The Bad Boy's Heart: When The Dust Settles...

⚘16⚘

Shortly after I got back to my dorms, I headed to the kitchen to make lunch. It wasn't empty though: Nabila was texting on her phone as her food boiled on the stove.

I smiled. "Hey, Bila."

She briefly looked at me. "Oh, hi..."

I dumped the plate of leftovers I had brought with me into the microwave. "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing much, just been gaming. You?"

"Nothing much as well."

"Nice."

The sound of the microwave whirring dominated the space between us.

Nabila cleared her throat after a bit. "So umm...have you been in your room all day?"

"Why, did you come looking for me?"

My breath caught. Oh fuck, my story!

She replied, "No, just wondering."

I sighed. "No need to pretend Bila, I know what you want to-"

"You went to see Dylan!"

The microwave stopped then so I took my food out, sat on the counter and grabbed a spoon. "Yup."

"But...weren't you pissed at him yesterday?"

Yes, but I was more pissed at a certain someone else.

I shrugged. "Yeah, but I decided that it would be healthier for me to put the past behind me: what better way to do that but to meet up with him for closure?"

Nabila narrowed her eyes. "Hmm, are you sure that's why you went?"

I forced out a laugh, even though my heart rate sped up. "Uh, yeah. What other reason would I have for going?"

"I don't know...you haven't been missing him or anything, have you?"

Oh, so that's what she thinks.

My lip curled. "Eww, no!"

Her shoulders sagged. "Oh thank god, I thought you were thinking of getting back together with him!"

"As if, I have self-respect. Bila, don't ever insult me like that again!"

. . .

Shortly after I got back to my room, I checked my snap story's viewers. My breath caught when I saw Angelo among them. Finally!

I checked the viewers of the next story I had posted: he wasn't among them.

I smirked. Oh, he's mad.

I quickly checked my chats, but he wasn't among them. Nevertheless, the smirk remained on my face; I was certain it would only be a matter of time before he messaged me.

. . .

By the time evening had rolled around, I still hadn't received a message from him. I'd checked my messages several times over the past few hours, even going as far as restarting my phone's connection to the internet to see if his message was being held up by a faulty connection.

Still nothing.

I bit my lip as resentment filled my chest, restricting the airflow from my lungs as if to punish me for my expectations. Red fog tinted my vision. Before my brain registered it, my fingers had opened my chat with Angelo, and was typing:

'Fuck you.'

I sent the message, tossing my phone onto my bed, then screaming into my pillow.