“There's something about you now
I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right” – You and Me, Lifehouse
It was Wednesday before I knew what hit me, and Bria had an early morning flight back to L.A. Well, what she calls 'early morning'. Her plane would leave at 10:15; so rationally, Bria had to get up at six in the morning. Not to mention wake the entire apartment complex up, too.
I stared at her from the lumpy couch, head resting on my arm and eyes struggling to stay open. I'd lost count of how many outfits Bria had shown me at around nine. I know some girls are picky about their outfits, but she had gone to the extreme. Each and every one had begun to blend together the more my eyelids drooped down.
She slapped her hands together right in front of my face, jolting me upright and making my heart spike like I was electrocuted. I stared back at her for a moment, in some sort of a shock. Shock, I chuckled, word play humor gets me every time.
“You aren't even looking!” Bria complained. I honestly hadn't remembered giving her a response. And I told her that.
“Hmm? What?” I mumbled. “Did I say something?”
“Yeah, the same thing you said on the last three outfits, 'Fine.'” She mimicked me, slouching and getting a dreary look on her face, half asleep. I was once again reminded as to why she went to Hollywood to act, girl had talent.
I argued back bitterly. “Because they were all fine!”
She made a gruff and annoyed sound but I didn't watch her walk away, my head hitting the armrest as she stomped back to her bags, muttering something like “I'll just go with number eight, then!”
“You do that!” I called back, curling more into a ball. The apartment was always cold in the mornings because I liked it cold while I slept. The downside was when I was too lazy to put on warmer clothes or get a blanket, like that moment. So I froze my behind off for a few minutes until I adjusted to the chill. Bria had no sympathy for me, her comfy and casual outfit was in layers, meaning she was perfectly fine with the temperature. If I wasn't mistaken, the feeling in my toes was slowly fading away.
“Why don't you go change? Or get a blanket or some other sh-”
Before she would inevitably curse, I stopped her. “That would require moving.”
“You're one of the laziest people I know.”
“I picked a career that requires minimal movement for a reason, Bee.” I counteracted.
She laughed; Bria always did enjoy my special brand of humor. One of the many strange reasons why we always got a long. Two puzzle pieces shouldn't be alike to fit together. As long as they complete the picture, they're meant to be.
I must have fallen back asleep because minutes later Bria was shaking my shoulder and abruptly stirring me from a most pleasant half-dream-half-reality state where you know you're dreaming, but it's so real you just smile like an idiot and enjoy it. I was having so much fun prancing through a field of daisies with Leonardo DiCaprio when she violently shook me- scaring the badzeezers out of me I might mention- and ripped me from my fantasies.
Some inaudible sounds came from my mouth, a mix of mumbles and groans. My vision was blurry as my glasses had fallen off and laid on the floor beside the couch. I picked them up to peer at Bria. She was bent in forward to me, cocking her hip in irritation for having to wake me up, but worst of all, her huge matching suitcases with the zebra stripes were already positioned by the door. Even in my state of slumber, I knew exactly what that meant.
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I Write Romances, Not Live ThemTeen Fiction
Five-time New York Times #1 bestseller, Adelaide Maddox, is not like normal 21 year-olds for many reasons. Not only is she one of the most popular romance novelists, she's hiding something from her readers. She's never been in love, never even been...