Holliewood

chapter twenty-three

I observed him swaying his head to the rhythm, his locs dancing. In his own realm, he absorbed the bright skies, indulging in the smoke from the blunt. His back was a silent backdrop to me.

I walked down the stairs with my tote in hand. The living room area had been cleaned and looked different from the night before. Had I not been stirred awake by the music, I wouldn't have known a thing.

"Good morning," I greeted him, fighting any form of awkwardness or feelings of unease.

He turned to me.

"Morning. You slept well?" He gave a small smile. His eyes were dilated and they had a red hue to them. The scent of weed lingered off him and it was very piercing and strong.

"Yeah..." I nodded, "how about you?"

I knew the answer to the question and had predicted he'd say yes, because alcohol always did the job. It was guaranteed to knock you out and that's what it sure did to him the night before.

"I slept great,"

I nodded, looking at him. Reading him was hard, I wanted to know if he was really okay, especially after our talk. I couldn't ask him that though.

"I see you have plans," he attempted to make light conversation.

"Yeah, I'm meeting up with Zara and her dad, then Day later."

"Oh," he said, blowing out smoke, "I hope you have a good time."

"Uh... Thanks. I'll see you later," I said, getting ready to head out.

He gave a brief head nod.

I walked towards the door only to stop myself, "I think we could maybe hang out later tonight."

"Us?" He raised a brow.

"Yeah," I folded my lips in.

He chuckled and rubbed his chin while observing me. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I felt dumb.

I awkwardly watched as he pulled in the smoke and exhaled.

"You don't have to feel sorry for me, Hollie. I'm good on that," he assured me.

I squinted my eyes in confusion, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said - you don't have to feel sorry for me," he responded, pulling out his phone and looking at his screen.

"That's not what this is about," I assured him.

"You sure?"

I had to think on my feet, "We have a contract to fulfil, remember?"

Of course, it was also not about that.

"Aight then, we'll take our pictures and call it a night after," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

It's not about the pictures. That's what I really wanted to say.

"Look, Raymond," I sighed, "I was very wrong for what I did and I should've never disregarded your privacy."

"We good," he responded, eyes letting out slow blinks.

"No, I think I owe you a proper apology. What I did was wrong and unacceptable on so many levels. I'm really sorry."

"We good," he repeated. "Now can you please dead the pity act? I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

"Why do you keep saying that I shouldn't feel sorry for you? Now all of a sudden I'm putting on an act of pity?"

"I'm saying that, because how I feel about you shouldn't be your problem. I mean, it's me anyway, right? You're right, I'm probably just confused or somethin'." He spoke with a cold bland tone, referring to what I had said yesterday.