Im Jealous Im Over Jealous 소설 & 이야기

Three seconds later, mine buzzes back. 《I’m simply marveling at the lack of standards some people have for their company, Miss Ellis.》 I hide my smile behind my water glass and type: 《you’re not jealous, are you?》 The response takes slightly longer this time, which I find very telling. 《Jealous would require me to consider whatever that is a competition. It is entirely illogical to be jealous of something I am objectively superior to》 I press my lips together against a laugh and look up at the ceiling for a moment and then type:

Always jealous of every single thing. * * *

And there is nothing I can do about it. I feel the anger bubbling in me, making me want to pull off an unexpected move. I am really sure that I won't hesitate. Not just anger - there is something else, something that I am not able to control right now. Jealousy. I am jealous on another level. I am going into overdrive.

Suddenly a thought passed my head as I carefully read his irritated expression. “Don’t tell me you are jealous?” I questioned. A smirk made its way to my face as I saw him snarling dangerously. “Me? Jealous? The fuck are going on about?” He hissed, his hand vigorously running through the plops of his loose curls. “Oh please. Just freaking admit it.” I fueled him up more with my toxic sentences. “Awh. A big buff guy getting jealous over a desperate girl? Well that is something new. I bet you are fucking nasty instead.”

A strange, foreign feeling. Jealousy.

I stay behind, skating slow circles until the ice reflects the ceiling lights like water. The echo of last night won’t quit. Harper in that red dress. Harper laughing at Cole. The look she gave me when she said I was jealous. And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong. I stop at center ice, chest heaving, throat dry. Jealousy’s a rookie emotion. Sloppy. Weak. Not me. I don’t get jealous. I don’t do that. She’s not even my type.

It left me clean and shaky and angrier than before. Jealousy is hunger with a smart mouth. It tells me to bite my way back to his attention. It tells me to walk into his war room and put my throat in his hand and remind him I am the promise that bleeds the same. It tells me to get loud. He hates when I get loud when the pack can hear; it makes him a man instead of a myth and he hates being the only man in front of those who need him to be weather.

She has a way of making me feel better, though right now, I’m too uneasy for it to work very well. That same strange feeling of being all mixed up inside has followed me here. I can’t figure out what’s going on with me. Maybe it’s having all these other wolves around and all these examples of what I will never be. I can’t shake the memory of that girl in the bathroom, showing off her mark like it made her special. I hate myself for being so jealous. What’s the point of jealousy? All it does is make the truth hurt that much more. “I’m going to go to my room,” I whisper to Emma.

He suddenly stops, giving me an incredulous look. “What do you mean ‘are they, mates’?” “Uh. I mean ‘are they mates’? I’m not sure how to rephrase the question.” “Of course they are mates.” he tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t they be?” Oh, this sweet, naïve, handsome young man has no idea of the world outside of his safe little space with both of his parents. The tang of jealousy stings my thoughts, swelling them in my mind until I have to shake them away. I’ve never slowed down fast enough in life to really envy someone else. But twice in one conversation, I have found myself wanting and jealous of things I have no control over. And I hate this feeling.

Low, deadly, possessive. And for the first time, I feel it. A dark jealousy. From Scar.