Bad Reputation (Michael Series)
( A/N) This is a series about Michael, when he was in highschool. Eventually there will be smut but right now I am focusing on the character development and its very cute I promise, he's the bad boy. - Em x
The first thing she noticed were his lips, pressed together in a straight thin line, as his eyes analyzed their surroundings. Their paths crossed in the following weeks, and his faced remained unchanged, as if it were stuck in that pensive expression.
Violet tried to ignore his stares. Write him off as the mysterious, yet cliche’ brooding type. The Holden Caulfield's of the school, who roamed around with the nauseating notion that they were better than anyone and everyone, because their superior insight. However, she could not deny that she was in fact attracted to him.
She had never seen him before, which was unusual considering she was a junior, and recognized most faces from her year. Judging by the dark stubble that shadowed his angular jaw line, there was no way he was a freshman, or even a sophomore.
She resisted the urge to ask around, see if anyone knew who he was. She was far too stubborn to care much, of course. However as the first month back at school passed, her theory began to crumble beneath her.
Despite efforts to become oblivious to his existence, he silently demanded attention whenever he was near. Leaving Violet feeling exposed, stripped away of the confidence she spent years developing. His gaze left her with the feeling he was poking and prodding around in her mind, scrutinizing each waterlogged thought, and ill formed sentence.
He meant absolutely nothing to her, yet she became determined to earn his approval. Demand that he acknowledge her intelligence and wit. Admit, that he found her the least bit intriguing.
It wasn’t until she was sitting alone in the library during lunch one day, that they first exchanged words.
“A very balanced meal.” a deep voice chimed from over her shoulder, causing her to jump.
Her voice caught in her throat. He smirked, clearly amused by her flustered reaction.
“Um, sorry?” Violet inquired.
“Oh, I was just saying that looks like a satisfying lunch.” he gestured down to the worn copy of ‘Love is a Dog From Hell’ before continuing. “Bukowski is a personal favorite of mine, I could devour his works every day if given the chance.”
His words intoxicated her, yet she composed herself enough to find her, now weakened, voice.
“I don’t do lunch rooms. The crowds, the noise, it all makes me anxious.” she turned the page, eyes glued to the small print.
“I see you’ve read this before?” he remarked, running his finger across the indented lines in the pages of the yellowing book from where Violet had underlined and annotated her favorite parts.
“You have good taste.” he smiled, before walking away.
And just like that, he was gone. Violet hadn’t even had the chance to wrap her mind around the events that had just occurred. She felt as if she had devolved back into her nervous freshman self, who was socially awkward and discombobulated.
She rolled your eyes, scoffing once she realized her cheeks were burning, surely flushed an embarrassing shade of scarlet. Who was this boy? What was his deal? How did he manage to tear down all of her defenses to the outside world, and make home under the very skin she had felt comfortable in for so long?
But before she could ask, he was out of sight. The faint sound of his scuffed Doc Martens against the cold tile fading into the distance. The swish of his denim hushed as the hallway between them stretched longer and longer until he was out of sight completely.
The only evidence of his former presence painted the apples of her cheeks, and sounded through the walls of her chest, which failed to silence the rapid pounding of her heart. But the polaroid of his violent red hair and porcelain skin developed alarmingly clear, and tacked itself in the fragile valleys of her frontal lobe.
Two days past, and Violet still couldn’t erase the image of his cocky smile and analytic eyes from her head. She was desperate to forget about the odd, yet simultaneously embarrassing event that occurred a few days before.
She made the decision that the next time she saw him, she would ask him all of the questions that relentlessly taunted you. But every time his glassy eyes met hers in the halls, she froze, and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She both dreaded and eagerly anticipated his company.
That is, until she climbed into the drivers seat of her car. The stretched leather across the seats, cold from the October wind. She turned the key, starting the engine, and sat idle for a moment, staring at the red bricks on the side wall of the school.
Her small hands reached out to turn the knob of the radio up. The melodies from her mixtape rang through the old Honda, the mellow notes of All Apologies waking up every bone in her body with its vibrations. She closed her eyes and inhaled the air.
A knock on the chilled window brought her back to reality. Violet jumped in her seat, turning to see him towering outside the door. Him. “Him” with the intense stares and deafening sighs. “Him” with the ability to make her feel like a vulnerable little girl, being chased by the new boy on the playground.
Before she had time to react, he tugged the handle, pulling the door ajar, and stepping in the gap, his arms resting on the side of the car.
“I know how that music makes you feel.” he remarked, nodding to her relaxed stance, “It’s like an IV, like the world is malignant, and note is your dialysis.”
Violet nodded, meeting his eyes, feeling unexpectedly fearless.
“Look how calm you are with it playing. Normally you can’t even look at me,” he continued, “You are afraid of me. But more afraid of yourself. I say exactly what you’re thinking, but you don’t understand me at all, and that scares you.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes at his psycho-analytical evaluation.
“You know what I think it is,” she boldly challenged, “I think you just have a crush on me.”
It was now his turn to blush, clearly taken aback by the blunt accusation. His lips moved to talk, but much to his surprise, no words came out.
Violet’s lips stained with plum colored lipstick bled into a wide smile, victory radiating out of her every pore.
“Excuse me” she chirped as she reached between the space of his elbow and hip, to grab the handle to close. He moved out of her path, and as she sped away. Her tires kicked up a cloud of grey dust. He remained standing there, exactly how she had left him, mouth ajar and brows furrowed.
