daddy issues → brad simpson | ✓

18 - you were

CHARLOTTE

I glance over at Tiara who was sat silently next to me on the sofa as we caught up on Keeping Up with the Kardashians. She hasn't spoken to me since lunch and I wonder if she got suspicious after both Brad and I left. I hope not.

"Do you want anything to drink?" My voices slices through the silence and she slowly rips her gaze from the television to me.

"I don't mind," she shrugs. She didn't seem off with me, she seemed normal. Maybe I was paranoid and she didn't assume anything about me and Brad.

"I'm gonna grab some snacks," I sigh and stand up and walk to my kitchen. I find a half empty packet of Doritos on the side and a bag of popcorn in my cupboard and trudge back into the lounge and throw them on the sofa.

She doesn't even acknowledge my presence and I start eating the crisps. I should tell her that I kissed Brad, especially if she likes him that much. But it's none of her business and I'd have explain why. But I couldn't lie to her, and Brad might get annoyed that I told her without consoling him, but then I remember that he told his mates about us without asking me.

I should just admit to the kiss and see how she reacts, maybe she's fine with it and will be happy for me. Who am I kidding? She'll kill me with a pitchfork.

"Can I talk to you?"

Her head snaps from the television, "about what?"

"Well, at lunch when Brad and I were lining up," I begin, watching her facial features but she just looked neutral. Not annoyed or angry or surprised. "We sort of kissed."

"I know," she shrugs and I furrow my eyebrows. She knew? Why didn't she say something to me, I thought she'd be upset? "I know you two kissed because he was obviously trying to make me jealous. He knew I was watching you both. It's fine, you don't need to feel guilty."

I let out a sigh of relief. For once I was thankful of her ignorance.

"But just don't get used to it, you know?" She continues and my eyes meet hers. "It didn't mean anything, the kiss. You might like him, that's all. I don't want you to become delusional when he's obviously into me."

"Yeah," I mumble, looking away. All I had to do was act like Brad and I were barely even friends when she was around and then she wouldn't suspect anything.

"I'm just warning you," she shrugs and turns to the television. "Because he can be a player. You might've thought he actually wants to hang out with you at lunch, but he only asked you because he was clearly too nervous to ask me."

It astounded me how oblivious she was to Brad and I's relationship—if we could call it that, we just hooked up sometimes. Brad and I weren't particularly sly at university, or in general, so I'm sure it would only be a matter of time until she realises.

"I'll keep that in mind."

An hour later she gets a call off of her parents and she has to go home. She takes the bag of popcorn as a souvenir of sorts before departing ways with me. I close the door with a sigh of relief before walking into my room and going on my phone. My thumb hovers over Brad's contact. I wanted to talk to him, maybe do something more than talk, but I didn't want to seem clingy since we spent the whole weekend together.

I end up texting him anyway, asking if he can come over and I patiently wait for him to reply by scrolling through my Instagram feed. When he finally replies I click on it with a hopeful smile.

Can't tonight. Going to doctors. Think I have a STI.

♡

In the morning, I catch the bus to Brad's house. I didn't sleep, I couldn't. He thought he had an STI, which meant I could have an STI. Holy fuck.

I storm up his driveway, knocking on his door at half past seven in the morning. I had one hour where I could shout at him for being so careless before I had to leave for uni.

I wait for five minutes as no one answers before I start knocking again, more aggressively. Moments later his door swings open and he's rubbing his tired eyes. I would've kissed him since he looks so good with his bed hair but I was angry at him. Beyond pissed.

"What are you doing here so early?" He mumbles, confused. He wore a navy blue dressing robe with some boxers underneath.

"Oh, I don't know—the fact you left me on read after the text you sent last night," I exclaim in disbelief. "You didn't reply all fucking night!"

"What the fuck are you on about?" He snaps back at me and I glare at him. "I didn't reply because I was exhausted after I went to the doctors. Sorry I can't always be there to fuck you."

"I don't want you to fuck me anymore," I clap back and he looks taken aback. "When were you gonna tell me? Or were you gonna just wait until I figured it out myself?"

"I'm so confused," he admits, a frown on his face but he still looked pissed off. "What the fuck are you going on about? Figure out what by yourself? What do I need to tell—?"

"Please," I scoff. "Don't act all innocent now. Which is it?"

"Honestly, I don't know what you're on about," he shakes his head. "Are you gonna calm down and explain to me what the fuck you're shouting at me about? Otherwise I'll just close this door in your face."

"You have an STI, Brad!" I snap at him and he's surprised. "A fucking STI! Which one is it? Can it be treated? How long have you known for? When—?"

"What the hell," he hisses as people start to stare at me. "I don't have a bloody STI, Charlotte! Where the fuck did you get that idea from? Do you have one?"

"I bloody hope not," I scowl at him. "And you told me last night when you told me you were going to the doctors that you might have an STI!"

Before he can reply, I'm on my phone and shoving the message in his face. He reads over it with narrowed eyes and shakes his head.

"I meant I might have had a stye, Charlotte," he informs me calmly and I let my phone drop. "I was tired after uni and I didn't know how to spell stye. I wasn't really paying attention."

I let out a sigh of disbelief as I shake my head, "You had me worrying all bloody night, I thought I was going to die or something."

"I'm sorry that you were stressing out," he chuckles and I don't find anything amusing about this situation right now. "I really am, okay?"

"I can't believe you," I roll my eyes. "Do you have dyslexia or something? Fucking idiot."

"I'm sorry," he puts his hands up in surrender, his dressing gown rising and exposing more of his muscles torso. "Let me make it up to you."

"You'll probably give me an STI," I mumble sarcastically and he lets out another chuckle. "Just don't. . . Don't scare me like that. Again. Ever. Or I'll castrate you, understand?"

"Alright," he grips my wrist carefully and pulls me close, pressing his lips to mine briefly. "I'm sorry, really."

"You should be."

edited.