Kicking sand into a black girl's fresh braids probably wasn't the best way to make friends for six-year-old Marshall Stone. In fact, that's how he found a rival.
Love Lewis has always disliked the boy that had her mother on a rampage when she came h...
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"What's it called when you murder your twin?"
London yawns and hands me my phone, "They haven't come up with that yet."
I roll my eyes and slap them upside the back of their head, "Well, they better hurry up 'cause I'm about to murder you."
A dramatic gasp escapes them but the sound of Nayela's giggle cuts through the thought of me slamming the corner of my phone eagerly into my twin's head. Repeatedly.
It's yet another day in which I serve as my sibling's groupie, only this time they can act like an actual recording artist. The studio we rented for the night is small but it's affordable and as stated by the plaque hanging from the wall, it's the home of many big-time artists now.
I can only hope we're adding to its prominence.
Nayela is sitting back on the couch in the back, her head resting on the arm as she tries to sneak in a nap. While her eyes are closed, however, that doesn't stop her from partaking in our conversation with short and long hums to signify she's actually paying attention.
London keeps going back and forth between the sound booth and their girlfriend, pressing light kisses to her forehead but this time he decided to grab my phone in passing and peruse what I'd been doing.
It was nothing bad, I was just scrolling through old text messages with Marshall that I'd forgotten about - save for the ones almost two months ago. He'd mentioned them when he drove me home, just me asking where London was since they'd gone out that night. They'd completely slipped my mind but the fact that he remembered has me overthinking everything.
Does he remember every message between us? As I looked through, memories kept flooding back to me. Some from freshman year, some from partner projects, some as a result of parties that we'd attend separately but end up having a question about someone or something there. I came across one from a party the police shut down. He texted to make sure I made it out of there in one piece.
Has he always been like this? Checking on me even when I would ignore the fuck out of him?
I agreed to the road trip so maybe that will be my chance to get some answers. I'm not sure what was going through my head when I did, but after days of trying to not think about him anymore, my fingers kept finding my lips, and my lips kept remembering the taste of his.
I hated thinking about it but I preferred that one kiss with him over the many I'd shared with Chris over the past couple of years.
It was still crazy to think we'd just ended like that, but I knew lingering on it wouldn't help anyone in this situation.
"So, you're not flying back down with me?" London asks and I shake my head nonchalantly. Maybe I can, inconspicuously, get them to change the topic though I doubt that would work.
