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12/9/16
I CAN'T STAY away.
It's been exactly four days since the last time I sat in the library and felt the most at home I've felt in years being surrounded by all those books.
During the past couple days I've sneaked in and grabbed a few books to read in the middle of the night when Chase was fast asleep. But it isn't the same. Cuddling against the soft leather, the smell of old and new books filling my senses, and a book in hand. That place is a slice of heaven in my eyes and I want to sit there every night like I promised myself I would.
But I'm scared. I'm scared that Clayton will be there and anything to do with him makes me feel uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because he makes me feel everything but that.
The screen on my phone tells me it's a little past one in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm itching to be back downstairs in the small room that makes my heart so unbelievably happy.
I run my fingers through my dark hair and lazily toss it on top of my head. A sigh flies from my parted lips and suddenly my phone buzzes. My brows pull together in confusion as to who would be texting me at this time.
My fingers latch onto the cool phone pulling it off its charger and my entire body freezes when I see the name lit up across my screen. My mouth suddenly dries and I swallow in attempts to wet my throat. There's no part of me that understands why she would be texting me. I haven't seen or talked to her since right before I left for college. She is the reason so many things in my life have gone wrong, and the pure unadulterated anger that fills me in this moment astounds me.
I haven't thought about her in so long that the emotion at her trying to reach out to me shocks me. I toss the phone back onto the nightstand and run my now sweaty palms over my bare thighs.
My body shakes slightly as tears welt in my eyes. Because I hate her for what she did, I hate how fast she moved on, and I hate how even when I try I can't understand her. The need to be surrounded by the books fills my bones and I don't think twice about leaving the bedroom and running as quietly as possible downstairs.
I push open the door and a part of my heart drops into my stomach while the other part jolts in a secret excitement that Clayton is here, and my anger instantly vanishes into something else. Something I shouldn't feel. My eyes take in his slouched body, and before I even spot all the empty beer bottles and half full bottle of scotch the smell of alcohol overwhelms me enough to take a step back.
"Whoa," I whisper as I step in and close the door behind me with a soft thud.
Clayton drinks, he's twenty-five so obviously he drinks. But I've never seen him drunk. I think back to that fading memory of a kiss I know I will never receive again, he only had one drink at the bar and didn't seem the one bit intoxicated. Even when the family drinks he never has more then one glass, he's always so calculated and controlled. But I know as I lean against the door he's not in control, something sent him into a spiral and I know I should leave. I know this situation isn't going to end well if I stay.
