Cheeky

№ 32. Make it To Me

Emma had woken up before me and left a note on my night stand. She left to get her things back in order at her hotel room, and we would meet at the church later on. For some reason I felt the need to be completely hidden within plain sight as one by one, each of Chelsea's friends left the apartment. I didn't want to be seen, and more specifically I didn't want him to see me.

I had successfully managed to duck and dodge between the bathroom and my bedroom, timing intervals perfectly as each guest departed.  Yet through every stolen peek, I never caught sight of George. And my worst fear came true as I was forced to finally leave my room and confront the both of them. The pair were munching silently on cereal at the kitchen counter, and I shuffled in quietly to collect my bearings. Chelsea would be leaving for New York today, just as I would be returning home at the end of the week. How do you wish someone well who clearly hates your guts?

"How'd your party go?"

Chelsea and George pick their heads up in unison, and she shrugs with a full mouth, "Okay."

"It was great," George added, looking back into his bowl of Cheerios.

I nodded, mouth going dry as I watched him eat.

"And your mom's wedding?" She stared back at me boredly.

"Oh, that's um, today. It was her rehearsal dinner last night."

"...Right," Chelsea slurped down another spoonful.

I stood there, awkwardly, watching the two of them as they clearly wanted nothing to do with me. I had managed to make two people hate me in just a few months. Fantastic. My stomach gnawed at me, but there was no way in hell that I was joining them. Just look at how absolutely overjoyed they are, sitting there like fucking zombies shoving down soggy cereal.

I spun on my heel and back to my room where I threw a pair of heels and necessary accessories into a duffel along with my phone, hauling the thing over my shoulder until I reached the apartment door. I glanced back, they were still taking slow chomps in silence, and I dropped my bag. Without a word, I rounded the counter and threw my arms around Chelsea, her spoon clattering as she was startled.

I pinned her arms in against her and gripped her warmly, "Have a safe flight. I hope you find what you're looking for. And thank you for everything you've done for me."

I let go and returned to the door, picking my bag up along the way. Chelsea sat in complete bewilderment, and George retained a blank expression. I closed the door behind myself with a gentle thud, taking a deep breath as I registered what  had just happened. But obviously, it wasn't enough time for my head to clear, because I went back in. 

Chelsea and George were still practically catatonic, maybe it was their hangovers kicking in. Or maybe it was because I had just stepped on some emotional landmine, either way it didn't phase me. They both stared back at me as I returned, and I took a moment, chewing the inside of my lip until I could finally face him.

"George?"

He still held no semblance of shock, and so I inhaled deeply, making sure I stared him square in the eye. I savored his memory,  his style,  his touch. The way his coarse thumbs gently strummed a guitar, or the way his left eyebrow creased slightly higher than his righr whenever he laughed. My George.

"Yeah?" he pushed away his bowl.

He waited, watching me with some apprehension.

"I love you."

With a curt nod, I took off and locked the door behind myself. My brain went numb, if that was even possible. I hailed a cab outside and slid in, spewing out directions like an ATM machine. Slumped against the worn leather seat, duffel bag in lap, I couldn't shake myself back to reality. Usually the sensation of floating on air is experienced when one is in a state of bliss, but I couldn't quite agree on that. It was more of an out-of-body experience, or in my case, verbal diareahha.