"So is this what you do these days? Laying on the ground at parties." I tease, trying to bring humor into the conversation in an attempt to be casual about this whole situation. The one where August walked in on me kissing another girl.
The whole interaction from her bursting into my bedroom to her monologue to the moment the door slammed shut, I was paralyzed. I couldn't grasp the fact she was standing there. Neither do I know why I immediately pushed the girl away the moment August stepped out of my room. The same goes for why I'm standing here, looking down at her. The only reasonable answer to that question is the number of beers I've consumed this night.
"I'm trying to view life from a different perspective."
"How philosophical." Two simple words fly out of my mouth, yet their impact is greater than I want them to be. They're the first crack in the dam holding back the river of memories. I hate the crack. I curse the crack and I curse the alcohol rushing through my veins for taking away the filter I desperately wish was still here.
"Says the one who now actually has a beard, Mr. Philosopher." The corner of my mouth curls up and drops in a matter of a second.
Another jab at the past, another crack in my dam.
I observe her, wondering if she realizes the weight her comment carries. If she too is fighting the surfacing flashbacks. But as always, the only thing I can conclude from her expression is that her mind is currently going a hundred miles an hour. Thoughts, opinions, ideas, and memories are speeding through her brain. There was a time I would've done anything to catch a glimpse of them, to get an idea of what happens inside her head, to make her share. Now, I'm not sure I want her to.
"I like it, the stubble beard. It looks good on you." From the way her eyes widen at the sound of her own voice, I assume the compliment she gives came as unexpected for her as it came for me. My mind blanks, my jaws clench, my chest tightens, and my heart trips. It stumbles but regains balance just as quickly as I blink the confusion away.
"Thanks." I focus my eyes on anything else than hers. Her thick, brown waves are scattered around her head and her cheeks are almost the same color as the deep red stain on her blouse.
"I see you're still as clumsy." I nod my chin to the stain.
"It wasn't my fault." The simple gesture of me cocking my eyebrow makes her add a crucial detail to her story. "Entirely?"
There's an itch inside of me to ask more questions. Perhaps to know the full story, or perhaps a part of me wants to prolong the conversation. However, it's the other part of me I allow to reign over my voice. The part that wants to take a step back and build unbreakable walls as high as the sky. The one that wants to shut her out and walk away because that part acknowledges the past rather than ignores it. But building stable walls with alcohol in your system is easier said than done.
"You should get that cleaned." My comment could've ended our interaction. She could've nodded and let me slip away. She could've let me escape but she doesn't. Instead, she kicks my wall to see how unbreakable it really is.
"You think? I thought I'd leave it like this. It's a beautiful stain, isn't it? Perfect shape, perfect color." With every word, the urge to return her sarcasm strengthens until it silences my previous thoughts.
"Yeah, now that you mention it. It looks like the next fashion trend. Really crafted by someone with the great talent of creating unique stains with her not-clumsy hands." Her face crunches in anger before she smacks my calf.
"Shut up." A laugh slips by her lips as she pushes herself upright. My feet lead me to her and before I can second guess my body's movement, I'm sitting next to her in the doorway of my bedroom.
"I just haven't found the bathroom yet because of all these doors." Her hands gesture to the hallway. "Six doors. Really, how many people live here? Are they housing a volleyball team?" I stare at the frame hanging on the wall opposite of us holding a picture of this year's Willamette River University soccer team and envision all of us wearing women's volleyball outfits. I can imagine each of my roommate's reactions and stifle a snort. A smug Finnick, an awkward Daniel, and Matteo wearing his typical facial expression that screams: I'm so done with every single one of you. Even though Finnick would probably love for her guess to be true, it's clearly far from the truth.
"We're not." August's head snaps to me in confusion.
"Did you say 'we'?" Her frown deepens when I curtly nod.
"I did."
"You live here?" Her puzzlement intensifies and I share the emotion.
"How did you not know?" I try to put the pieces together and when there's only one possibility left of why she wouldn't know, I ask her for confirmation.
"You do know this is my housewarming party, right?" Her mouth drops open and she slams her hand on my arm, grabbing it in shock. My eyes flicker to her hold and I mentally scold my heart for quickening his rate even the slightest bit.
"This is your housewarming party?!" She blinks a few times as if she's trying to figure out for herself how she didn't attain that information before coming here.
"Brooke never told me," she absently states. I'm curious if she'd be here if she did know.
"I bet she did but you probably spaced out." Like you're doing right now.
I assume she's lost in her mind for several reasons. One: I expected her to roll her eyes at my comment or deny it completely. Two: I recognize the frown on her face and the way her eyes snap to different spots in front of her. She used to wear the same expression when she was overthinking something or trying to figure something out. Her eyes suddenly widen, she slams her second hand on my arm and turns her body to face me in one swift movement.
"Shit, I didn't bring you a present." I bring my free hand up to my chest as I gasp.
"Shame on you. Now I have no other option than to ask you to leave my house." She tilts her head, not at all shocked by my answer. I, on the other hand, am when I catch a tiny piece of me hoping she wouldn't actually oblige to my sarcastic request.
"Can I bargain?" I lift one eyebrow at her challenging gaze.
"Depends on what you're offering."
"I have-" She starts padding her whole body and stops when she clearly feels something under her left armpit. Her hand dives into her top before revealing objects from it as if it's a magician's magical hat. I dumbfoundedly stare at her as she pulls out her phone, keys, lip balm, and a dirty paper napkin. Where the hell did she put all that?
"Oh, I know what I can give you." Her voice radiates with excitement. "Okay, close your eyes." I stare at the objects laying on the floor in front of her trying to figure out where she's going with this.
"Why?"
"Because it should be a surprise." I mutter a 'fine' before giving in. Minutes pass with us sitting in silence. The only confirmation that she's still here is the soft sound of rustling fabrics and my rising heartbeat caused by the feeling of her bare knee brushing against my thigh every time it bobs up and down. It's all I can focus on. Up and down and up and down. I don't even think she knows. Up and down. Every bob shoots electricity up my leg. Up and down. It's distracting. Up and down. I want it to stop. Up and-. My breathing halts the moment my fingers connect with the soft skin of her knee. My eyes shoot open and clash with hers. They're filled with confusion. My mind tricks me by making me believe there's a glimpse of longing, that her lips part, her breathing hitches, and that I can feel the slightest pressure of her thigh against my hand.
But she wouldn't do that. I know because she pushed me away three years ago. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want me to squeeze her thigh before I slowly slide my hand up. She doesn't want me to tangle my fingers in her hair or brush her lower lip with my thumb. She doesn't want me to jerk her closer so I could kiss her.
The images flash through my mind, a desire coming along with them.
Fuck. No. No, no, no, no.
I yank my hand away. "I'm sorry, you were just-"
"No, it's fine. I do that sometimes without realizing it. I get that it was annoying." More like, distracting me from building my walls.
I squeeze my eyes shut, removing the thought. She doesn't have that effect on me. I won't let her have that effect on me. It was like she said, annoying. That's it. I put my hand on her knee because it was annoying, not because her brushing her knee against my thigh was slowly burning every nerve inside my body. I clear my throat hoping it'd simultaneously clear my mind.
"I didn't see whatever you were doing so-"
"It's okay, I'm done." The speed behind her words indicates how badly she wants to move on from the previous moment. That's a good thing. That's a great thing. I totally agree with that.
"You can look." The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the twinkle in her irises that shines a certain amount of proudness and excitement. The second thing is a flower laying in her hands crafted from the dirty paper napkin.
"This one can't die," she winks, referencing my inability to keep plants alive. "And please don't focus on the red wine stains. I used it to dab my blouse dry." I take it from her hands and inspect her creation.
"I didn't know you could make this."
"I learned it last year when I wanted to decorate our dining table the first night your sister, Lucie, and I were at our apartment," she explains. I tear my gaze away from her to focus back on the little present she made me.
"It's impressive." The corner of her lip curves into a grin as she expectantly looks at me.
"Impressive enough to not throw me out?"
"You bought yourself 5 more minutes." I hear myself say, even though I know very well how dangerous five more minutes can be.