Elaina Basset
Dread—that's all I can feel.
I've tried to make myself feel excited. I've tried to force a sliver of happiness in my own mind.
I'm seeing Isaac, that makes me happy. But I'm going to Denver, that makes me want to be sick.
I'm leaving tonight, meaning I should arrive in Denver around 1 in the morning their time. It's a 13 hour flight that I'm about to embark on alone.
The guys leave today.
I survived a week with them, and now it's over. They'll be gone and I won't have to deal with it anymore. Things will go back to normal.
Now I just have to get through this weekend in Denver.
In just a big white t-shirt and shorts, I sit on the living room couch, contemplating everything in my head.
The television is on, playing a sitcom from the 80's, but I'm not really watching. I sit with my knees up to my chest, biting the inside of my cheek.
It's raining outside today, I can hear the patter of the droplets on the windows. Today just feels grey...the only thing keeping my spirits up is that I'm about to go to the Institution of Arts to submit my physical copy.
After what happened with Zayn last night, I expected things to be awkward...but he's acting like everything's normal. He made me breakfast today and he's been his usual self. Maybe he doesn't remember.
I mindlessly watch the television when I hear a pair of feet enter the living room. I lift my head up to see who had just come in.
Harry.
With a plastic water bottle in his hand, his hair being held out of his face with a bandana, in black jeans and a red and black striped shirt, he comes into the living room and sits down in the sofa-chair on the other side of the television.
I don't say anything at first, just glancing at him as he keeps his eyes set on the screen. He brings the bottle to his lips and sips some of the water.
The sun was hidden by the grey rain clouds. There was no light coming into the room apart from the lamp in the corner as the television plays.
Golden Girls.
"Rose, what are you listening to?"
"—A relaxation tape. The rain is supposed to relax me."
The television plays the show, and I stare at the screen blankly.
"Why are you watching a show about old women?" I hear Harry's voice from the chair across from me.
I peer up at him, then back at the screen.
"I'm not really watching. Go ahead and change it to something else." I say with a flat tone.
I can feel his eyes glinting at me from the chair.
"What? No snarky response?" he remarks, "What's wrong with you." he murmurs as he grabs the remote.
I watch as he flicks through multiple channels.
"I'm visiting Denver this weekend." I tell him, not really knowing my reasoning for spilling this information to him but I don't necessarily regret saying it.
He takes another sip from his water. "Okay..." he trails off. "What's so bad about that?"
I take a small look at him before ultimately shaking my head. He has no idea about my past there or what happened to me. He won't understand and I don't expect him to.
"Just forget it." I mumble, resting my cheek on my lifted knees as Harry flips through different channels.
There's a few moments of silence between the two of us, besides the television and the rain.
I figured, since it's his last few hours here, I can attempt to make some civil conversation. Not every piece of dialogue we have needs to be fueled with resentment.
"When do you guys leave?" I question, my cheek resting on my knees but I move my eyes to see him.
"Eight." he says shortly.
"That's when I'm leaving too." I reply.
"We'll give you a ride to the airport." Harry says with a slight scoff, almost as if he didn't actually want that.
Then why'd you suggest it, you asshole?
"Where are you flying back to?"
He pauses as he holds the water bottle to his mouth, side eyeing me momentarily.
"America." his voice hums lowly.
"What state?"
"Just all over the place. I don't have a set destination." he mumbles, then I catch his dark green eyes flick over to me. "You know what that's like, don't you, Picasso?"
I bite down on the skin inside of my cheek, feeling a little threatened by that and I think he knew it. I shake my head in response and change the subject right away.
"Where are you from?" I ask, realizing now that I know nothing about him.
"Manchester."
"Do you live there now?"
"I have a place there, but no." he replies.
"Hm." I nod. What else can I ask him?
"How old are you?" I ask.
He furrows his brows as he looks at me. "I'm 22. What are you doing?"
"I'm just trying to be polite and make conversation with you." I lift my head from my tucked knees.
This man has never had a civil conversation in his life, or at least that's how he makes it seem.
"This is a weird conversation." he says.
"How? I'm only trying to get to know you." I say.
"Okay well then I should get to ask you some things too." he replies.
"Go for it." I shrug.
"Why do you not want to go back to Denver?"
I crease my brows together. "That is not in the same realm of questioning I was giving you."
"You never specified."
I let out a small exhale of disbelief before looking back at the television. "I don't wanna go back because I love it here in Italy."
"Hmmm, liar." Harry immediately responds.
Now I remember why I don't like making conversation with him.
I roll my eyes and throw my head back with growing aggravation.
"Why do you even care?"
He shrugs. "I don't. I'm just making conversation."
"Well let's stop then...considering we're just gonna argue." I say, trying to be the bigger person as my jittery hands fly up to the charm around my neck.
It's a special necklace—my mother gave it to me. I wear it at all times. It's like a piece of her that I carry on me everywhere I go. It's a gold chain with a gold heart pendant, I fiddle with it when I don't feel calm.
"What's your favorite show?" I hear his voice again, but the question and the tone makes me look at him with furrowed brows. When our eyes meet, he gives me a shrug. "Making conversation."
I bite my cheek and look away again.
"Friends...I guess. I don't know." I answer quickly, then peek over at his reaction. "What's yours?"
"The Twilight Zone."
Of course.
I nod shortly. "We have very different tastes then." I let out a small exhale of a laugh.
"Mhm." he mumbles as he drinks more water. "Favorite song of all time?"
"Dream a Little Dream of Me. Easy." I reply.
I love that song. It reminds me of castles and rolling fields and fairytales. I sometimes listen to it while painting for inspiration or just to get my mind flowing.
"Favorite ice cream flavour?"
"I don't like ice cream." I mumble in return.
"Jesus Christ, of course you don't." he grumbles under his breath. "What's your favorite book then?"
"Alice in Wonderland."
"Alice in Wonderland? That's your favorite book." he remarks with his brow arched and his voice snarky.
"I love the curiosity of it all." I shrug.
He just smirks, diverting his eyes down with the slightest head shake before speaking in his classic low tone.
"Curiosity killed the cat sweetheart." he murmurs, his eyes looking at me now.
I felt my chest squeeze a little bit, feeling uneasy by the way he was looking at me.
"Have you ever read it." I ask, mustering up courage.
He picks at the decals on the sofa chair. "I've seen the movie—"
"That's not the same."
"Why is that your favorite? Is there some sort of deeper meaning that appeals to you?" he asks sardonically.
"It's just a good book." I respond with a shrug.
"Bullshit." he pouts his lip with a headshake. "You're an artist. You guys always focus on the deeper meanings of things, don't you?"
I look at him with unsure eyes and a crease between my brows. I don't know why he's pushing me like this, and I don't know why he wants these answers out of me.
"Why can't I just appreciate the whimsicality of it?" I insist.
"Because you're not a surface level person, I can tell. You delve deeper than the 'whimsicality'." he leans forward in his seat a little bit.
The way he said that was implying that 'delving deeper' was a bad thing—like searching for the meaning behind things was frowned upon in his eyes.
I look right back at him, my eyes narrowing in on his as the television that we were both now ignoring played in the background.
"What's so bad about that?" I question.
The corner of his mouth quirks up but his eyes behold that same dark stare.
"Delving too deep can get you in some scary situations, Picasso."
He says those ominous words and then he stands up, leaving my eye line and exiting the living room.
I sit there for a few more seconds, just processing that and his presence all together.
There's something dark about him...I don't know what.
Zayn can use the word 'unhinged' but I feel that there's so much more to it—things I may never know.
But it's not my problem anymore. Hopefully this will be one of our last interactions ever.
At 3, I got myself ready to go to the Institute. I stood in my room, dressing into a tight black skirt that fell right above my knee and a white button-up blouse that I tucked into the skirt. I took my hair and pinned it up, trying my best to make my unprofessional self look as professional as I possibly could. I want to make a good impression, even if it is just for turning in my art.
I took my physical copy of my painting and I tucked it into a portfolio, encasing it inside the leather brown folder along with some filled out papers that came along with the application.
If they see me all dressed up and serious, maybe they'll take me seriously.
Dress to impress. Fake it until you make it. All that stuff. That's what I was taught. As long as people are satisfied with you, then there's no way you can fail...right?
I take the portfolio and I tuck it under my arm, grabbing my purse and my phone and shutting my bedroom light off before leaving my room.
I walk downstairs, hearing the chatter in the kitchen.
"Woah, lookin' good, Red." I hear Niall's voice.
I give him a short smile as a thanks, seeing how all of the guys were in here and they were all looking at me.
Except Harry. Harry was on his phone.
"Why are you all dressed up?" Zayn questions.
"I'm going to hand in my copy, remember?" I answer.
"Oh!" he perks up as he remembers, "Let me drive you—"
"Oh, no." I decline with a head shake. "I'm just gonna call a cab."
"No, cabs cost money. I'll drive you." he urges.
Something tells me that he's going to end up driving me no matter what, so what's the use in rejecting.
Zayn grabs his car keys from off of the table, swinging the chain around his finger.
"You boys good while I drive her?" he asks the guys.
"Yes, dad, we'll be fine." Liam mocks from a kitchen chair.
Zayn places his hand on my lower back to lead me out, walking the both of us to his red convertible parked in the driveway.
He races down the driveway and out onto the main street. I hold my portfolio in my lap and cross my legs. I felt so weird in this skirt and blouse, I'm not used to looking so prestigious.
"You nervous?" Zayn asks as he grips the wheel with one hand.
"Kind of, yeah." I tuck a loose hair behind my ear.
"You'll be great. Just do what you need to do and leave, then no stress, right?"
"I guess so."
Maybe I'm just overthinking.
"So how are you gonna handle yourself all alone this weekend while I'm in Denver?" I tilt my head against the headrest and smile.
His lips curl and he exhales a small chuckle. "I'm sure I'll manage."
"You should just come with me...for moral support." I murmur, looking forward again. I wasn't being serious, but I wasn't really joking either.
I don't want to go alone.
"I don't think he would like that very much." Zayn laughs.
I huff and look out the windshield, watching as we pass buildings and houses and people.
"Do you think I'm making a mistake? Visiting Denver again?" I ask him quietly.
"El, you can't ask me that. It's up to you, not me." he replies.
I bite my cheek as I pick at my cuticles in my lap. I've been subconsciously fighting with the idea of backing out of the Denver trip. It would be so easy to just not go back there.
But I want to make Isaac happy.
"You should go, though." Zayn adds, "Feel it out...and the villa will be waiting for you when you come back."
I turn my head toward him to catch his cheesy little grin. He's trying to make me feel better.
I exhale a chuckle out of my nose and give him a soft half smile in return.
"Thanks."
"Everything's gonna fall into place for you, okay? You've just gotta push through the rough shit." he continues.
He's the best—it's like he always knows what to say. I don't think that he could ever make me feel uncomfortable or anything and I—
"And about last night..."
Aw, fuck.
"I was drunk. I shouldn't have done that." he says, referring to how he almost kissed me while laying out in the grass.
"You didn't do anything, Zayn. It's fine."
"I just don't want you to feel weird around me...like I'm gonna try something or some shit." he admits.
I shake my head, knowing his intentions weren't bad.
"No, I get it. We were both wasted, it's okay." I justify.
I really wasn't mad at all.
He nods, smirking a bit. "Cool."
"Cool." I nod back.
I'm so grateful for Zayn's friendship and hospitality towards me. He didn't have to take me in when I came back to Italy but he did, and I really cherish him for that.
The drive was nice right up until we got to the destination...that's when my stomach ignited with butterflies.
Zayn parks the car outside the brick building. It was similar to every other building around, except there were sculptures of lions outside the doors.
"Fuck." I mutter under my breath, gripping the edge of my portfolio like I was hanging off of the edge of a cliff.
I look out at the building, my bottom lip between my teeth as I start to contemplate all of my life choices up until this very point.
I feel a grip on my shoulder, making me look back at Zayn.
"You've got this, kid. I'll be waiting right here." he smiles.
I exhale and nod, forcing myself to rip the metaphorical bandage off and open the car door.
"Go get 'em!" I hear Zayn yell right as I shut the door.
I turn around to face the building, sucking in a deep breath so my chest puffed before exhaling totally.
"Go get 'em." I murmur to myself.
In my white sneakers, I step up the marble stairs that led to the glass revolving doors.
I should've worn heels. Heels are way more professional.
Oh god, I'm gonna blow this whole thing because I didn't fucking wear heels.
I make my way through the revolving doors, immediately overwhelmed by how elegant and fancy the inside was.
The floors were marble just like the stairs, and everything was sleek and shiny.
I have never felt more like a sore thumb in my life...
My sneakers carry me past people in suits and fancy business wear. It's clear from the moment you walk in that this Institute is prestige and not for everyone.
But it's for me...I know it. I've got this.
I think.
I walk straight up to the reception desk—a marble table with three receptionists working at computers and typing on keyboards. There's two males and a woman receptionist with black hair.
I'll go to the woman. She seems nice.
"Hi." I smile politely, causing her to look up from her computer under her brows. She looks back down at the screen, typing away.
"What are you here for?" she says as she types, completely unbothered.
Okay, maybe I was wrong about her seeming nice.
I clear my throat quietly and straighten up my back.
"I'm here to see Mr. Bianchi about the Individual Artist's Program." I say, trying to sound like I know what the hell I'm doing.
She types.
"Great. Do you have an appointment?" she asks and I freeze.
"Uh—" I feel my palms becoming a little sweaty. "N-no, I wasn't aware that I had to schedule one."
She doesn't look at me, but I can see in her eyes that I've messed up when she ever so slightly shakes her head.
I should've known. He's a busy man, of course I'd need an appointment.
"I'm so sorry—"
"Lucky for you, he's free for the next twenty minutes." she tells me, and my shoulders have a weight lifted off of them.
"Oh, perfect!"
She lifts her hand to point down a hallway to my right, her eyes still adhered to the computer. "His office is straight down that hall, just look for his name on the door."
I glance down the hall. "Thank you." I say to the receptionist, not getting anything in response.
In my tennis sneakers, I walk down the wide hall, passing some people on the way.
No one is looking at me weird, so maybe that's a good thing.
I pass some offices, reading each name on the opaque glass doors.
Mrs. Berlusconi.
Mr. Ricci.
Mr. Bianchi. The third door on the left side.
I stand in front of the glass and take yet another deep breath. All I need to do is hand him my work, then this is over.
I bring my fist up, gently knocking on his door.
"Come in!" I hear the thick Italian accent shout from the other side.
I bring my hand to the gold knob, twisting it so the door unlatched and opened. I was revealed to a fancy office, with a brown leather couch and bookshelves and a glossy white desk in the centre. Sat behind that desk, was a man in an expensive suit. He had slicked back hair, was at least 6'5, and wore some jewelry around his neck and fingers.
Very expensive looking man.
"Mr. Bianchi?" I question, peeking around the door.
"Yes?"
"My name is Elaina Basset—"
"Of the IA Program?" he says right away, I guess already knowing why I'm here.
"Yes, that's me." I give him a friendly smile.
He gestures for me to come in with his hand and I do just that, walking in the doorway and shutting the door behind me.
"I was just looking at your email." he says. "Great work."
I feel warmth when he says that.
"Thank you, sir."
He points to one of the black leather chairs on my side of his desk. "Have a seat."
I obey and sit myself down, adjusting my skirt and crossing my legs.
Act like you know what you're doing. Act like you belong here.
"You have the physical copy with you, I'm presuming?" his accent inquires.
I immediately reach into my leather portfolio. "Yes, I do." I grab the copy of the painting and my signed papers as well—just some papers with my information on them. They were a requirement for the application.
I hand the stack to him, and he retrieves it from my hand. He looks down through the papers, sorting through them as I sit before him.
"Relax a bit. No need to be nervous." he says as he keeps his eyes on my papers.
Shit.
"Was it that obvious?" I exhale with a little chuckle.
"Everyone's nervous at this part. You have nothing to stress over."
Sure, nothing expect for the fact that my happiness relies on getting my work displayed in a museum in Paris.
He holds my physical copy in front of him, examining it and making me all the more nervous. I watch his body language—his eyes, his jaw. I yearned to know what he was thinking.
He places the copy down on the desk.
"Well, you've got a gift, Miss Basset. You're very talented."
I didn't realize that I wasn't breathing until he spoke those words. I felt so much air fill my body as a sigh of pure relief.
Knowing he was satisfied with my work was a very good feeling for me.
"Thank you." I smile genuinely.
"What made you apply for this program? May I ask?"
"I've always wanted to be a professional artist. I want people to see my work and analyze it to try and find the meaning." I tell him. I guess Harry was right before, artists always delve. "If my art gets people conversing, then I think I'm doing something right."
Mr. Bianchi's lips curve upwards. Good sign. He's smiling.
"I like you. You strive for perfection and that's good. That's what we look for."
I smile again.
"Listen, I have to be honest." he says, "This program is competitive...you're lucky that we even accepted your application."
Oh god.
"But, you clearly have a spark about you that sets you aside. That will definitely be accounted for." he tells me.
I nod and smile again. My face almost hurts from smiling.
"Thank you, Mr. Bianchi. I seriously can't express my gratitude enough." I say.
"You'll receive an email soon regarding your submission. Good luck, Elaina." he then stands up and reaches out his hand for me to shake.
I follow his action and stand as well, shaking his gigantic hand.
"Thank you for this opportunity." I express.
Walking back down the marble hall and out of the building, I couldn't contain my smile.
That went incredibly well, better than I expected.
I felt warm inside, just so happy that he liked my art. I had a new found confidence as I walked out of that building, feeling good about the program now—better than I had ever felt.
I walk through the lot, seeing Zayn's car still parked and waiting for me.
Except, he was outside the car. He was leaned against it and it looked like he was talking to someone.
When I get a bit closer, I see that he's speaking with a man in a black business suit. He's about the same height as Zayn and there are black sunglasses covering his eyes.
"Zayn?" I say as I approach the car.
Zayn immediately turns around to follow my voice. "Hey," he rushes to turn back to the guy. "Sorry mate, I've gotta run."
The man holds no expression as he turns to walk away. I furrow my brows as I stand on the other side of the car.
"Who was that?" I chuckle.
"Just some guy from university. How did it go?" Zayn quickly disregards but I think nothing of it.
"Great! He really liked my work and said I was really talented." I tell Zayn as we both get in the car.
"See! I told you it would go well." he smiles, nudging my shoulder.
I laugh as I take the clip out of my hair and let it fall loose, shaking my head to let it all fall down my shoulders.
"Let's drive back with the top down." I smile.
Zayn smirks. "She's feeling adventurous." he remarks with a tease as he presses the button to make the top of the car come off.
The June breeze flows through my hair as Zayn races down the road.
I feel so good right in this moment. So good that I'm not even thinking about Denver—and when I do think about it, I don't feel as stressed.
Like I said, things are looking up. My future is appearing much brighter now and I feel like I can sort of breathe again. Now I just have to wait for that email.
When we got back, I packed everything I'd need for Denver. I packed three different outfits, a swimsuit, toiletries and all of the necessities.
I changed from my skirt and blouse into a pair of leggings and a really big grey hoodie that belonged to Isaac. I put my hair into two braids, taking off all of my makeup in preparation for this thirteen hour flight.
I'm going to be so jet lagged by the end of it, only to spend two days there and then come back and be more jet lagged. Can't wait.
All of the guys were prepared to leave as well. Zayn drove me to the airport while the other boys took a taxi and we all arrived there at the same time.
Standing in front of the international doors, with my suitcase at my side, I hugged Zayn goodbye.
"Don't be too hard on yourself over there. Have fun." he says as he gives my back a little rub.
"Thank you. I'll try." I say as I hug him back, closing my eyes as my chin rests on his shoulder.
"Isn't that sweet." I hear Harry from my left. I roll my eyes as I pull off of Zayn, looking over my shoulder at him and the guys standing by the doors. "Let's go." he adds.
I say my last goodbyes to Zayn as I follow the group into the actual airport.
I did my flight check in and security and luggage checks and customs all apart from the boys. I didn't meet up with them again until I was peacefully sitting by myself by my gate, waiting for my flight to be called to board.
The four of them came and sat down right near me.
Harry and Niall on either side of me while Louis and Liam sat across.
Of course.
I ignore them the best I can and scroll through my phone, until I feel the device get snatched from my hands by Harry.
"What the hell." I mutter with quiet frustration as I try to snatch it back.
He swipes along the screen, looking at my wallpaper.
It was a picture of Isaac and I.
"Oh she does have a boyfriend!" he turns to me with a smile, not a friendly smile though. It was that smile that I hated.
"Give me my phone please." I hold my hand out.
"You told me at the paint shop that you don't have a boyfriend. So you're a liar now?" he continues to be annoying, dropping my phone back down into my palm.
I roll my eyes with annoyance, tucking my phone away in my bag and crossing my arms as I sit between him and Niall. Harry extends his arm over the back of my seat.
"You're such a dick." Niall laughs at Harry from the other side of me.
"What's your boyfriend's name?" Liam teases from across the aisle, Louis smirking as well.
"I'm not discussing this with any of you." I shake my head.
"Why, Red? Are you embarrassed of him? Is his dick small?" Niall keeps it going.
Kill me.
"I bet it is. That's why she's so uptight all of the time." Harry adds.
Oh my god I might just kill myself.
I avert my eyes to anywhere else, seeing a smoothie bar over by the gate. That's my escape.
I immediately get up from the seat and grab my bag, going into my hoodie pocket for my wallet.
I ignore all of the guys and walk past them, heading to the smoothie bar in hopes of getting something cold and refreshing.
I approach the woman in a green apron and hat on the other side of the bar.
"Hi." I smile politely.
"What can I get for you?" she returns the smile.
"Can I get a small mango smoothie please—"
"She'll get a large." I hear the dreaded accent from my left.
Is he like a lost puppy or something? Does he have to follow me everywhere?
I turn my head and glare at him, and all he does is give me a cheeky grin in return before looking back at the menu.
"And we'll also get one of those steak and veggie paninis." he adds on, pulling out cash from his own wallet.
The woman nods and rings it up on the register.
"That's 11.93—"
Harry just puts a wad of money on the table, catching the woman off guard.
"Keep the change." he winks before throwing his arm around my shoulder.
The woman turns to get the order prepared.
"What are you doing?" I question as I remain held under his arm.
"I'm starving." he answers simply.
"I only wanted a small smoothie." I scowl.
"Yeah, and I got you a large so we can share and treat the environment kindly, you know, not waste any more plastic." he itches his nose, "Bad for the sea animals."
Oh, whatever.
"As if you actually care about that." I shake my head as I cross my arms and look forward.
He just smirks, keeping his arm around me.
I seriously cannot wait to never have to see him again after tonight.
The woman returns to the counter with a wrapped up panini and the smoothie that was a bright yellow color.
"Thank you." I say as I grab the smoothie. Harry retrieves the panini as well as two wrapped up straws.
I rip myself from under his arm and walk back to where everyone was sitting. I wasn't even going to try to sit away from them because I knew they'd follow me like a flock of birds.
I sit back down next to Niall, while Harry reclaims his spot right next to me.
He hands me a straw and I unwrap it, revealing the purple colored plastic that I stick into the lid.
Harry had a different color straw. His was red. He shoved it in next to mine annoyingly, barely any room for it.
He could not be more obnoxious and I know he's doing it on purpose.
I take a sip of the sweet smoothie, enjoying the taste as I try to block out the four men around me.
"What time are we supposed to land." Liam questions from his seat.
"Around 3 in the morning. If there's no delays." Louis replies.
"This is gonna be brutal." Niall groans in complaint.
"Now boarding flight 372 to Denver."
The voice speaks over the intercom and I perk up, knowing that this was my flight. I grab my bag again, taking a final gulp from the smoothie before shoving it into Harry's hands.
"Enjoy your drink." I give him a fake smile before walking away, catching the final look of annoyance in his eye.
"Bye Elaina! Your ass looks good in those leggings!" I hear Niall shout, immediately making my eyes widen as I don't look back.
I feel a little more relaxed knowing I never have to see them again.
Movies.
Sleep.
Bathroom breaks.
More movies.
More sleep.
Airplane food.
That's what the next thirteen hours consisted of.
It definitely wasn't enjoyable, and the small airplane seats made for a sore neck and back. But in the end, I made it to Denver airport in one piece.
I felt my anxiety begin to climb one I stepped off of the plane, seeing the Denver view through the airport windows.
Keep yourself calm. You're going to have fun.
I take a deep breath and gather myself. I went through the whole process, getting my luggage and wheeling my suitcase out the doors.
It's quiet and dark, being 1:30 in the morning here.
"Elaina!" I hear my name as soon as I step outside. I look up to see the familiar grey BMW parked on the curb and the tall, black-haired boy standing against its hood.
He smiles as he jogs up to me. I laugh as he scoops me up in his arms and twirls me around, planting a kiss on my cheek.
"I missed you." he says softly into my ear as my arms wrap around his neck.
I smile against the crook of his neck. "I missed you too, Isaac."
He sets me down, smiling brightly at me through his perfect teeth. He grabs my suitcase handle, wheeling it to the trunk of his car.
"I have so much planned." he says happily. "Let's get back to my apartment, you look tired."
He shuts the trunk and we both get into his car. He puts his hand on my thigh as he pulls out and gets onto the highway.
I watch the scenery pass. It looked no different than how I left it months ago.
I didn't think I'd be back so soon.
"Thank you for coming." he says from the drivers seat. I turn my head and give him a little smile.
"Thank you for paying for my flights." I say in return.
He pats my thigh, grinning at me with his perfect smile and perfect dark eyes.
Isaac is perfect. He's everything I could ever want...it's me that brings the flaws into our relationship.
I'm insecure and guarded. I have baggage. I have to strive to be perfect while it just comes naturally to him.
I don't know why he's stuck around. He really deserves better than me.
A twenty minute drive brought us to his modest apartment on a quiet street. He helped me with my bags, keeping me close as we rode the elevator up to his floor.
It's an apartment that I've been in so many times, but it never felt familiar.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" he questions as he locks his front door.
I shake my head, standing in the middle of the living room. "I'm super tired."
He chuckles. "Understandable. We can just go to bed if you want."
We.
For some reason it didn't register until right now that I'll be sleeping in the same bed as him. It shouldn't be a big deal. I did it almost every night for a long time, but it's been three months since I've slept with anybody.
I got ready for bed, keeping his hoodie on and just changing into a pair of white pajama shorts. I brush my teeth and wash my face, trying to freshen up in anyway I could from the flight.
As I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, I see him come up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist, his head resting on my shoulder. He's in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a black shirt.
"I've missed this." he says quietly.
I smile through my toothbrush, bending over to spit into the sink before taking his mouthwash and pouring some into the cap to swish around my mouth.
He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, the same bedroom I've slept in many times.
I don't know why I feel so weird about it.
When we both crawl into bed, I stay above the covers while he gets under them.
"You sure you don't want a blanket?" he asks.
I shake my head, "I don't like the heat."
He nods in understanding. I turn my back to him and he wraps his arm around me, spooning me now as we lay in his bed.
I'm going to make myself enjoy this weekend. I'm with somebody that I care about. That's a good thing.
Everything will be okay.
//
i picture isaac as dylan o brien !
how do you feel about the characters so far?
ily <3