Vulture

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Abrelle's POV 

I open my eyes and I feel the immense throbbing in my head. I was too drunk last night.

Fuck, my head is killing me.

I stand up and look around the room, no Nat or Will. I'm about to give him a call when I notice a note on my nightstand.

Ms. Louise, I took Natalia to daycare and let your assistant Elizabeth know you had an early morning meeting and would be arriving later in the day. Hope you got some rest. -Will

Have I mentioned how amazing Will is?? Well, he is. I couldn't have found a more amazing friend and worker to have.

I should probably shower and get dressed, there is a lot to do today. And I need to recover from this stupid hangover. I stand up from my bed and I immediately regret it.

I think I might throw up. 

God, I need to slow down on the wine.

You really do, Noah would say and I'd roll my eyes. 

***

I finish blow drying my hair as I let my loose natural waves fall behind my shoulders. I've always loved my natural hair, it reminds me of Nathan.

His fiery red hair was always wavy when he let it grow out and it made him look extremely handsome. And didn't he know it? My little brother, I always think of all the things we'd be doing if he was here. He'd be one of the few people I'd trust to help me find out who did this to Noah.

Noah.

I remember when Noah came home with Natalia.

God, I was so scared and yet so excited to see her. And when I did, she was so beautiful and perfect.

She looks just like you, was the first thing I said as I held her in my arms.

I knew at that moment that she was my little girl, I hadn't said it then but I knew.

She looks just like Alex, he said and I remember us just standing there looking down at Nat. I think we both knew then that she was ours. No matter what, we were both going to love her.

"Hey," a voice says and I come back to reality. I turn to see a very shirtless Elliot Stone.

Mhm, he's always looked good without a shirt.

"What do you want?" I ask as I put my hair into a tight high ponytail and braid the ends. I would never wear my natural hair to the office, Elizabeth would have a blast with that one.

Professionalism means styling your looks, she'd say, and something around my frizzy waves being "weak".

In New York, I would always wear my hair down and let my natural waves fall freely. But we're not in New York and here things are different. 

"I made breakfast," he says, a soft look in his eyes. "We're eating downstairs if you'd like to join."

"I don't do breakfast" I state as I flatten any flyaways on my hairline.

That's a lie, I love breakfast.

"You love breakfast," he says, that soft look still in his eyes.

Of course, he knows. I've always loved breakfast. Even as Lydia.

Why is it that no matter what I do you're still here? I keep rejecting you, I keep humiliating you, and yet here you are.

Maybe I should just ask.

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