender. She’s got quite a bark.
Her stormy eyes narrow on me and nearly turn me to stone, freezing me in place. “Yeah, it is.”
“So, do you like it here so far? The campus that is?” I attempt to make small talk. Wanting to keep her here longer, hoping she will soften up a little. I wonder what her major is. Suddenly, I want to know everything about her as I study her tattoos, while she ignores my question. I want to ask her what they represent. Most people tell you they simply liked the design but the detail and placement of each one, must tell a story. She says nothing more, refusing to look at me, and walks off.
Well, my day totally went to hell in a handbasket. First, I wake up late, which never happens to me. Then I get a call from my dad, asking me if it was okay that Emma comes for a visit this weekend, and then I get trampled.
Well, not really trampled, but basically. I also didn’t expect the guy to be totally hot, drool-worthy hot. Head shaved, tattoos going up the sides of his neck, a lip ring, and tall, holy fucking tall. He had to be at least a foot and a half taller than me. That’s not really saying much, since I’m short, only reaching five one on a good day.
I probably could have been nicer, but his hotness freaked me out. I’ve never been one for a guy’s appearance, because normally it’s the good-looking ones that are players and will stomp all over you, just to get what they want. Only caring for themselves.
Walking into the building, I’m still thinking about his light blue eyes. Shit, stop thinking of him, Kristi! Why am I getting hung up on this dude? I was a total bitch to him too. He probably thinks I’m evil. It's all for the best, anyway. I need to focus on finishing my degree. I get to my Early Learning and Child class just in time. Mr. Kale isn't even here yet. I took this class last year, and since I felt like I still had more to learn, me being the school geek and all, I figured I could take it again.
All my teachers don’t understand why I’m even in this class, because my major is in Computer Science. It’s what I want to do with my life. But I also know, one day, I want children, and since I didn’t have a good mother role model at home, I just took this class. I don't want to be like my mother. A bitch who walked out on her family.
I feel the seat beside me move slightly, and I look over. A plastic chick. Great. She's like a real-life Barbie doll! Just perfect in every way. Well most people’s idea of perfection. Blonde hair, perfect makeup, expensive clothes, a deep tan. “Hi,” she says quietly.
I look at her again, closely. I lift my chin and narrow my eyes.
“Is this your first year?” she asks, leaning toward me.
I sigh to myself. Great, she wants small talk. “No, third year.” I took a few years after high school to travel a bit and really think about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. If you ask me, seventeen and eighteen-year olds have no business going to college and trying to decide what they are going to do with the rest of their lives. That's just way too much pressure.
She gives me a big smile. “This is my first. My boyfriend didn’t want me to go to college, I think he wants me glued to him, but I had to branch out on my own. I love kids, so I can’t wait to get started on this.”
She seems nice enough, just a little random. Bit of an airhead, but whatever. Who am I to judge, anyway? I’m just shocked she’s trying to make nice with me. Not many people do that. Either because they know me, and know I won’t put up with anything they dish out, or they think I’m a freak. And most uppity people stay away from freaks, unless they think they can change me.
It looks like she wants to say more, but the professor comes in and starts class. Well, thank God for small favors. The lecture begins. I stare ahead, trying to ignore the overly happy girl next to me.
I feel a small tap to my shoulder and instantly I cringe.
She passes me a note and I sigh. Seriously? What is this, middle school? I open it up and roll my eyes.
I only took this class because my dad thought I’d benefit from it, in case opening my own lingerie shop is a bust. - Alana
Poor little rich girl. Whatever. I crumple it up and disappointment covers her face. Boo freaking hoo. Why should I care why she’s taking the class for? I didn’t know sitting next to her meant I wanted to know her life story. Some people are too chatty for their own good. It doesn’t pay to get close to anyone. They will only disappoint you in the end. I don’t have it in me to make the effort. I don't have time for it anymore. I already have enough friends.
Class finishes up and I move quickly to leave when Barbie calls to me, “Wait!”
I groan and turn to look at her. She smiles at me again, and it’s so big and wide it creeps me out. “I’m Alana, and you’re, Kristi, right? I heard the teacher say that earlier in class.”
I raise a brow and play with my lip ring. What does she want from me now?
“I love your hair, do you do it yourself or do you go somewhere to get it done?” she asks, seeming truly interested.
“Is this some kind of joke or something? You, rich bitch, talking to trash like me?” I sneer at her wanting her gone.
Her face pales and she puts a hand on her chest. “No, no, of course not. I was just hoping to make a friend,” she says softly.
I snort. “Sure, some uppity rich bitch like you wants to make friends with trash like me? Didn’t you hear?” I sneer at her. “I’m a whore,” I say purely snarky.
Her face changes and she looks angry. “You know what, I might come from a prestigious family, but I’m not a damn rich bitch. In fact, my boyfriend looks a bit like you, except well, he’s not, obviously because he’s a guy. I don’t discriminate. If you’re a good person, I’ll like you. But obviously, you’re not then.” She stomps her foot like a two-year-old having a tantrum. “You’re the bitch.”
I smirk. “I think I’m going to like you.”
Her face turns to shock and I walk away. Who would have thought that? Barbie has a temper. I wonder who this boyfriend of hers is.
Guess it goes to show, never judge a book by its cover, or in this situation, a person. She reminds me of the girls I went to high school with, the ones that taunted me when I started to dye my hair, get piercings, and of course, once I hit sixteen, started getting tattoos. Heck, dad was the one to take me, since I was underage. My dad has always been so strict, people were shocked he allowed it, even I was, but he told me, he’d rather me get my first tattoo with him supporting me, or he knew I would just get a fake ID and go by myself. I lost count how many times I was called a freak, trash, and just because I liked to have sex, a whore.
I’m not used to one of the Barbie bitches trying to be nice to me. Maybe this Alana chick is actually nice…huh. She has some backbone, too.
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