There's two songs that you need to play for this chapter. The most important one is the second one :)
This chapter is my longest one yet, so prepare yourself.
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T.W: Abuse, depictions of abuse (Physical and Verbal), alcohol abuse, mature topics, mentions of mental distress, depictions of mental distress. The triggering stuff ends when it says: "Present-day-" feel free to skip to there if you are affected by any of the triggers.
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Nova-
10 years ago-
When I was younger, we moved a lot- most of the time, it was for my parents' work.
The very last time we moved, however, was for a much bigger reason.
I sat on the floor of my new room, staring blankly at the barren wall in front of me.
The room was dark because I hadn't opened my blinds since we moved.
The room was empty aside from the mattress- which was pushed against a wall, my one pillow, and my blanket- which I had messily strewn across the mattress.
I had spent every day since we had arrived- cooped up in the room.
I'd been curled up on the floor or in a corner- trying to understand why I had to be involved in my parents' erratic decision to move.
My family and I moved into a new house. My mind wasn't in the right place to decorate, so I left everything untouched.
My boxes were still packed- as a silent protest to my parents who, in contrast to me, were decorating the house religiously- as if they believed new furniture would erase our dolorous past.
The very past that changed everything.
The very past that left me weak, isolated, and heartbroken.
Every passing day was supposed to get better- the therapists had promised.
I was supposed to get better, but in all honesty, it kept getting worse.
I was getting worse.
I was also 10.
I hadn't been able to sleep since the accident, but sometimes, my body would start to relax; I would slowly start to drift, and it would get very dark.
I would almost be able to taste the relief of sleep, but right before I could truly graze the surface of peace- I would start shaking, hyperventilating, and my mind would go to very dark places.
Then, my eyes would shoot open- letting me revel in my sweaty body, rapid heart, and sporadic mind.
These brief moments were panic attacks.
I knew that from the therapists my parents had let me see after the accident.
My mental health seemed to be disintegrating with every sunrise; I was holding on to the moon with my dear life.
I wasn't eating. I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't socializing.
I was, honestly, so scared for myself.
I was also scared of myself.
I taught myself how to turn off my brain, so I couldn't think because every time I thought- it brought me more pain than clarity.
It had been 6 months since the accident. My body and my mind were moving at two different paces.
My body was the sea; My mind was the boat; I was the captain during the storm- just trying to stay afloat until shore.
Somedays, I couldn't even get up in the mornings. On the days that I could- I would wish I hadn't.
We had arrived on Tuesday morning, it was Friday afternoon, and I still hadn't unpacked a single box.
Yes- as a way to protest- but also because I didn't have the energy.
My parents were busy with important decisions like whether they should paint their bathroom walls Coventry Grey or Abalone.
They didn't have time to care about me or that I hadn't left this empty room since we had arrived.
I had become so dissociated from my feelings that I hadn't cried since my parents told my sisters and me that we would be moving.
That was 2 months prior.
I had cried so much that night.
Even if living in that house meant watching the once happy, full-of-life, and radiant house turn into an unfriendly, meaningless, and unpropitious space- I would bear it- especially if it meant living with what I had left of her.
My parents had decided- without my opinion- that living in the house where we had our last memories with her- the only person who made every house a home- was too much.
"A fresh slate," they called it.
It didn't feel fresh.
We had moved 10 hours away into a new house in the country.
The house was large and beautiful- It was something to be proud of- but how could you be proud of something that was bought to mask grief?
I knew that the accident had affected my parents too, but they never showed it, and it made me feel weak for showing that it affected me.
It also made me angry that they didn't display their pain. Maybe, if they did, I wouldn't have felt so alone.
My younger sisters were too young to care, so they ran around the damn house playing games and making new memories.
I couldn't be mad at them, but I wished I could.
I wished I could be mad at everyone.
I was mad at everyone.
So, very, painfully mad.
Even in the new house- filled to the brim with interior designers, painters, and builders- I still felt like I was the only one.
I felt suffocated, trapped, and I needed to taste freedom desperately. The only issue was mustering enough strength to reach out my hand and try to hold it.
If Estella were here, she would have taken me out for ice cream.
She would have gotten me out of this house by now.
Then again, if Estella were here- I wouldn't have felt the way I did.
If she were here- my dad wouldn't have already made a hole in the hallway outside of my room.
If she were here- my parents wouldn't be yelling at each other every night.
2-months later-
"You little bitch," he slurred.
I clenched my jaw, snapping my mouth shut.
"It's all your fault!" he yelled. "You are a worthless piece of shit!"
My eyes started to water.
I stood there watching him as he stumbled up to me, an empty bottle of Red-Label held in his hand. When he was 3 feet away from me, he threw the bottle at me.
I moved to the side so that the bottle didn't hit me.
I heard the loud shatter of the bottle hitting the wall behind me and all of the pieces falling to the floor.
My body jolted, and he got angrier.
I heard Scarlett start to cry from her room- and my eyes shot to my mother. I silently begged her for help, but she just stood there, watching as my father stumbled closer to me.
Traveling rearward until my spine hit the kitchen island, my 11-year old body started to quiver as my father glared at me.
Suddenly, I felt his hand on my hair, and my body went limp as he dragged me down the hallway by my hair.
I could hear him shouting, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.
He projected my tiny body against my bedroom door.
My shoulder coincided with the wood, prompting me to cry in injury. I collapsed to the floor.
My shoulder ached, my tears bit, and my head throbbed.
My father's foot met my ribs- inducing me to cry again.
He picked me up by the collar of my shirt, opened the door, and threw me inside before slamming the door shut.
I landed on the hardwood floor, my already bruised knees tasting the brute pain.
"Worthless little shit," he spoke blatant enough for me to hear.
I lied on the cold floor, my tears making noise every time they hit the hardwood.
My choppy breathing, rapid heart, and the loud blood racing to my ears- was the only noise I heard over the loudness until he made the T.V. louder than the thump of my heart.
I kept thinking about how I didn't get dinner.
It was my birthday, and I didn't get dinner because my father didn't like the fact that I had accidentally left the back door unlocked after coming inside from playing.
I wondered how that made sense.
Why did it make sense in his head to hurt me because of something I had forgotten to do?
If he had given me a chance, I would have explained that Lucy was outside when I walked in, so I left the door open for her.
He didn't let me explain.
Would it have been different if he did let me explain?
My sniffles were the only things I could hear.
I didn't even get a present.
I didn't get cake.
Estella would have gotten a cake for me.
But Estella left.
Present-day-
I groan at the sound of my alarm.
Getting out of bed, I slump to my kitchen.
I make my iced coffee, grab a croissant and stare out of my window while I eat.
The birds are back, but now there's a new one.
I've started to call him Atlas. He and Celia get along really well, and I think they're dating, but Atlas might be cheating on her because I saw him sharing a bagel with Quinn yesterday.
I already hate Quinn, so now I hate her even more.
Bird drama can get pretty messy, so I'm trying to stay out of it.
When I finish with breakfast, I get ready for work.
I settle on cream-colored straight-legged jeans and a black button-down sweater.
I leave my hair down and put on gold jewelry.
When I'm ready, I walk out of my apartment building and walk to the subway.
I woke up earlier than needed today, so I have time to take in my surroundings instead of rushing.
I prefer the city at night, but it's still a sight during the day.
I pass by closed stores, multiple dripping clothing lines, and a bunch of cats.
I slide past the metro and onto the train. The subway is next to empty today, which makes me feel more relaxed. The other people sitting with me seem to be just like me- people headed to work.
I stare out the window as the train moves. Though, all you can see is black.
When I get out of the subway, I walk to Emmerson.
Amy isn't there today, and the woman taking her place just gives me a quick smile as I sign my name on the board.
I return the smile and take the elevator up to my floor.
The floor is void of many people because almost everyone has early meetings today.
I set my stuff down at my desk and grabbed a donut they had at the snack table. I'm not a big fan of donuts. I think they're too sweet, but every now and then, I'll still eat one.
After an hour of doing schoolwork, Mae's assistant tells me that Mae wants to see me. I can't recall any reason that Mae would need to talk to me, but I stand up anyway.
Her assistant opens the door wide enough for me to enter.
Mae greets me with a smile, "Hey!"
I return the smile, "Hi!"
"I've been meaning to ask you something," she says, shifting through papers on her desk.
I nod, telling her to go on.
"I have an event tonight," she starts. "But I have to attend a conference for the first half, and I need someone to go there in my honor."
My eyes widened, "You want me to attend an event for Emerson?"
She nods, "Just for the first half at least."
I think it over, "What kind of event is it?"
She smiles, "It's an event for everyone our firm works with."
Those events are filled to the brim with rich and powerful people. People I do not mix well with.
"I don't think so," I say apologetically.
"Are you busy?" she asks.
I sigh, "No."
"Then you can't not come," she says. "This would be a great opportunity for you."
"Only for the first half?" I ask, giving up.
She smiles, "Only for the first half."
I pause. I could be at an event for a few hours.
"Okay," I agree. "What do I wear?"
"Just something fancy," she says with a grin of victory. "A simple dress will do."
That's no help. Mae's idea of a simple dress is probably something that was on an editorial magazine cover.
I nod and walk out.
The rest of the day goes by normally.
I make myself nervous for the night. I wish I hadn't agreed.
It helps with my new thing about stepping out of my comfort zone, so I don't cancel.
It also does really well for me when I make appearances at these events and mingle with powerful people- It's the only reason I let myself be persuaded into going to them.
When I'm done with the meeting I had to sit in, I grab my things and go home. Before I walk out, I tell Mae to text me the details of the event.
I took a taxi instead of the subway since the event starts at 7:30, and it was 6:00 right now.
It would probably end up taking me an hour to get ready since I get distracted easily, and I have no idea what to wear.
When I get home, I start the getting ready process. Music playing loudly in the background and everything. Honestly, sometimes I like the getting ready process more than I like the actual event.
I decide to do my hair and make-up before choosing an outfit.
I lightly curl my hair to give the already existing waves more definition. When I think it looks good, I get started on my make-up.
I've never been too good at make-up.
I would love to be able to do a full face of make-up and make it look good. I just don't have the talent.
I just put on concealer, blush, eyeliner, and mascara.
I used to hate my freckles so much. I would try to scrub them off of my face, but now, I embrace them.
My eyes are a dull shade of brown.
I don't hate them- I just think there are other more striking colors.
My hair is the same way. It's dark-brown, but I think it suits me, so I don't get insecure about it.
I've never been called pretty, beautiful, or attractive. When I have been called those things, it was because I had said it first and the other person was being nice- or they were saying it as a joke. If people do call me those things- I don't believe them.
Making myself walk away from the mirror, I open my closet door.
Mae said a simple dress, but I don't know if she means shopping mall simple or Gucci simple.
I look through every dress I own- not finding anything worth wearing.
After 10 minutes, my room is a mess. I have clothes on my bed, floor, and on top of my dresser.
Along with the mess, I still have nothing to wear.
I groan as I slide to the floor. I'm about to give up and call Mae to cancel when I see the green dress I had bought when I went thrifting with Violet a few months ago.
I had thrown it into the very back of my closet.
I decided to give it a try just because I'm low on time, and I'm desperate to find anything that will look good on me. I took off the shirt I was wearing and slid on the green dress. The fabric whispered against my skin.
I looked into the mirror. Luckily the dress isn't formfitting, so I don't have to suck in for the whole night.
I decide to keep the dress on because I don't hate the way I look today. Plus, I have nothing else that works.
The dress is a silk green dress with thin straps. I pair it with gold jewelry, a black purse, and tan strappy heels.
I grab a tan coat, and I leave my apartment, hoping I didn't forget anything.
Then, I spot the bracelet on my nightstand. The one Theo gave me all those years ago. It matches the dress and I feel compelled to wear it. I used to constantly mess with it when I was nervous and I know I'll be very nervous tonight so, I clasp it on.
I hail a taxi and find the address Mae had sent to me. The ride there was, luckily, short.
I paid the taxi driver and stood outside of the building for a little bit. The building was mostly glass and had steps that led to the front entrance.
It was already dark outside.
I slipped my phone into my coat before forcing my legs to walk forward.
Before I can reach the door, a couple opens the door for me, letting me in before them.
I smile at them politely before stepping into the building.
My heels make noise against the tile.
The man is wearing a simple navy-blue suit, and the woman is wearing a purple body-con dress.
People in white and black approach us. They take off my coat, and they take my purse.
I put my phone in my coat pocket, and now, I feel too awkward asking for it, so I just thank them before following the couple through the second entrance.
I'm hoping they're going to the right place.
Walking into the room- I'm instantly hit with the smell of fancy perfume, food, and alcohol.
It's too potent for my liking, but it's not the worst thing, so I deal with it.
Mae instructed me to speak to people and talk about new things going on at Emmerson- which would be easy if I knew how to address these people.
I walk around, looking at the room.
A separate set of doors leads to a room with a bar, a dance floor, and a stage.
The area I'm in has a stairway, multiple round tables with a white cloth draped over them, and chairs to sit in.
There are also stations for food that don't look too appetizing.
There are vines on the walls, people everywhere, and music that I don't recognize playing on the speaker.
I get approached by a man in a clean grey suit.
He looks intimidating until he smiles.
I smile back.
"Hello," he greets. "I'm Matthew Smith."
The man sticks out his hand for me to shake.
"Nova Scott," I say, taking his hand in mine.
He furrows his brows, "I apologize, but I don't think I'm familiar with that name."
"I work at Emmerson," I clarify.
His eyes immediately swelled with recognition, and he smiled broader.
"Of course," he says. "How do you like it? Is Mae giving you any trouble?"
I laugh and have a nice conversation with him about what it's like interning at Emmerson.
His whole vibe reminded me of a caring grandfather.
When we depart, he gives me his business card and tells me that I can come and watch how Law works in a different environment.
I feel a surge of confidence after that success, so I walk around some more, hoping someone else will approach me.
A woman with grey-ish blonde hair walks up to me with a smile.
"I love your dress," she gasps.
I look down at what I'm wearing, "Thank you."
She's in a dark blue dress that looks insanely fancy.
"I love yours, too," I say.
"Thank you," she smiles.
I stick out my hand for her to shake, "Nova Scott."
She reaches my hand. "Jane Alverez."
I find out that she's a fashion designer and that she designed the dress she's wearing.
She takes out her phone, shows me her newest designs- which are all runway-worthy, and I tell her how unique each of her pieces looks.
She thanks me, and gives me her business card in case I want to buy something.
I probably won't, but I take it anyway.
I approach the next person. It's a woman who has deep black hair and happens to work at Vogue. I tell her about how Tony works at Vogue, and she says she knows Tony, so we talk about Tony for some time.
I talk to 3 more people until I start to feel drained.
I decide to explore the place more since I've only stayed in the first room. I walk into the second section.
There are people on the dance floor, a few people laughing while holding drinks.
It's very high-class.
I walk up to the bar and sit down.
I order a Shirley temple- not trying to get drunk and embarrass myself- especially after what happened the last time I drank at an event.
"Is it busy?" I ask the guy as he makes my drink.
He nods, "Yeah, events like this are always super busy."
I nod, looking around and noticing how everyone has a glass of something in their hand.
"What's the most popular drink?" I ask.
He meets my eyes with a teasing smile, "Not a Shirley temple."
I laugh, taking the drink as he hands it to me.
"I would say either scotch on the rocks or champagne," he says, answering my question.
He gets approached by another customer who orders a scotch on the rocks, and I smile to myself as I turn away.
I watch people move on the open dance floor.
It's dimmer on this side. The only lights are the hanging lights that are strewn over the railings above.
There are still vines that climb the white stone walls and a water fountain to the side.
There is also an open door that leads to an outside area.
I stay seated at the bar, listening to people order exactly what the waiter had said.
They all sound the same, and none of them say anything to me as they pass by- aside from the few people who flash me drunken smiles.
When I'm done with my drink, I'm about to get up when I see someone approach the bar.
I wouldn't have cared if that person didn't look exactly like the mother-fucker I've been avoiding.
I stand there awkwardly, wondering why my legs won't move, and his eyes slide down to mine.
"I'll get a bourbon," he says to the waiter without breaking eye contact with me.
I look at the cheek I had slapped. It looks like nothing happened- which is good.
Then again, it's been a while.
He takes one look at me- from head to toe before turning towards the bartender and taking his drink.
Then, he walks away without even saying a word to me- as if I don't exist.
Tell me why it hurts?
My heart is racing, and I wish I had said something.
I thank the bartender, feeling the alcohol slowly seep into my system, and walk away from the bar and towards the exit, wanting to go outside- when someone approaches me.
"Dance with me?" A voice that I don't recognize says.
I look at who's talking and meet grey eyes.
This is the man who sat next to me at the meeting.
I had found him really attractive.
I smile at him, look at the dance floor- which doesn't have many people on it, and look back at him.
His blond hair falls over his forehead messily.
"Pretty please?" he asks.
He looks fun and I want to have fun. Perfect match, I guess.
I bite my lip, "Maybe."
His eyes light up.
"But not right now," I say with a smile.
His face falls.
"I want to go outside first," I clarify.
His smile returns, "I'll come with you."
I shrug, not objecting.
I walk outside, and he follows me.
"I'm Asher, by the way," he says.
"I'm Nova," I answer.
I already knew that his name was Asher, but I don't think he remembers me.
I grab champagne from one of the tables, sip it and then hand it to him while I bend down to fix the strap of my heels.
When I meet Asher's eyes, he has a large grin, "You're fun."
I shake my head, "You wouldn't say that if you knew me for more than 5 minutes."
His grin widens, "Will I get that chance?"
I smile, finding another glass of champagne, "Do you want that chance?" I ask.
He licks the corner of his mouth, "What happens if I say yes?"
I smile, shrug, and walk towards the exit.
I can hear his heavy feet behind me. I stop when I see a table outside. I lean against the table and watch him walk next to me.
He has a strong jawline, platinum blonde hair, and is wearing a suit without his coat.
"Tell me how to get you to dance with me," he asks.
I fake thinking about it before grinning, "Get naked and dance on a table."
He meets my eyes, lips twitching upwards before he steps back, bringing his hands to the first button of his shirt.
"I said on a table!" I say.
He rolls his eyes, a smile still on his lips, "So demanding."
My smile widens.
The fairy lights hung above us are the only light. Some tables have empty glasses on them and not many people linger outside.
I look across from where we are. There's a group of people talking to each other- a few of them are smoking.
Is it even legal to smoke at these parties?
Mae had found me at the bar 10-minutes ago and told me I didn't have to stay unless I wanted to, so I don't know why I'm still here.
I continue to watch the group of people until I spot a very familiar face already watching me.
I swallow.
He's circling his glass of bourbon, his eyes blatantly on me, the fairy lights shining against the silver rings that lace his fingers.
"Why are they smoking?" I ask, not sure what else to say.
I turn towards Asher, who's staring at me.
"Why?" he asks. "Want to smoke with them?"
I shake my head, "I don't smoke."
He nods.
"Entertain me," I say to change the subject.
He raises an eyebrow, "You want me to entertain you?"
I nod.
"How?"
I shrug.
He gets a smile on his lips.
"Dance with me," he says, taking my hand in his.
I let him drag me inside.
(*)
The song is Little bit by Drake and Lykke Li
I grin, "I like this song," I say.
"Me too," he yells over the music.
I walk ahead of him, pulling him with me.
I start to move his arms for him when we stop in a corner of the dance floor.
He spins me- making me laugh, and I spin him.
He spins like a little girl doing piques for the first time in ballet class.
I mouth along with the words, and he joins in.
We move in and out of beat with the music, tripping over each other.
Luckily, it's not just us on the dance floor, so we don't draw any attention to ourselves.
At some point- when his hands are on my waist and while my hands are on his forearms- he lowers his head to talk to me.
"Tell me why my boss is staring at you?"
I instantly look at him with wide eyes. His boss is Theo.
Why is Theo watching me?
I shrug, not wanting him to make a big deal out of it.
"Am I doing something that's gonna get me fired?" he asks with a grin.
I shake my head. "Probably not."
"But what happens if I do?" he gasps quietly.
"You find another job," I shrug.
He spins me again, and I return the action.
When the song ends, Asher and I walk back outside.
I grabbed a bottle of water, sitting at a table.
"You lied," Asher said.
I looked at him with furrowed brows.
"You said that you weren't fun after 5-minutes."
I smile, "Well I'm drunk, and everyone is more fun when they drink."
He smiles, "I'm not drunk."
"That's why you're not fun," I say.
He playfully narrows his eyes at me, and I return the action.
"Why'd you ask me to dance with you?" I asked.
"Because you looked entertaining, and I was bored."
I met his silver eyes, "Are you entertained?"
He smirks, walking closer to me, "Well, I'm not bored."
I nod, "So I'm entertaining?"
"Just a little," he says.
The wind picks up, and my hands start to feel numb.
I wonder if I'm allowed to get my coat from the people that took it?
I should probably go home.
"I'm gonna get my coat," I say absentmindedly, staring at the entrance.
He furrows his brows, "Is this your way of ditching me?"
I nod, sarcastically saying, "Definitely."
I turn away and walk back inside. Sliding through the crowd, apologizing to anyone I touch.
I find the bathroom, so I walk in.
Oddly, I think bathrooms can be really comforting. They happen to be the only quiet space at events, and they all look so different.
This bathroom has a tan counter, long mirror, hanging lights, and it smells like lavender.
I look into every stall, trying to find the cleanest one. I settled on the third one.
I do this thing where every time I use the bathroom multiple times at any event- I have to use the same stall every time.
When I'm done peeing, I walk out and wash my hands with the foaming soap that smells like lemons.
I dry my hands and stare at the mirror.
My makeup looks smudged under my eyes, my lipstick is completely faded, and my cheeks are flushed.
My hair is frizzy, and the waves have become mellow.
My dress looks fine. I run my fingers through my hair and turn to walk out.
The door opens before I can reach it, revealing a tall and blonde figure.
Allie.
I wonder if she knows me. I don't know her well, but I know who she is.
She gives me a quick smile that I don't return and suddenly feel guilty for.
I step out of the bathroom.
I find a waiter and ask where I can get my coat. He offers to get it for me, but I say that I want to get it myself.
He nods, directing me to the coatroom.
I thank him.
I open the door to the coatroom, the lights already on.
"Shit," I jump, seeing a figure crouched on the floor.
Green eyes meet my brown ones from the floor.
He's tieing his shoes.
"Sorry," I say, not wanting to face him. "I can wait outside."
He shrugs, "I'm done."
I look at him again, noticing the slightly smudged lipstick on his lips.
I purse my lips, nodding, and walking into the room.
He starts to leave, and my mouth opens.
I want to say something.
I want to, at least, apologize.
He closes the door, and I bite my tongue to hold back from screaming.
I find my coat, taking my time because I'm scared of running into him again when I leave the room and walk back outside.
I spend 10-minutes talking to a lady who started to ask me if I was a local. When I said yes, she started asking about the best restaurants in the area.
I told her my favorites, trying to end the conversation so I could walk away.
While I walked to the back exit, I passed by the bar and considered getting another drink, but I decided against it.
Seeing Theo in the coatroom sobered me up, and I think it's better if I stay sober.
When I step outside, I slide on my coat, protecting myself against the cool breeze.
I see Asher talking with a group of people. I assume he doesn't want to talk to me anymore, so I start to turn away, but he spots me.
"Nova," He greets. "Hey!"
I nod with a tight smile, not liking the attention of everyone else on me. My heart drops when I see Theo on the other side of Asher.
I should have walked away sooner.
Asher reaches out his hand, and I hand it to him, letting him pull me close to the group.
Theo's eyes flick down to our hands, and out of reflex, I start to pull away from Asher, but I realize I don't have to do anything because of Theo, so I let our hands split when Theo's eyes finally look at mine. I try to hide my amusement at getting to him.
I notice that Allie is right next to him, leaning on his shoulder.
I only recognize Jordie, Allie, Theo, and Asher- the other four people in the group are strangers.
"This is Nova," Asher says.
They all smile at me.
He doesn't introduce anyone's names to me. I just smile at them, avoiding eye contact with Theo.
Jordie rolls his eyes, "Ash, she was at the meeting a few months ago."
Asher turns to me and looks at me like I'm a new person.
"And you didn't tell me this why?" He asks.
I shrugged, "I figured you would've remembered by now."
A few people laugh, and I just hope it's with me and not at me.
"Did you two come here together?" A feminine voice asks.
I look at the blondie, seeing how her lipstick is smudged. The same shade that was on Theo's lips.
Interesting.
"I'm here to fill in for my boss."
"You do that a lot," Jordie says.
I nod, "I don't mind. It makes me more involved."
"What do you do?" a new person asks.
"I'm a college student," I say. "But I intern full-time at Emmerson."
"What college?" Asks Allie.
I clench my hands. "Harvard."
"Nova is very smart," Jordie announces.
"It's an act," I joke.
I hate getting compliments- even if they stem as a joke. It makes me uncomfortable, so I always laugh it off.
"Nope," he shakes his head. "She's very good at what she does. Including beating Theo's ass in arguments."
My eyes widen, making Jordie grin.
"Isn't that right, Theo?" he asks. "She's like a very needed slap to the face."
I bite my cheek to keep from smiling. It's not funny. So not funny.
I look at Theo, his eyes are on me, amusement playing on his lips. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip. "I guess so."
"You would know," continues Jordie. "You have first-hand experience."
Theo nods, "It was definitely an experience."
I'm fairly certain my cheeks are red. I give a slight glare to Jordie making his grin wider.
The conversation continues, moving freely.
Theo occasionally smiles, rolls his eyes, or glares at someone- mostly Jordie or Asher.
Occasionally, our eyes will meet.
My palms will get sweaty again, so I'll rub them on my coat.
Theo-
She's standing in front of me, smiling at whatever Oliver is saying.
She's standing close to Asher, and every time he leans down to whisper something into her ear, she'll lean into him.
She'll laugh or smile, meeting eyes.
Over time, he's slowly slid his arm around her waist, and she doesn't push it away.
I'm not supposed to be paying attention to her- I decided to give up trying, but every time she looks at me, thinking I won't notice, I want to talk to her again
"Theo," Allie mewls when we're all having separate discussions. "How do you and Nova know each other?"
I look at Nova, her eyes are anywhere but mine.
I bite my cheek.
"We saw each other at the meeting."
I just want her to meet my eyes.
"And at the art exhibition," I continue.
"How come you didn't introduce me to her?" she asks, fixing the collar of my shirt.
I shrug, pulling away from her. "We aren't close."
Nova says something that makes Asher grin, and Jordan narrows his eyes at me.
After some time, we all go separate ways.
I listen to Asher and Jordan talk about some after-party, but I don't engage.
I stare at my cup of water, tracing the rim with my middle finger.
"The universe gave you both a second chance for reconciliation, but neither of you used that time wisely."
Fuck.
"If you do get another chance, don't waste it. Not many people get to meet someone who makes them feel something worth chasing."
That woman's words have been living in my head for the last few weeks.
I'd be wasting another chance if I let Nova walk out of here without, at least, saying something.
What if she already left?
What if I'm wasting the last chance?
Getting up from my seat, I ignore Jordan's question and walk into the building.
My father is here tonight which means I'm not supposed to chase girls who get drunk and slap me, but this one, in particular, is worth chasing.
Hopefully.
People step aside when they see me. I walk with confidence, but I have no idea where I'm going.
I can't just ask because no one knows her.
The room is filled with people. An advantage of being tall is: being able to see over most of them.
I walk to the front exit, spotting a flash of green walking towards the bathroom.
Of course, she's going to the fucking bathroom.
I stride towards her before I realize I don't know what to fucking say.
I know I should apologize, but she needs to apologize too. I don't even know why I'm doing this.
I don't want her to hate me.
She wouldn't even have to like me. She just can't hate me.
Nova-
My heart's racing because I keep seeing him, and I want to talk to him.
I want to say that I'm sorry.
If I'm seeing him so much- there has to be a reason.
There's no way that I went through the last 5-years of not even seeing a clear picture of him to all of a sudden, seeing him every corner I turn.
There has to be a reason for that, and I want to see it through.
I walk into the third stall, taking deep breaths.
I have to approach him.
I have to say something.
When I feel calm enough, I walk back out and wash my hands because I'm scared someone is watching me. Even if I didn't actually go to the bathroom- they'll think I'm gross.
I dry my hands and walk back out.
I look for Theo. I can just ask someone where he is- they all seem to know him.
I look around, not paying attention to where I'm going.
Suddenly, I crash into someone. I lose my balance, but before I can hit the ground, I feel strong hands on my waist- keeping me stable.
I look at who I bumped into.
His eyes meet mine, and I can't read his expression.
I swallow.
This is a bit deja-vu.
"I'm starting to think you do this on purpose," he says, letting go of me and stepping back.
I narrow my eyes at him, "The other time was your fault.
He shrugs, "Most people just step out of the way."
I shrug back, "Maybe you should start doing that too."
He smirks, "Maybe."
There's an awkward silence between us. I want to say something, but my mouth feels too dry.
"Meet me at the rooftop in 10-minutes," he says cooly.
I blink, taking myself out of my trance.
"Why?" I ask.
"Just do it," he shrugs.
I open my mouth to say something, but he smirks, leans to my ear, and whispers, "The rooftop, Darling," and he walks away.
Darling?
God. What have I gotten myself into?
I stand there for a few seconds, regaining my composure.
I want to go to the rooftop. Maybe I could apologize there.
It's probably going to take me 10-minutes to find the roof, so I walk around, trying to find a waiter.
I get stopped by Mae. She taps my shoulder, making me turn to look at her.
"How come you're still here?" she grins. "Tell me it's because of the blondie you were dancing with."
I smile, shaking my head, "He's just a friend."
Her grin widens, "Then can I have him?"
"Mae," I smile. "He's probably 5 years younger than you."
Mae's 29, and Asher could pass for 24.
She narrows her eyes at me, "Are you calling me old?"
I laugh, "Just a little bit."
She scoffs.
"You can have him," I shrug. "He just might be a little immature for your liking."
"I work in a field dominated by men," she grins. "I know a thing or two about handling immature."
I smile. Mae is more powerful than any man I have ever known.
"Have you eaten yet?" she asks.
I shake my head, looking at the time. I don't know how long it's been since Theo told me to meet him on the roof.
"You need to eat." she grasps my wrist. "They have really good pasta."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Fuck," I mutter as I walk up the stairs.
I'm very late.
Mae made sure I ate while talking to me about how annoying the people at the event were.
I finally make it to the top, very out of breath.
I need to start being more active.
I push on the door, feeling the cold breeze meet my warm skin.
Part of me expects him to not be there.
I would have left after 5-minutes of waiting, but he's leaning against the brick wall. His hands are in his pocket, and his ankles are crossed beneath him.
He's on his phone, head tilted down.
"Sorry," I say, getting his attention. "I'm late."
He looks me up and down before meeting my eyes and nodding.
I walk away from the door and stand next to him on the brick wall.
He shifts his body so that his back is against the wall, and I mimic him.
He still has his hands in his pockets, and I suppress the urge to copy him.
We stand there, staring at the foggy outline of buildings.
I don't know who's supposed to talk first.
Should it be me since he made the first move of asking me to meet him on the roof?
"I deserved it," he says, startling me.
"What?" I ask.
He slides to the floor, his legs bent in front of him, his forearms resting on his knees.
I do the same, keeping my legs straight because of my dress.
"The slap," he clarifies. "I deserved it."
"Yeah," I agree. "You did."
He looks at me, so I look at him.
One side of his mouth is slightly curved up. When our eyes meet he looks away.
"But I shouldn't have done it," I sigh. "I shouldn't have slapped you. Even if you deserved it."
He nods, looking straight ahead.
We fall into silence- the comfortable kind.
"I've lived here for 3 years," he says after some time. "I still hate it."
I look at him in shock, "You've been here for 3years?"
He nods, not looking at me.
"I like it here," I say. "You just have to build your own semblance of a life."
He doesn't say anything.
"Everyone has their own routine they follow," I continue. "We all live in bubbles. It's just a matter of knowing how to control it."
"How do you control life?" he asks.
"You don't," I sigh. "You just learn how to control yourself to deal with the things you don't get to change."
I look at him. His high cheekbones, the way he clenches his jaw every time a breeze blows past us- the way his hair is slicked back, but a few strands have escaped and are now resting on his forehead.
He has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.
He looks at me, a smirk on his lips, "Done staring?"
I glare at him. "Just admiring how ugly you are."
He smirks, turning back to the front. I pick at the hem of my coat, listening to the noise of the city below us.
"Let's go somewhere," he says out of the blue.
I look at him incredulously, "Where?"
He shrugs, getting up. "Out of here."
I get up too, "Tell me where we're going before I agree to anything."
He smirks, "It'll be a surprise."
I look at him unconvinced, "You don't actually know, do you?"
He rolls his eyes, "It's called being spontaneous."
I narrow my eyes. "No. It's called being a dumbass who's going to get us lost."
"GPS is a thing," he says.
He bites the inside of his cheek, "You don't have to come if you don't want to."
I look at the exit. I have nowhere else to be tonight.
I look back at him again, "Fine."
He nods, his lips twitching upwards before turning away.
He opens the heavy door that leads to the stairs, letting me walk in before him. We walk down the stairs. Our footsteps being the only indicator of who is who.
His footsteps are heavy. Mine are soft. I hate walking up and downstairs with heels on, but it would be gross if I took them off.
We make it to the lobby of the building without saying a word to each other.
"I have to get my purse," I say.
He stops a waiter and asks him to get me my purse.
I look out of the window while we wait. The streets are dark, some people from the event linger on the steps, and the trees sway with the air.
5 minutes later, the waiter comes back, holding my black purse. I thank him and Theo tips him before I can. He slides a bill into the waiter's hand before I can even reach into my purse.
Then, Theo opens the main door for me, letting me walk in front of him.
When we're on the sidewalk, I look at him. "How much did you tip the waiter?"
He shrugs, "Doesn't matter."
"Yes it does," I object. "Tell me how much you tipped him so that I can pay you back."
He looks at me with furrowed brows, meeting the seriousness on my face.
"No," he says. "It was a tip. It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," I say. "Just tell me the amount."
"I'm not taking your fucking money, Nova," he says.
"But you have no problem thinking I want to take yours?" I ask, walking faster to keep up with him and his long-ass legs.
"Just say thank you, and move on, yeah?" he says.
I roll my eyes, dropping the argument since I'm not going to win.
I'm walking closer to the buildings while Theo is closer to the road. The streets are next to empty. There's a lot of space between us as we walk.
We walk in quietness- a contradiction to the city around us. My heels make it hard for me to keep up with him.
He's not wearing a coat, and I wonder if he's cold. I'm cold in my coat, and I can't imagine how he's warm wearing his black slacks, halfway buttoned shirt with its sleeves rolled up.
"Are you cold?" I blurt out.
He looks at me. "No."
I don't say anything.
"Your friends seem nice," I say, trying to break the silence.
He nods.
"Why are you in New York?" I ask. I don't want to walk in silence- even if it's comfortable, it still feels awkward.
"Work," he answers. "You?"
"I'm here for my internship," I answer. "I've been here for about a year."
He turns a corner, so I turn too.
"How does that even work?" he asks. "Interning in a different state."
"I go on campus for exams, do any classes I need to take online, and Mae monitors my progress."
He nods, "What's it like in Boston?"
"It's not much different from here."
"Are you gonna stay here when you graduate?" he asks.
I shrug, "Probably. If I end up working at Emmerson."
"Are you gonna stay here?" I ask him. "When your work is done?"
We turn another corner.
"No, I wanna go somewhere quiet," he answers.
He hasn't gotten used to the noise.
"It's not any quieter anywhere else," I say. "You still have to get used to the noise wherever you go."
"It's easier to get used to noise when it's minimal," he says.
"Noise doesn't always mean physical noise," I say. "For the most part, it's the noise in our head. That's the noise you have to get used to."
"Not all of us are crazy, Scott," He says.
I roll my eyes, "Stop walking."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
He stops and looks at me warily.
I walk to the wall on my right and lean against it. He follows me.
We're facing the street, the cars whizzing by, the buildings lingering with the grey clouds above us.
"What do you see?" I ask.
He looks at me like I'm crazy.
I wait for him to answer.
Sighing, he gives in to me. "I don't know. Cars and shit."
"That's your problem," I say. "You only see what's obvious."
He looks confused, "Wasn't that what you asked?"
I shake my head, "Look harder."
"This is dumb," he says.
I smack his arm, "Just do it."
After a while, he says, "We look like idiots. What are you looking for?"
There are so many other things than cars. The building behind us has soft piano music playing, the building next door has 80's rock playing.
He turns towards me.
I point to the building across the street from us, "Do you see that building?"
He nods.
"There's one lit window above the pizza shop, and you can see the faint outline of a person stirring something through the sheer curtains," I point out.
I point to the third three down the sidewalk, and he looks at where my finger is guiding.
"The other trees have orange fairy lights, but only that tree has no lights at all lights," I say.
"And how is any of this important?" he asks.
"Those are the things you have to pay attention to," I sigh. "The little things that distract you from the big noise."
"How does that help?" he asks quietly.
"Because when you try to find the little details, the bigger stuff stops seeming so important," my voice mixes with the breeze.
"And you do that with everything?" he asks.
I nod. "After some time, it becomes second nature."
"What else do you see?" he asks softly.
I smile, pointing to a person who's licking ice cream outside of a convenience store. "That person dropped their first ice cream on their shirt just when we stopped walking, and they went back inside to buy a new shirt and another ice cream."
"Isn't that stalkerish, though?" He asks.
I laugh, "I call it people watching."
We start walking again, comfortable silence lingering between us. We're closer to each other as we walk this time.
"I have an idea," I say after we turn two corners. "We're going to ask questions."
Theo furrows his brows. "Like what?"
"I'll ask you something like: What's your favorite color and you'll answer."
He meets my eyes for a brief second, not saying anything.
"I'll go first," I say.
"What's your favorite color?" I ask taking the easy way out.
He pauses before saying, "What's the point of having a favorite color?"
I scoff, "You can't question the question, dumbass. Just answer it."
"Fine," he says. "Blue."
"See. That wasn't hard," I say. "Now you ask a question."
"What's your favorite color?"
"Gray," I answer.
"Why?" he asks. "That's such a boring color."
"Because grey is a neutral color," I answer. "It can mean so many things while looking so simple."
He nods.
"Do you buy your books used or new?" I ask.
"New," He answers.
I scrunch my nose, "Why?"
He looks at me, "Doesn't everyone buy their books new?"
I shake my head, "Buying books used is so much better!"
"How?" he asks.
"Because when you buy books used you're buying something that already has memories engraved in it," I say. "It adds to the books' personality."
"Isn't it better to buy a new book and watch it become frayed with your own memories?" he counters.
I shake my head, "I don't re-read books."
He makes a face, "Then maybe that's the problem."
"How is me not reading books more than once a problem?"
He looks at me, a faint smile on his lips, "You, being the last consumer of the used book, are wasting the personality and potential of the book because you let it sit on your shelf, collecting dust."
I stop walking.
I had never thought about it like that.
"However, I, being the first consumer of the new book, am not ruining the personality because I am simply adding to the potential of the book," he continues.
"Well, what do I do to fix it?" I ask.
"I don't know," he shrugs, a faint smile on his lips as he continues to walk ahead of me, "Start using the library."
I glare at him, running after him.
Fuck him and his long-ass legs.
"But you're letting it collect dust on your shelf too," I counter.
"I re-read my books," he corrects. "Plus, I can always donate the book. You can't donate an already second-hand book."
"That's not true," I demand.
"It is," he says.
"I can always give the book to my friends, family, children, and grandchildren," I say.
He nods, "You could."
"I don't think books have time limits," I state. "You can love a book at any point in time and still add to its personality."
He smiles- not the one that shows his dimples, but a smile nonetheless.
"But what if, by the time your grandkids are ready to have the book, it's already falling apart?"
"Do you always have to be so depressing?" I ask.
He laughs, "You started it with your question game."
I suppress the urge to kick him.
"Your turn for the question," I say bitterly.
"We're still playing?" he asks with a smirk.
I nod.
"Am I winning?" he asks.
I glare harder at him, "There are no winners."
"But if there were, I would be winning," he says.
"No," I say. "You would not be winning."
"Whatever makes you feel better, Ms. Scott," he grins. "Favorite food?"
I think about it.
Why did I just forget any food I've ever eaten?
"Ummm," I say, drawing out the M. "Burritos, bagels, or ice-cream sandwiches."
He makes a face, "That's such a random selection."
I shrug, "My turn for the question."
We turn another corner.
"Favorite season?"
He shrugs, "I don't have a favorite."
I roll my eyes, "Which one do you prefer over the others?"
He pauses, "Winter."
I scrunch my nose, "Why?"
"Because it's so much calmer than the other seasons."
I nod, "I like fall. It's the prettiest season, and it's a good balance between hot and cold."
"Isn't fall also the season where everything dies?" he asks.
I roll my eyes, "Well, Winter is the season where everything is already dead."
He shrugs, "It's also the season right before everything comes back to life."
"Whatever," I say.
"Whatever," He mimics in a high-pitched voice.
I shove his shoulder, not making him budge.
Remind me why I'm with him right now?
He laughs at my failed attempt to push him.
"Your turn for a question," I say bitterly.
He takes a moment to think about it.
"Do you ever want to get married?" He asks.
I shake my head. "I've never been the type of person who can promise a forever."
"Maybe if it feels right, but I don't ever want to get married to the wrong person and spend the rest of my life living in regret."
"Divorce is a thing," he offers jokingly.
"It's better to get married to someone you know you'll last with," I reply.
"Nobody knows if they'll last or not," he says. "You get married because you love someone enough to tie yourself to them."
"Do you ever want to get married?" I ask.
He shakes his head, "I don't believe in it."
"Weren't you just explaining what marriage meant?" I ask.
He smiles, "Just because I understand something doesn't mean I have to agree with it."
I look at him, "So you don't believe in marriage? Or love?" I ask.
"Marriage," he answers. "But if it happens, then it happens."
I nod, putting my hands into my coat pocket because of how cold it is.
"Have you, though?" I ask. "Ever been in love."
He looks at me, sighing before hesitantly answering. "I think I've been very close to it in the past."
I look at him, "Really?"
He meets my eyes for a second, smiles lightly, and says, "Really."
I want to ask more questions, but I don't want to push what we have going.
We continue walking until I see a park ahead.
"We should go there," I say, pointing to the park.
He furrows his brows but doesn't object.
"Do you want kids?" I ask, continuing the game.
"That would depend on if the person that I'm with wanted to have them," he shrugs. "I don't really care."
"You?" he asks.
"I don't want any kids," I say. "They disgust me and I'd always be scared of being a bad mother."
I would be scared of being my mother.
He looks at me with a smile on his lips, "Children disgust you?"
I nod, "They're dirty, sticky, and smelly."
His smile widens, letting me see a faint outline of his left dimple.
"But if I change my mind- I'd want to adopt or foster kids," I continue.
"That seems like a good option," he says.
"I always get scared I'm going to be exactly like my parents, you know?" I ask quietly.
"Yeah," he says, slowing down. "But I think, by now, we know how to be better."
I nod, "I'm not sure I've gotten that down yet."
"We aren't the people who raised us," he says. "We went through hell with them. We've learned to be better."
"We've got time," he says. "Before we actually have to think about that stuff."
I smile, "Thank god."
We cross the street, walking to the park.
There's grass in the middle with trees and a sidewalk that goes around the perimeter.
We walk along the sidewalk of the park.
My heels make noise every time they hit the concrete.
He has his hands in his pocket- his head bowed down as he walks.
"How come you only wear black?" I ask.
He looks at me, "I don't-?"
"Yes, you do," I tell him. "That's the only color I've ever seen you wear."
He looks at me again, "I wore white at the exhibition."
I nod, "But you wore black pants."
He bites the inside of his cheek, "You pay attention to what I wear?"
I shrug. "I pay attention to what everyone wears. It tells you everything you need to know."
He smirks, "So what do my clothes tell you?"
I meet his eyes, narrowing them slightly. "That you're a wanna-be emo kid."
He scoffs, "You know what your clothes tell me?"
"What?" I ask.
He grins, "That no one takes them off."
I glare at him, "Your friend Asher seemed very willing."
His smile widens- almost enough to show the dimple on his left cheek- "Asher would fuck anyone with a pulse."
I roll my eyes.
"Well, maybe I don't want someone to take off my clothes," I say. "Maybe no one is worthy."
He smiles, "Keep telling yourself that, Scott."
I hate that I'm smiling at his insults.
I see a wooden bench, so I sit down, and he follows me.
"You know what we should do?" I ask.
"What?"
"We should start over," I respond.
He looks at me.
"Like, we just start over again," I continue. "We would reintroduce ourselves to each other as if we met at this park."
He furrows his brows, "How does that work?"
I look at him. "Well, we both suck at apologies, so this way, we can just have a fresh start."
He has a faint smile, "How would it work?"
"We would reintroduce ourselves and start new," I answer.
It is dumb, but it's the only way I can think of to get us both into the friend stage.
"What would happen after?" he asks.
I think about it, "We could be sorta-friends."
He smirks, "What if I say no?"
I shrug, "Then we leave, and everything goes back to normal."
What does normal even mean for us?
I look at the ground below me, the streetlights cast a warm glow over us.
Please agree.
I look at him.
Please agree.
"Okay," He says.
I smile, sticking out my hand, "To being sorta-friends?"
He looks at my hand, rolling his eyes before reluctantly reaching his hand to meet mine.
I pull back before his hand can touch mine, making him glare at me.
"We missed a step," I say.
He drops his hand, meeting my eyes, "You didn't say anything about another step."
I shrug, "It's a simple step."
"Fine, what's the step?" he asks.
"We have to say everything we won't get to say after we start over," I say. "Our last words as Nova and Theo the old versions."
He makes a face, "You're making this seem like it's the end of the world."
I smile, "You never know."
"Then it's your last chance to admit that you want to fuck me," he says with a smirk.
I make a face of disgust, "You wish, Prettyboy."
His smirk grows wider, "You think I'm pretty?"
"Nope," I say with a smile.
"Liar," he says.
"Not everyone who says something you don't agree with is a liar, Theo," I say. "You're just ugly and can't handle being faced with it."
He laughs, "You're talking about my looks too much for someone who says they don't like me."
I roll my eyes. "Moving on."
"We have to apologize," I say.
"I thought the whole point of doing this was so that we wouldn't have to apologize," he says.
I shrug, "Still."
"Okay," He starts. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" I ask.
He meets my eyes, "Everything."
I nod, "I'm sorry too."
He smiles, "For what?"
"For everything."
"Even the slapping?" he asks.
I point at him, "Don't push it."
He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile.
I stare ahead, looking at the trees waver with the breeze.
"Now you have to say everything you won't get to say after we start over," I say quietly.
"That doesn't make sense," he says. "I could say anything to you after we start over."
"Don't question it," I say harshly, making him laugh.
"You go first," I urge, still not looking at him.
I can feel him studying the side of my face- my side profile sucks.
I turn towards him, "Done staring?"
"Just admiring how ugly you are," he says, reciting my earlier words.
"Copy-cat," I mutter.
I nervously turned back to the front. "Can you just go already!"
"You look pretty in green," he says quietly. "And, I wanted to dance with you tonight."
"Why didn't you?" I ask, knowing the answer.
"You were busy with Asher," he says.
I look at him.
I've danced with him before.
It was my birthday, and we stayed up all night at the bridge, and I made him dance with me.
"Ask me to dance with you," I say quietly.
He furrows his brows, "What?"
"That'll be our re-introduction," I say. "You have to come up to me and ask me to dance with you."
I meet his eyes. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip before getting up. I watch him walk about 10 feet away from our bench.
I face the front again, listening to the soft tap of his feet. I feel him stop next to me. I bite back a smile when I look up at him.
He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, "Hi."
"Hello," I say.
"I saw you sitting here, looking like a lonely dumbass, and wanted to ask if you would like to dance with me," he says with a grin.
I glare at him. "No thanks."
He rolls his eyes, "Please?"
I shake my head, "I'm a very busy girl. I have no time for charity work at the moment."
He scoffs, "Bitch."
"Dick," I cough.
"Dance with me or I'll leave you at this park. Alone," he threatens.
I roll my eyes, "Since you were so polite, I guess I'm inclined to agree."
"I am polite, aren't I?" He asks, reaching out his hand for me to take.
"So polite," I say sarcastically, not taking his hand.
I stand in front of him, a foot of distance between us.
He walks closer- so close that I can feel his body heat radiate towards me.
I almost lean into him, but I don't.
He's looking down at me, so I look up at him. He's so fucking pretty. It genuinely makes me insecure just standing next to him.
"I'm Theo Black," he says.
"Ok," I shrug.
He fights a smile.
"Tell me your name," he demands.
I meet his eyes, "What if you don't deserve it?"
"What do I do to deserve it?" he asks.
I smile, not answering.
He slowly places his hands on my waist.
"I don't know how to slow dance," I blurt out.
"Didn't you learn at school?" he asks.
I shake my head, "I missed the class because I had to do my college interview."
He nods.
"You aren't supposed to talk about the past," I whisper. "That's breaking the rules."
"I sincerely apologize," he whispers back, letting me smell his minty breath.
"It's okay," I whisper.
"I'll teach you," he says.
I don't say anything.
"You have to move to the left," he states.
He tightens his grip on my waist, guiding me so that my one foot is in between his two.
"You have to stand closer to me," he says.
He tightens his grip on my waist again and pulls me closer. So close that the top of my head sits right under his chin.
"Put one hand on my shoulder," he guides.
I do as he says, gently setting my left hand on his shoulder.
He loosens his grip on my waist, sliding his hands under my coat so that his hands are against the silk of my dress. He drops his hands slightly so that they align with my hips.
His fingertips are cold through the thin fabric, almost making me jerk against him. I can feel the cold metal of his rings against my skin- almost as if the fabric wasn't there.
He slides his left hand out from under my coat and reaches for my right hand. He gently takes hold of my hand and brings it next to our heads.
"Just follow my movement," he says softly.
I nod.
He starts to move, but I realize we don't have any music.
"Wait!" I say, pulling back slightly. "We don't have music."
I pull away from him, walking back to my purse.
Being a whore for music finally has a purpose.
I pull out my phone and look for a song.
"What songs do people slow-dance to?" I ask, looking back at him.
He's watching me closely, making a blush creep up my cheeks.
"I don't think there needs to be a specific song," he answers.
I nod. "Then I'll just put on a random song."
(*)
The intro to Apocolypse by Cigarettes After Sex starts playing.
I walk back to him.
I stand in front of him, feeling his warmth again. I put one hand on his shoulder, and he sets one hand on my hip. Our other hands meet next to our heads.
My chest brushes his every time we move. My head fits right under his chin, and I have my head turned so that I'm staring at our conjoined hands.
His grip on my hand is loose. If I wanted to, I could pull away at any second.
But I won't.
And I don't hate myself for it.
The only light is the moon and the streetlights- both casting a warm yellow glow over us.
"Move your body with mine," he says. "And try not to break my feet."
I smile, "No promises."
"You'd be paying my hospital bill," he says.
"Yeah, yeah," I mumble.
He shifts to the right, I follow.
"What's your name?" he asks again, playing along with our re-introduction.
I smile, "I don't make a habit of telling my name to strangers."
We move to the left.
"But you can dance with them?"
He moves forward, and I move backward.
I nod, "Who said we had to talk while dancing?"
He moves again, catching me off guard, causing me to step on his left foot.
"Fuck," he seethes.
I laugh, "Sorry."
"Do it again, and I'll actually leave you here," he mutters.
I roll my eyes, "It was an accident, princess."
"You make a habit of hurting strangers?" he asks, moving back.
"That's all you," I inform him. "You kicked me the very first time we met."
I move forward.
"That's not true," he says, moving again.
"It's not?" I ask sarcastically.
I can feel him shake his head, "I met you on a park bench and politely asked you to dance with me."
I kick him on the shin- not by accident.
"Bitch," he mutters.
He moves to the side, and I step on his foot- by accident.
"I will leave you here," he warns.
"It was an accident!"
"It was an accident," he mimicks in a high-pitched voice.
"That doesn't sound like me," I declare.
He starts to sway his upper body. I rest my head against his chest, letting him move my body with his.
I can feel his body stiffen for a few seconds when I rest my head against his chest before he relaxes.
"You sure?" he asks.
I nod. "You do a bad impression of me."
"I think it's pretty good- considering we met a few minutes ago."
"Whatever," I sigh.
We don't talk again, moving to the music.
The cool breeze of fall no longer makes my arms rise with bumps because Theo is so warm.
His scent- mint, wood, and a hint of spice, mixes with my sweet vanilla.
I wonder if my clothes will smell like him.
I wonder if his clothes will smell like me.
What if he doesn't like my scent?
I like his scent.
His hand on my hip shifts every now and then- never fully lifting off of my body.
He's burning me with his hands, and he'll never know the damage he's doing to my body.
Am I burning him?
Is it wrong to hope I'm damaging him the same way he's damaging me?
We're both already so broken- what's the problem with adding to it?
What's the problem with admiring it?
I'll go home tonight. Maybe, I'll take the subway, or maybe I'll take a taxi. I'll slip off my dress, stand in front of my mirror, and I'll look at my hip- searching for where his rings scorched me.
I'll look for the mark that proves I'm not crazy.
Then, I'll get in the shower, and I'll scrub my skin so hard that- even if he did leave a mark- no one would ever know.
Marks like that are things we can't enjoy publicly.
If you're broken, you're supposed to try and fix it- not add on to it.
I let the warmth of his chest meet the side of my face. His hand on my hip slides all the way around my waist, pulling me closer to him.
It feels too good to fight. I haven't been held like this in so long.
When we go a few seconds without me stepping on his feet, he softly says, "There you go. You've almost got it."
I smile, studying the rings he's wearing on the hand that's holding mine.
They're all silver. I see one on his pointer finger that looks like it's a band of silver twigs.
"Tell me your name," he says quietly.
"Guess," I whisper.
"Robert?" He asks, making me laugh.
"Close," I say.
"Amanda," he guesses.
"So close!"
"Celia?" he asks.
I gasp, jolting away from him. "That's the name of my bird!"
His face morphs into a: "What drugs did you take and why am I with you right now?" face.
"You have a fucking bird?" he asks.
I grin, "I have-" I pause to count on my fingers- "five!"
He looks even more confused, "Why the fuck do you have 5 birds?"
I glare at him, "What do you have against my birds?"
He glares back at me, "I don't have anything against your fucking birds. I'm just curious as to why you even have birds."
"I don't own them," I say. "They just eat the trash outside of my window every morning."
He shakes his head, a smile fighting to be on his lips. "You are a dumb bitch."
I roll my eyes, scoffing. I'm about to say something when his phone rings.
He gives me an apologetic look before answering the phone. I walk back to the bench, sitting on it while I wait for him to finish on the phone.
He's turned around so that I'm seeing the back of his figure. He runs his hand through his hair before hanging up and turning towards me.
The weight that had seemed to be lifted off his shoulders looked like it came back- weighing him down.
I wonder if the weight on his shoulders is the only thing keeping him here.
"We should go," he says.
I nod, "Okay."
I get up from the bench, walking up next to him. We move in sync. I can tell he's walking slower so that I don't get left behind by him.
"What weighs you down?" I ask indirectly.
"What do you mean?"
"I think that I won't ever be enough for people," I start. "I think everybody hates me, and it doesn't matter how many times they tell me they don't- I won't believe them. I think I am a burden to everyone and always one second away from messing up enough to make them leave."
"Well, maybe they're not supposed to stay," he says.
I shrug, "I won't ever think of it like that."
"Everyone does expect something, and what happens when I can't meet their expectations?" I ask. "I have a lot of bad habits, but one of my worst is giving too much of myself to people who give me little to nothing in return."
"Well, what do you expect from them?" he asks.
"Acceptance," I answer quietly.
"How do you expect acceptance from everyone when you change for every person?" he asks. "Not everyone is supposed to like you. That's the whole point of individuality."
"I'll still feel like nobody truly wants me and that I'm everybody's second choice."
"You won't ever be enough for everyone," he says.
"why?" I ask quietly.
"Because that's not how it's supposed to work," he shrugs. "That's just part of life. People will hate you, people will love you, you just have to take what you get."
That's easy for him to say. He's gone his whole life having people kiss up to him just for existing.
"It's a matter of who deserves you," he says. "You just waste too much time trying to please people who don't deserve you."
I look at him, "Who deserves me?"
He shrugs, "The ones who care just as much as you do."
"How will I know?" I ask.
"I imagine you'll just feel it," he says. "Remember the thing you said earlier about paying attention to smaller details?"
I nod.
"You never do that with people," he says. "You always look at the obvious when it comes to people. If you looked at people the same way you look at everything else, you'll be able to tell which ones you're wasting your time on."
I stay silent.
"Now you answer the question," I say after some time.
He pauses.
"I feel suffocated in everything I do," he says. "I don't think I've done something that I genuinely want in a long ass time. I hate everything around me. My job, my family, the people I work with. I hate it, but I'll never get away from it."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because that's how it's always been. From the moment I was born, I was told who to talk to, what to wear, how to feel," he says.
"What would you do?" I ask. "If you didn't have any of that."
He pauses. "I don't think about that."
I furrow my brows, "You don't ever think about what you would do if you had no strings attached to you?"
"I've never been the daydreaming kind," he says with a tired grin.
"It wouldn't have to be a daydream," I say. "It's not wrong to think about what you want, Theo. One day, maybe you'll get a chance to have it."
He doesn't respond.
We walk until I see the steps that lead to the building we had left.
When we're at the steps, I turn towards him.
"I can walk you to your car," he offers.
I shake my head, "I don't have a car."
"Why the fuck do you not have a car?"
"I just like walking everywhere," I say.
He scrunches his nose, "You only walk everywhere?"
"Or I take the subway or a taxi. Sometimes, I borrow Tony's car," I say.
"Why does Tony give you his car?" he asks incredulously.
"She," I correct, "travels for work, so she just lets me use her car while she's gone."
"Just get your own car," he replies.
"I don't need one," I say. "Plus, I'm a broke college student whose parents barely pay enough for my tuition. I don't have the financial stability for a car."
He nods, "Then I'm going to drive you home."
I widen my eyes, "No, you aren't."
He narrows his eyes, "Why?"
"Because I'm going to take a taxi," I say.
"It's cheaper for me to drive you home," he grins.
"It's also cheaper for me to not buy iced coffee every day. But you don't see me doing that," I state.
"What does that have to do with anything?" he asks with furrowed brows.
Someone approaches him, asking him something about his father. I take that as an opportunity to walk away and call a taxi.
I just don't want him to see where I live- I also don't want him to think we're close enough for me to be comfortable with him seeing where I live.
Baby steps and boundaries are the only way that this friendship will work.
When my taxi is called, I walk back to him.
He's still in a conversation with the old man. I watch the way he interacts. Flashing his grin, using his hands. The only sign that he hates the conversation is his eyes. They're tired and dull.
When the old man walks away, Theo flashes him one last smile before turning towards me.
I bite my lip to hold back a laugh, "You looked like you were really enjoying the conversation!"
He rolls his eyes.
"I called a taxi," I say.
"Of course," he sighs.
I stare at him wile he looks at something on his phone. His tired eyes, hair that's been messed up by the wind, and the importance in his posture.
He looks up at me, but before he can say anything, I smile. "Stay right there."
He furrows his brows and watches me walk 10-feet away from him.
I walk up to him, "Hi."
"Hello," he says.
I stick out my hand for him to shake, "I'm Nova Scott."
He slips his phone into his pocket before taking my hand, not fighting his smile- his left dimple showing, "Good girl."
I hold back any reaction, shaking his hand.
"Sorta-friends?" I ask as my taxi pulls up.
"Something like that," he agrees.
"Something like that," I mimic.
"You do a bad impression of me," he says, letting go of my hand.
"I think it's good considering we met a few minutes ago," I say.
He opens the taxi door for me.
"I could've done that myself," I mutter.
"Ungrateful bitch," he says.
"Annoying dick," I say back.
I get into the taxi, and he closes the door before I can. I flip him off through the window and he mimics me.
I turn to the taxi driver, "I apologize for my friend's barbaric behavior."
He smiles at me, with earphones clearly in his ears- fake listening to me.
I smile, too, holding back a laugh.
When I get home, I instantly slump against my front door. I take off my heels, feeling the cool air against them.
I feel exhausted from walking so much- especially in heels.
My eyes can barely stay open as I walk into my bedroom. I slip out of my coat, dropping it on the floor. I don't have the energy to take anything else off, so I get into bed with my dress still on.
___________________________________________
So, how do we feel? ;)
Any critiques?
This chapter was the one we've all been waiting for... I think. I could have gotten this out earlier today, but for some reason I felt the need to alphabetize my movie list-?
Idk. This book is growing sm, so thank you :)
Ask me questions about the book, the characters, the plot, or abt myself. I rlly need a distraction from life rn and I want you guys to know me better :)
As always, I love you to the moon and back. I hope you are okay and if you aren't, I am always here. Take care of urself <33
- Kay