Playing With Fire

Chapter Five

Travis hasn't showed up, and it's been more than an hour.

I kind of knew this was going to happen, that the badass was going to ditch and let me do all the work. The fact that he pretty much set up this project time, and still decides to ditch-it's a pretty damn stupid thing to do. It irks me that he believes he could do such a thing.

Didn’t my punch mean anything to him?

Mid-thought, the home phone rings, and I dash up to get it. Lately, every phone call reminds me of when dad used to call at home. It’s just been a habit for me to pick up. It’s as if a regret weighs me down when I don’t. 

"Hello?" I answer softly.

"Faye?" A familiar, deep voice speaks across the line.

"Travis." My voice comes out dry the instant I hear it, “How did you get—“

"—Meet me at the library." He states, his voice hard.

Irritation courses through my veins and I pull back from the phone to control my volatile mouth. An hour later, he calls like it’s his home.

“Where have you been.” I nearly growl out once I shove the phone back against my ear. It’s not even a question, more of an odd demand.

"Do you want to do the project or not?" He hisses impatiently.

“I’m coming.” I snap, “And for the record. You don’t get to tell me what to do."

Before he can say anything else that will make me want to rip my eyes out, I slam the phone down. The monotone ring becomes audible and I huff a huge sigh.

"Layla!" I shout, "Can you drop me off at the library?"

A few moments later she replies, "Why?"

"Travis and I are doing the project there."

"Oh, good. You get those bitchy librarians. I don’t have to stick around." She smiles, the sound of her jingling keys ringing from upstairs.

I snort, "Whoopdedoo."

She laughs at that and taps her own head while walking down the stairs, "Tell me when you need to be picked up."

We walk out the door and get in the car silently, wrapped in our own thoughts. When she starts the engine, the loud ripping noise from the back of the car doesn't even seem to bother either of us. She backs out of the courtyard, and drives off, palm trees passing by steadily.

After a firm 10 minute ride, she reaches in front of the Library and halts the car.

I get off and wave to her before she drives off, leaving me alone in front of a huge wooden building.

Vintage much?

I take a huge breath and walk in, the cool air of the atmosphere hitting me like a sudden arctic breeze. I shudder and fold my arms across my chest, walking further down the isle, looking right and left for that particular face.

Eventually, I catch the back of his head, sitting all the way in the back of the building.

I roll my eyes and shake off my previous jitters.

I stalk closer to him, making minimal noise as I slide around his chair and sit in front of him. Surprisingly, he's too engrossed in a book to care.

Pursing my lips, I throw my bag on the table across from him and watch as he looks up, startled.

His expression quickly turns from shock to annoyance in less than a second. His normal eden green eyes are no longer holding mockery or humor, but instead, they are glassy and hard. I notice a faint, brown line mark on the corner of his cheek, kind of like the one I have on my underarm. The jaw I punched earlier today has dimmed down in its swelling slightly, however, a fresher one presents itself on the other side.

"What the hell happened to you?" I say before I can even stop myself.

His eyes become void of any emotion as I stare at him a while longer.

"None of your business." He says gruffly, "Can we start this project?"

“Right,” I mutter, reaching for my bag, “Grumpy and bipolar.”

He narrows his eyes, his lips turning into a straight line.

I shouldn't have said that because right now, the look he is giving me is by far the most intimidating of them all.

            I exhale sharply before pulling out a chair and sitting across form him. He straightens in his seat and looks down as I pull out the project paper.

           

            “Let’s just get this over with.”