Second Chances

• Chapter 7 •

Chapter 7

The drive to Tyler's place was me trying to keep my thoughts in order. How can I feel anything for someone I don't even know, when I just admitted to an unconscious Ty, that I love him? I've known Ty for over 15 years now. I know everything there is to know about him, which I know sounds creepy, but it's true. You can learn a lot about someone in 15 years, let me tell you. The way his eyes change colour when he's in different moods. The fact he hates things unorganised and has to have pretty much everything in alphabetical order. His secret love for country/folk music. The fact he's the only guy who likes me without makeup. How he uses offensive sarcasm when he's angry. And how much he hates it when people give up. But then there's Will. His gorgeous light eyes, striking smile, perfectly structured body and good hair have left me speechless the two times I've seen him! I shook my  head at how irrational I was being. I pushed the thoughts out of my mind, putting all my focus onto the road. I drove passed my flat and kept going a couple streets down, before parking on the side of road outside Tyler's newly renovated unit.

I walked up to the door and fumbled for my keys, scared to walk in. I unlocked the door and immediately smelt the vanilla scented oil I planted behind his TV. If it wasn't for that scented oil, it would smell like it was when he first moved in; dust and baby powder. I shut the door behind me and slipped off my shoes. I walked onto the plush black rug that covered the polished floorboards. I sunk my toes into the fluffy rug and sat on the black leather couch. I swear it was the comfiest couch ever invented to man. It wasn't like a normal hard leather couch that you felt stiff on. It was like leather on the outside but on the inside it was stuffed with what felt like fairy floss. I realised why I had fallen asleep so quickly that day. That day... everything looked exactly the same as it did when Ty had stormed out. Not a single thing was out of place. I got up off the couch and carefully walked to his bedroom. The door was wide open from when he had stormed out of it a day earlier. The blue and white doonar cover was tucked in neatly and the pillows sat perfectly beneath the black bedhead. I looked under the bed and found the stacks of journals he had hurriedly hid from me. I went to pick one up, but refrained. It's his personal stuff and it's not my job to look through it. I sighed and walked out of the clean room, slamming the door shut behind me. I thought I would have to clean something or whatever, but everything was fine, tidy and in place. Just like it always was when I came over. He's such a neat-freak. When he comes over to mine he finds it hard to concentrate in my filth. Actually, it's pretty clean for me, but for him it's like an explosion went off in my house. I get so offended when he uses that reference. I sat on the couch and pulled the white throw over my trembling body. I turned on the TV and the News flicked on. The headlines were depressing as ever, showing wars and murders and more wars. I sighed and channel searched until I found a repeated episode of Modern Family. I yawned constantly, feeling tired from the reckless night sleep before. My eyes grew heavy and I decided to take a quick power nap. I did wake up early this morning after all...