17 Last Times

⤹11❁ Missed Calls

Welcome back! I'm so excited for this update because this chapter is just the beginning of all the changes that are about to happen! Enjoy!

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When the evening marks the sky with its gloomy presence, I step into the house, still pondering about the stranger.

I take off my brown coat, leaving it on a coat hanger by the door. The mansion is oddly silent. I amble into the living room, surprised by an easel that stands by one of the windows. On its wooden bones rests a canvas, big and already started. I study the thick coating of paint, too preliminary to decipher what it might depict in the future.

"You're back." Will's voice startles me out.

"You're very observant," I state evenly, then slowly turn around.

His body glistens from water, and so does the floor as he left wet footprints all over it. He's got nothing on except for a drenched pair of dark swimming shorts. A while ago, this view would have sparked a flurry of excitement within me. Now however, I feel nothing at all. He doesn't attract me anymore. I feel nothing for him.

He grabs a towel that he's left on the dresser and begins to dry his hair. "I've only started it." He points with his head at the canvas. He must've seen me look at it.

"Fair," I mutter back. "I'm gonna go upstairs."

"Davina, wait." His words are rushed.

I halt my steps and raise a quizzical brow.

"I was thinking . . ." he ventures. "It's been a while . . . Maybe we could go out together soon? I'd really like to take you on that date that we've planned."

My lips tip up. It's not a genuine smile. It's a ridicule to his offer, but he must've read it wrong as he continues.

"You're smiling. Is that a yes?" He sounds so hopeful.

I frown at him. "No. It's a no."

His expression changes. He looks beyond confused. "Could you at least tell my why?"

I let out a sigh. "I just don't want to."

"You don't seem to be so unwilling when your friends invite you out. Or Nathan." He keeps his voice calm but there is more than just a hint of metal to his words.

"Is there a problem?" I raise both brows.

"Clearly there is," he reiterates, throwing the towel on the sofa.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He huffs, way louder than I'd ever expected anyone to be able to. "Just fucking stop, okay!?" His voice lifts in the quiet room. He places his fingers on his temples. "You're not fucking dumb. You know exactly what you're doing. It's fucking exhausting, mate."

I blink, stupefied and offended at the same time. "I'm too tired for this. I'm going upstairs." I shake my head and begin trudging up the staircase.

His voice follows behind me. "Yeah, just fucking go! Go and hide like you've been doing it this whole fucking time because you're too childish to have a normal adult-like conversation!"

I come to an instantaneous halt and turn around, hand gripped into the railing. "What did you just say?"

"I said what I said, but at least I've got the balls to open my fucking mouth and express myself. I don't linger around for weeks like a damned zombie, pretending to like whoever I fucking live with." He stares at me, chest moving up and down in anger. "Just admit it. Just fucking admit that you hate my guts." He watches me closely, eyes burning with rage. "Actually, don't do it. I already know that you can't stand looking at me, but at least have the decency to tell me why before you pack your bags and get the fuck out of here."