Asymptote (bxb)

Chapter 9: Or Whatever

It wasn't until I had already left Mi's room and was standing in the hallway of the second floor did I realize a certain key factor: his mother was roaming around the main floor. Even in my panic-driven need to leave I couldn't risk his mother seeing me.

I stood at the top of the stairs, railing in hand and willing an idea to come to me. None did.

I couldn't go back into his room- I wouldn't. I had almost said the one thing I had tried so hard to contain, and to hear it in words somehow made it so much more real. Not that Miles would ever know the difference.

Pans rustled downstairs. The kitchen was located at the back of the house and the stairs ended right in front of the door, so I decided now was the best time to leave. The old stairs creaked as I went down, but Miles's mom began singing to herself and overpowering any noise I was making. I grabbed my shoes and slid out the door. I'd done it enough times to know how to do it with minimal sound.

I forgot my jacket. And phone. And these weren't my clothes.

With no money and no way to call Gemma, I was screwed.

A cold breeze engulfed my bare arms, causing goosebumps to rise in places I didn't know could have goosebumps. I couldn't go back, of that much I was certain. I also could not walk home.

That was how I found myself heading towards Carol's Coffee House, telling myself that it was only because it was open 24 hours and I was desperate, and pretending there wasn't a faint hope that I may see the boy with the soft brown eyes.

There were two cars in the parking lot, and one of the fluorescent pink letters on the sign had burned out since I was last here. None of that was of any relevance though. I just needed to use the phone and call Gemma and hope to God that she could figure out some way to get me back home without getting herself arrested for driving without a license.

Just as I was turning the corner around the parking lot to the main door, he came shooting out in a whirlwind, shoving his apron into his black messenger bag. The Irish waiter from last time. He was in such a rush that if I hadn't moved out of his way he would have ran straight into me.

"Sorry," he mumbled, side-stepping me. He didn't even glance up from his fumbling hands.

Breathe, Bailey. Just say it. Get his attention.

I knew if I let him leave that may be my chance at a phone gone. Whoever was in the coffee shop now many require me to purchase something to use their phone- a fairly difficult task when I wasn't even wearing my own pants, let alone had money. But I was shy and awkward. I'd had the same friends for practically the last four years, and no reason to talk to anyone else. I didn't need to make new friends.

"Wait," I said. It barely fell from my lips as a whisper, but it was enough to get him to turn and glance up. A smile washed across his face.

"Hey," he replied, "I thought you were never coming back." Those weren't my exact words from last time, but they were close enough.

I shrugged in an awkward way, shoving my hands into the pockets of Mi's sweatpants and running them along every centimeter of fabric. He shifted his weight, leaning towards me.

"Well, I guess I was wrong."

"So, you owe me a name."

"Sorry?"