"I'm not a child," Wilbur snapped, noting her tone change. It was like she was speaking to a kid, someone who won't fully cooperate until you're sweet and kind. "I don't need you here, babying me."
Her stomach dropped and she slowly closed her eyes. "So, you won't tell me?" Cynthia asked, her words slightly wobbly. "Alright," she said steadily. "I'm sorry for bothering you."
Her thumb hovered over the red button, not wanting to leave Wilbur alone. As if he sensed her hesitation, Wilbur told her to wait. "What?" She asked, getting fed up with the stupid game he was playing. "What is it this time?"
"Cynthia—" Wilbur stared longingly at the wine bottle sitting on his desk and shifted his gaze, catching the stuffed bear Cynthia won for him.
He closed his eyes and spoke thickly, filling his words with unneeded emotion.
"Come back to Brighton, I miss you."
!
CYNTHIA, NOT KNOWING what to do, harshly pressed the red button and ended the call—leaving Wilbur sitting in silence with a wine bottle in hand and staring at the bear.
She slowly set the phone down, taking time to fully process his short sentence. "'I miss you,'" Cynthia repeated under her breath. "Fuckin' hell—" she mumbled, running a nervous hand through her hair. "That little—"
Instead of cursing him out, Cynthia took a deep breath and powered off her PC, along with her monitor, before laying down on her bed. She laid there for a moment before curling up in a ball under her blankets, looking at her lock screen of her and Wilbur.
"I'm Wilbur Soot," Cynthia mocked in an obnoxious tone, "and I miss Cynthia Simons so I'm gonna get drunk and scare the shit out of her." She scoffed but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"And I'm Cynthia Simons," she mumbled softly, smiling, "and I miss Wilbur Soot, and can't wait to come back to Brighton."
!
THE NEXT MORNING while Cynthia typed away at her computer and ate toast, Daisy appeared at the doorway. "You busy, Cyn?"
She looked over her shoulder and shook her head. "Nope, what's up?"
Cynthia fully swiveled her chair in Daisy's direction, giving her friend her undivided attention. "I'm off to spend a few days with Felix," she shrugged, "he's in town and called me up earlier this morning. I'll be back...say, Wednesday?"
Felix was Daisy's unmentioned and fairly new boyfriend; they met at a corner cafe and clicked ever since. Despite what Daisy wanted, Cynthia convinced her to ask him out rather than the other way around. He was a tall fellow with shaggy brown hair and coal eyes that always seemed to be plotting something.
But, all around, he's a nice guy that treated Daisy right—ignoring the fact that he slightly looks like a drug addict.
Nonetheless, Cynthia understood that her friend wanted to visit her boyfriend. "Alright," she bobbed her head, "make sure not to have too much fun there," Cynthia teased and winked.
Daisy's cheeks reddened visibly and she waved a nervous hand. "As if," she mumbled.
Cynthia raised an eyebrow but questioned no further. "Well? Go pack up," said the older girl, "you're leaving today, are you not?"
"Oh—" she fumbled for the door handle, "right. I'll let you know when I'm leaving." Then shut the door behind her.
!
AN HOUR PASSED, as the time struck noon, Daisy was ready to head out. She knocked lightly on Cynthia's door and peeked her head inside, "I'm leaving now."
Cynthia looked up from her phone and nodded, getting up from her bed. "Alright then," she hugged Daisy briefly with an arm and glanced at her bags, "have fun, dear."
"'Dear'?" She asked, looking oddly at her friend. "You make us sound like an old married couple."
Cynthia broke away from her and pushed her shoulder softly. "I'm trying something out, alright? Now go on, Felix is probably waiting for you."
"Okay, okay—" Daisy backed away from the door, "see you in a few days, Cynthia."
!
SOMETIME AT TWO in the afternoon, someone was knocking on the door. Cynthia looked around, confused. "Did she forget something?" She asked under her breath.
She quickly jogged down the stairs and stopped just before the door, sparing a painful accident. Briefly, Cynthia peeked through the side curtains and spotted an all too familiar car.
After swinging the door open, her guess was right.
Standing there was a lanky and tall teenager, dirty blonde hair and wide blue eyes. He had a wide grin on his face, visibly showing his braces. "Hey, Cynthia," he greeted, "What's up?"
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