Sailing With Destiny

Class Day

I huffed under my breath, lifted my head off the pillow, and reached for my phone. It was around one am in LA and Mitchell was either asleep or still at Faith's party – either way, I was about to disturb him because I couldn't bear the silence anymore.

I mindlessly pulled the shirt to my nose and inhaled deeply, assuming his scent would miraculously return. After a few rings, Mitchell thankfully answered. "Hmm?" His voice sounded extra gruff and a little groggy.

I guess I ruined his sleep. Good, he deserves it after behaving like an ass.

I let go of the shirt and sniffed before I replied, "Mitch."

"Mila," Mitchell sounded a lot more awake. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Everything," I dramatically sighed.

"What do you mean?" Panic edged his tone. "Where are you? Did something happen? Are you alright?"

I realized that I spoke to Paranoid Mitch, the same guy who flew to London because his sister dialed his number by mistake, passed out, and then didn't answer his calls thereafter. I took in a breath and even though I wanted him nearby, the idea of him taking a four-hour flight from LA to New York seemed a little preposterous at the moment.

"I'm home, in my bed, and in one piece," I clarified and Mitchell let out a huge breath of relief. "But I am not fine."

"What happened?" Mitchell spoke in a much calmer tone. "Why are you crying?"

I furrowed my brows and wondered how he got the idea I was crying. "I'm not crying."

"Then why are you sniffing?"

"Because I'm trying to smell you," I replied.

Silence lingered on the line between us for a long moment, all I heard was Mitchell's steady breathing through the speaker. "I know technology has progressed majorly but it's still not possible to virtually smell anyone or anything."

"No soy estúpido como tu," I rolled my eyes.

"Speak English please, I'm in no state to try and understand," Mitchell mumbled and for some reason, I got the impression he was still moody and angry.

"Am I annoying?" I blurted.

"Is that a trick question?" Mitchell replied without a trace of humor in his tone which made my drunken mind a little anxious.

"You're still mad at me," I softly muttered and chewed on my bottom lip. "Does my amazing sense of humor annoy you? Have I become too much for you to handle? Are you fed-up of me?"

"What?" Mitchell exclaimed. "No... to all of the above." He deeply sighed, "in fact, I owe you an apology, I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier on, I'm sorry."

"Damn right you shouldn't have," I agreed. "But maybe I also shouldn't have teased so much, I know you suffer from blue-ball syndrome when it comes to me."

"She just contradicted her own words," he muttered to himself under his breath. "I had a long week and wasn't keen on attending Faith's party without you. I missed you tonight."

"Then why did you throw a Bitchell fit when Faith gave you a chance to talk to me?" I countered. "I lowkey hoped you came to the phone."

"Because... well because I'm a petty Bitchell," Mitchell admitted which made me laugh. "And I was jealous that you were around everyone except me."

I put my phone on speaker, dropped it on the bed, and rolled on my back. "I can relate, I wished you were with me tonight too." I hugged my covers and felt emotional again, "And to make matters worse, I no longer smell like you."