Wicked (I Know I'm Bad Sequel)

Wicked: Make it or Break it.

"Where are you?"

"I'm almost there." The familiar sweet husky voice from the cold electronic device held to my ear said reassuringly. I've never been one to be happy hearing his voice.

"Well, a little faster?" I said in a faked annoyed tone. "I'm freezing."

The other line produced a scoff plenty clear through the phone. "Blimey! You're always freezing."

I as well produced a scoff. "Adam, if you haven't left you're house when you're saying you're almost here I swear I am going to kill you!"

"Relax, Louise. I really am almost there." He reassured.

Pulling my cross body bag higher above my shoulder, I took a deep breath in and pulled my coat tighter around myself. If I had to be honest with myself, I couldn't. Because it had been impossible for me to find the words to perfectly describe the painful hollow feeling tugging at my chest since Friday night two weeks ago, an excruciating aide memoire of my loss. No deep breath could fill in the abyss in my constricting chest. I will never let anyone know about it – my own internal struggle. Still, I was proud to say I was still breathing till Day Fifteen of Post-Damon. I let out my breath as a heavy sigh. Just as if on cue with my theatrical feat, a coffee-colored car skidded to a stop in front of me with an amused Adam smiling from the driver's seat. I let out a Fine-you're-cool-but-I'm-not-so-impressed look and he returned it with a flamboyant smirk.

"You are late as always, Mr. Reade." I said, putting my phone into my pocket.

"It's a privilege of an icon." He winked. "Hop in, gorgeous."

Shaking my head, I couldn't help smiling. Through the past week, Adam had been hanging out with me and the band. He'd helped me get through – I was now past the surviving, room-locking, tantrum-throwing, otherworldly-awkwardly-silent, protein-cutback stage. I guess now I was just on the way to try to shape my life back to full swing even with the agonizing mordant memories of him. Him. No, don't think about him. Don't start crying again. Without any more hesitation and internal anguish, I hopped into the passenger's seat.

"You know," I started, "you shouldn't say that so often. I'm starting to believe I'm really gorgeous."

"Well, believe what you want to believe, I'm just stating some facts here." He muttered and put his aviator's on.

 I shook my head, smiling. "You're spoiling me. Nice car by the way, what is it?"

"Audi R8 Spyder, first thing I got myself with my own money." he said, "You like it?"

"Hm... pretty fancy. It's hard not to like it."

No response came except from an enriched smirk. He checked if my seatbelt was properly and securely fastened before roaring the engine to life and blasting the Audi out to the misty unfilled road.

"You could drive slower, Adam." I commented, gripping the edge of my leather seat. "You're not in a race."

"Now where's the fun in that?" He complained, shifting his gaze from the road to my direction.

My heart skipped a beat. "There's going to be so much fun if we toppled over! Especially when you're taking your eyes off the road!"

Moments after, he grinned, his attention completely shifted to the road. "As the madam pleases," He said with a smile, hauling the car to a more acceptable, not-life-threatening speed.

I chuckled through my nose as I released my tight clutch from the door's handgrip, flexing my fingers, trying to regain the original color – pale white looked frighteningly odd. "Where're the others?"