Captured Soul

Sparkling green eyes suck. Know why? Green eyes suck because they pierce through your soul and exploit you. They make your insides crumble and fall apart slowly, each look tearing more from you than the previous. They cause you to reveal all your emotions in attempts (but failure) to get the same in return from the orbs. The glistening green sparkle will find its way inside your soul and it will slowly penetrate your mind. They make you feel helpless because you can’t contain or control yourself to deflect them away. At least that’s how it feels right now.
Across the yard, those piercing, bright green eyes are exploiting me and making my insides crumble and fall apart slowly. His gaze is focused on mine as he stands stationary on his driveway. The stare intensifies as more time passes. The worst part is that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. It’s like trying to fight an addiction. You try really hard to stop, but the cravings appear in your head and your mind begs you to supply the drug. His glimmering eyes act as a “one-way street”. They dissect and analyze every inch of your soul, but nothing can be read by looking back into his glistening orbs.
“Stella, honey?” My mother unexpectedly pulls me out of my deep thought. “Can you grab that last box and bring it in?” I realize the rain drenched the hoodie I’m wearing, and I suddenly shiver due to the cold temperature.
“Uh, yeah mom. No problem,” I reply, focusing on the task at hand-moving and unpacking. I struggle to lift the heavy box. After multiple failed attempts at finding a way to carry the extremely large box, I look across the way, searching for a particular pair of bright eyes. He’s gone. I sigh lightly and turn to face my challenge once more, but I’m surprised to see a mop of curls and deadly green eyes looking intently back at me. His hoodie is also damp, a sign he’s been out for a few minutes.
“Looks like you need help. What’s a petite girl like you doing a man’s job for anyways,” he says with a smirk spread across his face. He effortlessly hauls the box onto his shoulder and waits for me to respond.
Oh. No. He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That. I’m one of the types of girls that’s all about women’s independence and anti-sexism. I think it’s just the American in me.
“Um, excuse you, but I can move this box on my own womanly self, for your information,” I tell him, with a hint of annoyance in my voice. He shrugs and gently places the box back on the ground and gestures for me to continue. I challengingly look back to his tall figure and unsuccessfully try to move the box. It shifts, but at the rate it’s moving, it’ll take a year and four days to get it inside. I look back up to see a smug smile on his face. I hate being patronized- especially by arrogant, rich, sexist boys who think they can do everything and anything better than girls.
As much as I don’t like the “boys-are-physically-stronger-than-girls” stereotype and being belittled by egotistical douche bags, I am freezing my ass off and the rain literally feels like it could drown me. I glance back to the un-named boy’s eyes and once again get trapped within them. I shake my head lightly and release myself from the black holes that are his pupils.
I groan in defeat. “Can you please help me carry this inside?” I hate asking people for help, and I particularly hate asking boys for help. It’s totally degrading on women’s self worth. But I suppose if it will allow me to cuddle up to a fireplace and drink coffee more quickly, then it’s okay just this once.
“Oh, now you want my help? What happened to you doing it on your ‘own womanly self’?” He smirks. I hate it when he smirks. It just adds to the arrogant part of his personality.
“Yeah, well my own womanly self is freezing and wet,” I say, unamused.
“Yeah, I get all the ladies wet,” he condescendingly replies.
I look at him disgusted, “Oh my gosh you are such a pervert! You know what? I don’t even want your help.”
I begin to push the box inside when it’s suddenly lifted from the ground and onto Unnamed Boy’s shoulder. He leads the way to the front door. My dad is surprised to see an unknown boy carrying a large cardboard box into the living room. Trust me, I would be too.
“Hello, sir. I’m Harry Styles. I live across the garden. The next house over.” Nice introduction. My mom then walks into the room. “Good afternoon, M’am. Harry. Pleasure to meet you. What a lovely house you’ve got here,” he compliments.
“Oh, well it’s very nice to meet you, too, Harry. You seem like a very nice young man,” she says, eying me. Mom has a habit of trying to play ‘matchmaker’ for me. It was a nice gesture, but I don’t particularly appreciate her medaling in my love life. I roll my eyes at her as I spot Harry smirking. I scoff at him.
“Well, I suppose I should go, now.” Harry gets ready to leave and grabs the doorknob. Finally. I don’t think I could stand another minute of his arrogant, egotistical, smug, smirky self.
“No, you should stay!” My jaw drops in awe. I cannot believe my mother! Harry quickly turns around to face my mom. “I’m making dinner, and I can imagine your presence would ease Stella’s social anxiety. Maybe you could also show her around town, introduce her to people she might enjoy.” I don’t think my eyes could get any larger or my mouth any wider.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose. After all, it is going to be your first meal in this new house-I don’t want to ruin the special evening.” Oh, thank the Lord Baby Jesus.
“Of course not, Harry! You wouldn’t be imposing at all. Please, stay.” Dad chimed in. I. Am. Just. Done.
“You know, I’m sure Harry has better things to do than join in on our boring family dinner. I mean, he probably has to go to the animal shelter and help find homes for baby sugar gliders and koalas or something like that,” I say, trying to hold back as much sarcasm as possible. I guess I didn’t do a very good job, judging by my parents’ disapproving faces. I roll my eyes and turn back to Harry. “Harry, we would very much enjoy it if you joined us for dinner,” I mumble as quietly as I can.
“I’m sorry?” He raises an eyebrow at me. I know he heard me. It’s a pride thing. I take a deep breath and groan.
“I said, ‘We would very much enjoy it if you joined us for dinner’.” I said grumpily.
“Well, if you insist. I can imagine your mother’s cooking is phenomenal, I mustn’t decline that offer.” Oooh he’s good.

Notes

First Chapter!

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