𝐘𝐎𝐔 and I | h.s .

Chapter 9

Song: break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored -
Ariana Grande

It's been a few days since our last encounter, and I haven't spoken to you since. I debated many times if I should text you and apologize for my distant behavior, but ultimately decided against it. This whole situation just makes me feel weird.

I sit at my kitchen counter, picking at my breakfast as I scroll through instagram. I noticed that Angel posted on his story. It's a picture of him at the gym. Looking up in the left hand corner, I see that it was posted 3 minutes ago.

It's time.

I throw out my breakfast and grab my keys, while heading to the door. As I'm about to leave, I realize I don't know where he lives. That's helpful.

I frustratedly sit back at my kitchen counter, thinking my plan has been ruined, until I remember something. I get up, heading to my bedroom to grab my laptop.

I saw this in a movie once, so I'm not actually sure if it'll work. Doesn't hurt to try.

If Angel is Aria's childhood friend, I'm assuming he attended the same college as her. Right?

I type "Washington State University alumni" in the search engine and click enter. I am taken to a website with thousands of names, each section separated by year. I search for Angel Hernandez in the search bar.

I am greeted by a graduation photo of Angel, along with his email and address. Bingo.

I grab my hoodie and sunglasses before heading out the door.

The drive to his place was short, I didn't realize he lived so close to me. It didn't take long for me to pick the lock to his apartment, I'm getting pretty good at it now.

I walk into the large space, taking in the environment. His apartment is very clean. Like very clean. Every piece of furniture, every throw pillow, every decoration has been meticulously picked to tie the whole place together. It looks like something out of a catalogue. The smell of citrus lingers in the air.

I walk into his bedroom and am greeted by his freshly made bed.

I start looking through his drawers, in his closet, and under the mattress for anything to confirm my suspicions. Nothing. I can't put my finger on it, but I just have a weird feeling about this guy.

I bend down under his bed, finding a shoebox and pulling it out. I hesitate before opening the box, fully preparing myself for the worst.

I pick up one of the many magazines in the box, flipping through it's pages. I quickly discover that it's a gay magazine and my cheeks flush red. Accompanying the magazines in the box is a string of condoms and a couple bottles of lube. I should not be looking at this.

I return the box to its rightful place, disappointed in my lack of evidence. I really thought I would find something, anything, to prove I'm right.

Maybe I don't have to worry about you after all. Maybe you are honestly just friends with her.

I hear keys jingling in the front door, eyes widening before I run into the closet. I hear footsteps approach the bedroom, and watch through the little slits in the closet door as Angel plops himself on the bed.

He's typing away on his phone, and I feel my phone vibrate from my pocket. I grab it, dimming the brightness, as I read the notification on the screen. It's from Angel. I click on it, bringing me to your conversation once again.

i think i'm gonna call him. this doesn't feel right.

it's your call Ari. if he really means that much to you, then go ahead.