Wrong Guy

41 | not hiding

Episode Forty-One:
NOT HIDING

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F A W N ' S  P O V :

I always knew, somewhere in the back of my mind that I would never escape the grasp of Lawrence Briggs. That we would never just be done, that he'd always find some way to keep me on a leash, whether he knew it or not.

It's no surprise that now I'm standing in front of his house, with Elliott's hand in mine. There's no turning back, there's no escaping this now because even if I turned around, Elliott would force me to watch. He'll probably make me watch him beat Lawrence to a bloody pulp.

Little does he know, it's only gonna hurt me more. That revenge doesn't bring me the same satisfaction that he receives, it only makes us equals, something I refuse to accept. That seeing Lawrence withering on the floor in pain is only going to make me feel disgusting.

Elliott forgets that Lawrence and I were friends before all of this.

That before he ever brought me atop the roof of the building we're standing in front of, he and I would laugh over the stupidest things. That he'd make me blush, and I would tease him about his stupid mess of hair.

I'd stare at him from the other end of the lunchroom, and feel my heart skip of beat when he began to stare back. That I stalked his Instagram, and admired him from afar, unaware that he would soon begin to do the same thing.

Lawrence was never an initiator. He was always the one being crushed upon. He just decided he liked me back, somewhere along the road.

But after all of this, we forget those details.

We forget how we started.

"This isn't a good idea," I mumble, and Elliott looks down at me with confusion lacing his furrowed brows, "I mean, trying to find Lawrence. Why? What good does it do us?" I ask.

"Closure," He says it like its completely obvious, "We'll kick him to the ground, watch him struggle, give him a taste of his own medicine, and you can spit on him as we walk away and let him pay for all the things he's done."

"I don't want to do that," I say, looking at the concrete between our feet, "That isn't the closure I want, Elliott. I want everything to end in a civil manner, without us chasing him down like this."

Elliott ignores me, and knocks on the door.

A petite blonde woman, with an apron wrapped around her stick thin waist, opens the door and frowns, "Mr. Briggs never told me he was expecting guests."

"So he's here?" Elliott asks, and she nods her head cautiously.

"Yes, but he and Mrs. Briggs are - " I hear a scream sound from atop the staircase, followed by what I assume was once a pristine, and elegant woman bolting down the staircase. Her chocolate brown hair has fallen out of the bun atop her head, and the designer blouse beneath the blazer of her pan suit is wrinkled and pulled from her chest.

I push past the maid at the door who begins to panic, calling after me worriedly, when I storm up the staircase. Towards the sound of a gruff, irritated, male voice. Something within me was burning with nothing but rage for that very voice.

"Andrea! Andrea! You aren't allowed to leave this house!" A tall and large statured man emerges from around the corner, his blonde hair neatly groomed and combed back as he adjusts his tie that had been positioned at an odd crooked angle, the knot at the top coming undone, "If you dare leave this building you will face hell from the media! You will ruin everything!"