How To Get The Girl

Chapter Five

Even though I would've done it without the drinks as an incentive, I still agree easily. "Sounds good."

I hung up and continued driving toward Sophie's house, a little over the speed limit, and ended up getting there in seven minutes. Her car was parked in front of the building, so I took that as a good sign before I parked across the street and headed over. Based on the stares I was getting from passerbyers, I was acutely aware of how horrible I must look. Then again, I don't really give a shit what other people think.

I took the stairs and reached her room quickly, giving it a quick knock on the door before I tried the knob. Much to my dismay, it was unlocked, and I made a mental note to scold her for being so careless after figuring out if she was okay. When I pushed the door open, I heard The Rolling Stones blasting from somewhere in the house, and I stepped inside hesitantly.

"Sophie?" I call, but get no response other than the music. "Fee?"

I shut the door behind me and continue walking through the apartment. I checked the living room and kitchen and came up short both times, so I decided to follow the music, instead. It got increasingly louder as I stepped through the hallway, and eventually found her bedroom door cracked open. Carefully, I pushed it the rest of the way open, and saw no sign of Sophie.

The open window caught my attention, and I neared it slowly, glancing around her room at the mess. There were pieces of crumpled paper almost making a trail to the window, and there were pastels sitting in a box on the ground beside a bunch of expensive looking pencils. When I made it to the window, I could see Sophie sitting on the fire escape with her knees drawn to her, and a sketchpad resting atop her knees.

"Sophie?" I say, this time quieter, and she looks up at me.

Her eyes are red and cheeks tearstained, surprise written all over her face. I frowned at her, the distress on her face as plain as day, as well as the residual evidence that she had just been crying. My eyes glance down at her sketchbook and I catch a glimpse of a drawing- an incredible one, at that- of a girl looking out of a window with rain sliding down the pane, before Sophie slams her book shut.

"W-What are you doing here, Jackson?" She asks, sniffling midway through her sentence, and then wipes at the dried wetness on her cheeks. 

Something inside me changed when I saw her look at me with such big eyes, to see her cheeks streaked with old tears, to know that Sophia was hurting for some reason. Instead of answering, I climb out of the window and join her on the tiny fire escape, looking right into her red eyes.

"What's wrong, Fee?" I ask gently, my voice coming out in a murmur without meaning to. 

"I-I-" She starts, and then more tears pool in her eyes, and she drops her head on my shoulder. 

Almost instinctually, I wrap my arms around her small frame and pull her toward me, trying to give her the comfort I knew she needed. The sketchpad fell from her knees onto the bottom step, but neither of us paid that any mind. Instead, I held her close to me as her shoulders shook with silent sobs. 

I murmur quiet "It's okay"'s and "Just let it out"'s while I rub her back in a circular motion, something my mom used to do for me when I was upset. And, after a few minutes, the sobs start to slow, and I know that she had calmed down. I keep rubbing her back slowly, almost unconsciously, until she lifts her head up from my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," She mumbles, wiping at her cheeks and looking away, down at the city beneath us.

"I should be the sorry one," I tell her, hoping to lighten the mood. "My shirt is dirty and I'm not the best smelling company."