With Love, Étienne | ✓

Chapter Eight

"YOU WANTED TO TALK?"

Milo was lounging on his couch, his arms thrown around the back. He displayed an indifferent expression when I walked in and looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. Although nerves were bubbling at my stomach, I swallowed them down to keep them at bay. Unable to deal with the guilt that was choking me, I sent Milo a message after parting ways with Louella asking if he was free to meet for a while. He told me he had class within the hour but that I could swing by for a few minutes.

The house had been tidied in the short space of time from when I had last been here. Gone were the random bits of clothes strewn everywhere and the sink was finally cleared of the dirty ware. Even though the carpets were pretty much rotting in dirt, the place looked a lot better than the last day and I wondered if he paid someone to do it for him because Milo wasn't the kind of guy who enjoyed cleaning – ever.

"Yeah," I grimaced, "I thought we should after last night."

Milo scrunched his face up in confusion and peered at me from under his dark eyes, "Hm? What are you talking about?"

Taken aback by his reply, I froze for a moment before blinking in rapid succession and explained, "You know. . . What we argued about yesterday."

Milo lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck and if I didn't know better, I would have said the feigned look of confusion was real. However, there wasn't any way he didn't remember and if he could get into a full-blown argument with me at four in the morning then I had no doubt he recalled everything.

So why was he trying to pull off that he couldn't remember?

If it was because he thought he wouldn't have to accept some kind of responsibility for his actions, then he was wrong.

"I don't really think we have anything more to talk about," he shrugged carelessly, "I don't want to fight with you."

"I'm not asking to fight, Milo. I just. . . I ran in to the girl in my lecture this morning. She thanked me for pulling you off her. Are you really going to sit there and tell me what you did was right?"

"Good God, Étienne," Milo groaned and ran a hand down his face in frustration, "What are you, some kind of saint? Why are you lecturing me over and over again about this? Nothing happened. It's like you're trying to make a big deal out of it."

My cheeks flushed and I shook my head in defiance, "No, you know that's not it. Don't twist this around on me. Come on, man. Just apologize to her. She should be in my morning lecture tomorrow."

Milo scrunched his face up, as though what I was suggesting was ridiculous. He shook his head and pushed himself off of the couch with a sigh. I waited for his response while he seemed to be buying time to think about his words.

"What do I have to apologize for?" he asked then and faced me a genuinely puzzled expression.

Milo had his own way of twisting this and making me feel stupid and guilty for even bringing it up. But I wasn't going to back down from this too easily and he knew this was a topic that angered me easily, so for him to brush it off as though we were talking about different paint colours was infuriating. He may have been my best friend but that didn't mean he didn't have to be held accountable if he did something wrong.

"Milo," I ground out, "Come on. Look – her name is Marielle. She seems super nice too but the fact that I've apologized more than you have isn't right."

"What the fuck were you even saying sorry for?" Milo scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

"For you!" I hissed, "How can you be so self-unaware?"

Milo's jaw tightened and he slammed the door of his fridge shut and faced me with fury-filled eyes. He was starting to get irritated – but so was I. There were only a handful of times that Milo and I had gotten into arguments. Most of the time, I tried to keep out of his business because it usually involved something bad and the less I knew, the better. But there were the moments like these where I couldn't step back and pretend nothing had happened.

"It's none of your business," he uttered under his breath, "Mind your own fucking business, Ét."

"No. You made it my business when you forced me out with you!" I pointed out with narrowed eyes, "You asked me to come and I did and then you pull that shit and have the audacity to tell me it's not my business?"

Milo's nostrils flared in anger and he clenched his fists by his side, "Back off. Stop making a deal out of nothing. She's fine, okay? Nothing happened!"

"Fine, answer me this then. What if I wasn't there?" I bit out and Milo blinked in confusion, his rage simmering down in inch.

"What?"

"What if I wasn't there?" I echoed the same question and stared him down, "Answer me, Milo. What the fuck would have happened if I wasn't there?"

"Geez Étienne, nothing!" Milo raised his hands in defence, "God, what is wrong with you? What the fuck are you trying to imply here?"

He knew what I was trying to imply but saying the words made it a lot realer than either of us would have liked. I couldn't accuse him of anything other than being a little forceful with Marielle but now, it had set off an alarm in my head and I didn't think I would ever be able to forget his actions and the look in his eyes that night when I pulled him away. It simply meant that I wanted to keep a closer gaze on him – the fear that something like this, or worse would happen.

"You know what? Forget it," I bit out, "Whatever. I can't make you see what you did wrong."

"No," Milo scoffed and stepped in front of my path when I tried to leave. His eyes were burning in fiery anger and I knew he was probably close to reaching out and punching me across the face. It was now that I was beginning to feel a little bit more nervous but thinking of Marielle's face from today made me stand straighter.

"You started this so finish it. What the hell are you trying to say?" he continued when I remained silent, "Go on, Étienne."

He was pushing me. He was trying to elicit some kind of reaction from me but that wasn't what I was going to give him.

"Sexual harassment," I finally muttered, "That's what I've been trying to say this entire time. She didn't want you on her and you tried to push it, Milo. All I'm asking you to do is apologize. It might not be a big deal to you, but I'm sure it is to her."

Milo stared at me for a moment before he burst out into a fit of laughter. He clutched at his stomach and his eyes crinkled at their corners while his entire face lit up. I frowned at his reaction, unsure of why he was responding in this way.

"Jesus, Étienne," he chortled, "She wasn't even fighting me or anything. We were just dancing and she was the one who was pushing herself on me. Sorry, but I don't see anything wrong here. We were both of age and trying to have a good time."

Milo stepped forward and slapped a hand down on my shoulder but the action left a bitter taste in my mouth. Right now, all I wanted to do was leave because staying in his presence was only making me want to throw up.

"It's all good, man," he smiled at me in such a convincing way and I was ashamed to admit that had this occurred before, I would have believed him.

"Don't worry," Milo's face relaxed into one of his usual expressions of mirth, "Look, I know you're coming from a genuine place and I like that about you – you know, always trying to look out for others but sometimes you take it too far, okay?"

Of course. At the end of the day, it was me who was in the wrong for bringing this up. But if I had read everything incorrectly, then why had she thanked me multiple times? If she was truly having a fun time, why would she have walked away from him? Why was she looking around for someone to call out to for help? It wasn't just my imagination creating a fictional storyline.

Yet, maybe I was also part of the problem, because in the end I smiled and said, "Okay."

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