12 am { ON HOLD }

Ch. 6

“Finally!” Tyler exclaimed dramatically the second Emily walked into the kitchen to find him sitting atop the island bench with a butterknife in one hand and a Nutella jar by his other hand. “What were you doing in there? Masturbating?”

“No,” she replied shooting him a sardonic look as she tried not to feel weirdly self-conscious about being in one of his giant t-shirts with nothing else but tiny netball shorts and a bra on underneath. “I took a shit,” she said in such a sarcastic and sharp way that he couldn’t help but scoff a laugh, an amused smirk on his face before he hopped off the counter in time to grab the two toasted bread that had popped out.

“Classy; very classy,” he drawled out dropping the toast onto his plate before opening the Nutella jar as Emily took a seat across of him and watched with mock-amazement.

“Would you look at that; who knew you could actually cook something for yourself?” she asked faking admiration which earned her a sour look since he wasn’t even cooking.

“If you want to make me lunch, then be my guest,” he retorted shoving a huge bite into his mouth as he shot her a glare just as she looked away to study the kitchen and dining room which was connected.

“The fact that I am your guest should mean that you should be making me food,” she said offhandedly as he polished off his first piece with ease.

“You’re hilarious you know that?”

“I know, thanks,” she smirked, turning to meet his gaze for a moment before once again looking away and around the room, doing her best not to let a single emotion show on her face as the same nostalgia from almost half an hour ago hit her for the third time since coming here.

“Are you naturally this bitchy and sarcastic or do you just like pissing me off?” he asked dropping the butterknife into the sink and putting away the Nutella jar as he started onto his second toast.

“No, actually, I was just born this fabulous,” was her reply before she hopped off the bar stool and walked off down the hall, Tyler not far behind as he watched her with both amusement and perplexity.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he queried, watching her curiously with his mouth full as she made her way over to a familiar chipping purple door – the door that they happened to have painted together almost five years ago.

“The basement; obviously,” she replied not missing a beat as she opened the door, flipped on the light switch and made her way down, unsurprised to see that unlike the rest of the house, this room seemed to have changed the most by far. “You smoke pot down here?” she asked with disgust as she finally realised what the stench that assaulted her senses was.

He smirked, wiped his fingers onto his jeans to rid away the crumbs before striding over and sitting himself down right in the middle of the couch as he watched her walk around, fingers tracing over everything she walked past – the pool table, the TV, the fridge, the wine cabinet, the closet, the desk – until she finally stopped by the wall of photos that his mother refused to take down.

“Yeah, you want any?” he asked feeling the sudden urge to do just that as Emily suddenly reached out to brush her fingers against a single photo frame, one he internally abused himself for not taking down; one of him and Emily that was taken a month after the first day of high school – a month after they first met.

“No, thanks,” she said turning around with a look of nonchalance as if she hadn’t really seen it or touched the frame, as if she hadn’t felt the jerk that her stupid heart gave when seeing the familiar photo of the two standing side-by-side, giant grins on their young, happy, 12 year old faces. “And I swear if you light that damned thing while I’m here, then I’m leaving,” she snapped seeing the blunt dangling between his lips as he rummaged through a drawer in the desk.