Running Away

chapter three: contradictions are hot

Edited.

T H R E E : CONTRADICTIONS ARE HOT.

- Taylor -

I watched through the window as Paul's chauffeur dragged his and Janelle's luggage to the limousine. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and kept pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. He would turn around when he reached the trunk, and I'd have to duck behind the curtains immediately, and I was almost certain he'd seen me once or twice, but he was too invested in his task of hauling Janelle's overbearingly heavy suitcase up into his arms to notice me.

Paul nodded at me as he stepped out the front door, but I didn't wave in response. Instead, I settled for a half-smile, and a whispered it was nice knowing you under my breath. He didn't hear me, and for that I was thankful. I did the same for Janelle, except she was pleasant enough to give me an awkward side-hug; it was almost as though she knew I was leaving, and I couldn't decide whether her kindness was out of remorse or excitement.

"Damn, Taylor," I heard Isabella sniff from behind me. Without waiting for me to face her, she engulfed me in a tight embrace, somehow managing to both wrap her arms around my waist and pat my head at the same time. "I can't believe I won't ever see you again. I'm going to miss you, kid." Her words were muffled by my shoulder, but they still delivered the same effect—I was struggling to trap the tears in.

"Hey," I snapped jokingly, in a feeble attempt to keep the mood from becoming annoyingly depressing. If it wasn't obvious enough already, I wasn't much of a feelings person. "What do you mean you'll never see me again? You will visit me at Dev's, right?" I demanded finally, groaning internally when my voice cracked the tiniest bit.

Is was whimpering by this point, and I smothered a sigh between clenched teeth at the sight of her tears. Pieces of her blonde hair were sticking to her wet cheeks, and she raised a hand to brush them back into place. Forcing a grin onto her lips, she said, "Of course. You won't be getting rid of me that easily."

I chuckled at that. Stretching my arms lazily, I glanced at the clock that was mounted on the wall behind Isabella's head. "It's seven a.m., Is. Why are you guys leaving so early, again?"

"Something about getting there at least six hours in advance," she frowned, and it struck me again how pale she looked. There were worry lines drawn across her forehead, and her cheeks appeared to be suspiciously hollow. I opened my mouth to comment on this, but she beat me to it. "It's so irritating having to deal with them sometimes." She whined, and I got the strange sense she was trying to keep me from mentioning her appearance.

"I won't have to anymore," I shrugged. But I couldn't push the thought out of my mind. "Are you okay, Isabella? And don't give me some bullshit stress story. You know what I mean."

"I—" she paused for a second, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Stepping around me, she lowered herself down onto the leather couch. "It's nothing." Is muttered finally.

"That's a lie, so don't try it on me." I countered, kneeling in front of her. "Seriously, what's going on? You look sick, like white as a sheet without makeup on. And you're losing weight—weight that you shouldn't be losing." I explained, and she averted her gaze from me in an instant.

Isabella didn't return her eyes to me for another moment, and when she did, they were watery. Dragging shaking fingers through her hair, she mumbled, "I'm—I'm freaking out, alright? Kane and I have been dating for a little over a year, and—and I love him, I do, but—but he asked me to marry him, and I don't know if—if I want to—"

"You don't have to," I offered, swallowing the surprise that had overwhelmed me. "You don't have to rush into anything if you're uncomfortable with it. He's a good guy, but if you don't want to get married yet—"