Edited.
T H R E E : CONTRADICTIONS ARE HOT.
- Taylor -
I watched through the window as Paul's chauffeur dragged his and Janelle's luggage to the limousine. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and kept pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. He would turn around when he reached the trunk, and I'd have to duck behind the curtains immediately, and I was almost certain he'd seen me once or twice, but he was too invested in his task of hauling Janelle's overbearingly heavy suitcase up into his arms to notice me.
Paul nodded at me as he stepped out the front door, but I didn't wave in response. Instead, I settled for a half-smile, and a whispered it was nice knowing you under my breath. He didn't hear me, and for that I was thankful. I did the same for Janelle, except she was pleasant enough to give me an awkward side-hug; it was almost as though she knew I was leaving, and I couldn't decide whether her kindness was out of remorse or excitement.
"Damn, Taylor," I heard Isabella sniff from behind me. Without waiting for me to face her, she engulfed me in a tight embrace, somehow managing to both wrap her arms around my waist and pat my head at the same time. "I can't believe I won't ever see you again. I'm going to miss you, kid." Her words were muffled by my shoulder, but they still delivered the same effect—I was struggling to trap the tears in.
"Hey," I snapped jokingly, in a feeble attempt to keep the mood from becoming annoyingly depressing. If it wasn't obvious enough already, I wasn't much of a feelings person. "What do you mean you'll never see me again? You will visit me at Dev's, right?" I demanded finally, groaning internally when my voice cracked the tiniest bit.
Is was whimpering by this point, and I smothered a sigh between clenched teeth at the sight of her tears. Pieces of her blonde hair were sticking to her wet cheeks, and she raised a hand to brush them back into place. Forcing a grin onto her lips, she said, "Of course. You won't be getting rid of me that easily."
I chuckled at that. Stretching my arms lazily, I glanced at the clock that was mounted on the wall behind Isabella's head. "It's seven a.m., Is. Why are you guys leaving so early, again?"
"Something about getting there at least six hours in advance," she frowned, and it struck me again how pale she looked. There were worry lines drawn across her forehead, and her cheeks appeared to be suspiciously hollow. I opened my mouth to comment on this, but she beat me to it. "It's so irritating having to deal with them sometimes." She whined, and I got the strange sense she was trying to keep me from mentioning her appearance.
"I won't have to anymore," I shrugged. But I couldn't push the thought out of my mind. "Are you okay, Isabella? And don't give me some bullshit stress story. You know what I mean."
"I—" she paused for a second, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Stepping around me, she lowered herself down onto the leather couch. "It's nothing." Is muttered finally.
"That's a lie, so don't try it on me." I countered, kneeling in front of her. "Seriously, what's going on? You look sick, like white as a sheet without makeup on. And you're losing weight—weight that you shouldn't be losing." I explained, and she averted her gaze from me in an instant.
Isabella didn't return her eyes to me for another moment, and when she did, they were watery. Dragging shaking fingers through her hair, she mumbled, "I'm—I'm freaking out, alright? Kane and I have been dating for a little over a year, and—and I love him, I do, but—but he asked me to marry him, and I don't know if—if I want to—"
"You don't have to," I offered, swallowing the surprise that had overwhelmed me. "You don't have to rush into anything if you're uncomfortable with it. He's a good guy, but if you don't want to get married yet—"
"It's not that, Taylor," Is cut me off abruptly. Leaning back on my heels, I stared at her, watching as a multitude of emotions crossed her features—frustration, agitation, apology, sadness, nervousness. Before I could try to calm her again, she blurted, "I'm pregnant."
My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates before I could even attempt to stop them. She was... pregnant.
"I know. I know, Taylor." She murmured, dropping her face into her palms. Her following sentences came out garbled, but I fought to make sense of them. "I haven't told him. I'm scared to. What will he... what will he think? He's been dating this girl for almost a year and a half, and he's ready to tie the knot with her, and then—then she goes and gets pregnant?"
"Is it not his?" I screeched.
"Oh, shut up." Isabella scolded, glaring at me suddenly. "Of course it's Kane's. But—but he told me he doesn't want to have kids until he's at least twenty-five. That's—that's a while away. And I'm not ready to be a mom, Taylor. I'm... I'm only twenty-one, for God's sake." She dissolved into strangled sobs after that, and I was left speechless.
"Isabella!" Paul's yell shattered the silence we had fallen into, and I leapt up onto my feet.
Rubbing at her cheeks, Isabella pushed herself off of the sofa. Winding her arms around me once more, she said, "I'm sorry I just sprang this onto you. It's ridiculous, I get it."
Pulling away brusquely, I glowered at her, my tone bordering on murderous, when I said, "Don't you dare apologize to me, or say that this is any less important than it is."
"Right," she confirmed, laughing lightly. Patting her stomach, she smiled at me, "Maybe Kane will be happy about this. Uh, hopefully."
"He will be." I assured her.
"ISABELLA ELOISE O'DONNELL!"
"Shit, that's the middle name." Is smirked, hiking her purse higher up on her shoulder. Spinning on her heels, she stalked to the door. I was about to call goodbye to her one last time, when she turned around once again. "Almost forgot—" Isabella rummaged around in her bag for a minute, her eyes squinting as she searched for something. Finally, her hand emerged with a small box clutched in its grip. Tossing it over to me, she winked. "Happy birthday, Taylor."
Gratitude swelling inside of me, I popped the lid off, gasping when I recognized what was nestled between the velvet inside the square container. It was a delicate silver chain, complete with a tiny, cursive, diamond-encrusted I dangling from the center. Lifting it from its case, I held it up to the light, where the letter glinted.
"It's beautiful," I breathed.
Is beamed at me. "You're welcome, kid. Besides, I've got one, too." Plucking the collar of her jacket away from her skin, she pointed to the hollow of her throat, where a sparkling T was sitting amid the cluster of other necklaces that completed her outfit.
"Thank you—"
"ISABELLA, GET OUT HERE, BEFORE I—"
"BEFORE YOU WHAT, DAD? I'M COMING, DAMMIT!"
. . .
I fidgeted in front of the garage door, a pair of keys jingling in my grip. There was a slew of expensive sports cars for me to pick from, and all of them seemed to be conveying the same message; hurry up, dumbass, and pick one, before Paul and Janelle somehow mysteriously come back and lock you into your room for the rest of your life.
Alright, that was a bit of an exaggeration. But the point was the same. I needed to hurry.
Hitching my duffel up on my back, I wandered between Paul's two favorite vehicles; a glistening, fire engine red Ferrari, and an obnoxiously bright yellow convertible Lamborghini. He loved both of these monsters more than he loved even Isabella. There wasn't a single weekend when he wasn't out in the garage, polishing the damn hoods of these things. It was ridiculous, how much attention my father gave to materialistic items.
I smirked when I realized that his prized possessions were currently at my dispense.
Shoving my bag into the backseat of the Lamborghini finally, I clambered into the driver's side. The engine roared to life when I turned the key in the ignition, and I felt a wave of exhilaration flood through me. This was happening.
I was leaving the house I had come to refer to as a prison cell. I was going to San Francisco. I was free.
- Derek -
I lounged on the sagging couch that faced Devon's impressively large television. The basketball game was blaring at maximum volume, and I was trying to crunch the tortilla chips I had stolen from the kitchen as loud as possible, but I could still hear Devon's instructions over all of the noise.
"—and make sure you're nice to her, Derek. She's seventeen and this is her first time out of the h—um, out on her own. So don't freak her out, or anything—"
"I get it, I get it." I drawled, lowering the volume so that I didn't have to shout over the commentators. "I won't kidnap her, or harass her, or throw her out. God, doing favors for people is so annoying. Commitment is just such a waste of t—"
"Oh, shut up, you prick." Devon said, and I grinned when I detected the irritation in his voice. "All you have to do is let her in and keep her company for a couple hours."
I groaned. "Yeah, but that's just such a hassle."
"You're such a hypocrite." He quipped, and I felt something like a shoe hit the back of my head. "You get to crash on my sofa, eat my food, and watch ESPN for free. Quit complaining." Devon growled, and I realized how right he was, and coincidentally, how frustrated he was getting.
"Fair enough," I conceded, deciding that it was much easier to give up than to continue fighting a losing battle with Devon. "But, hey, listen," I shifted so that I was looking at him. He paused from buttoning up his shirt for a second and squinted his eyes at me, the most exasperated of expressions plastered to his face. "This Taylor... is she hot?"
The string of cuss words that came out of his mouth was too foul for even me to repeat.
. . .
I could have sworn I had been watching The Breakfast Club for literally ten minutes before a knock sounded on the door. And that, in all honesty, was really disappointing, because I'd been hoping to watch at least one Pay-Per-View movie on Devon's TV, before this girl showed up.
The taps escalated in both speed and sound as I dawdled on the couch, not wanting to get up yet. Finally, I tossed the remote onto the coffee table, and crossed to the door, throwing it open in one swift motion. Before I could invite her in, the girl pushed past me, rushing into the apartment like someone was chasing after her.
Spinning around, I opened my mouth to snap at her, but the words died on my tongue. She was beautiful.
The top of her head grazed about my chin in height, so she had to crane her neck slightly to look at me in the face. As she did so, the hood that she had pulled over her straw colored hair fell back, revealing a pair of striking, light blue eyes. She just stared at me for a minute, and I did the same; it was awkward and brilliant all at once, like we were a frame in a silent film, paused on the television, just frozen in time.
When she started chewing on her bottom lip, I spoke. "T—Tiffany, right?"
"Taylor," she stated, annoyance laced through her quiet voice. "You're Derek?"
"The one and only," I smirked.
Sighing, she took a step back. I watched as she pulled her sweatshirt up over her head, one hand secure on the hem of the t-shirt she had on underneath. She glanced at me again once she had tossed the dark purple hoodie onto her overstuffed duffel bag, frowning when she realized that I had been watching her.
"Are you his roommate?" Taylor asked, and I grinned when I saw anxiety flit across her features.
I shook my head. "No, I'm his friend from college. I'm just over here a lot." Gesturing to the TV, I explained, "He has better channels than I do."
She giggled at that, and I felt a strange sense of pride surge through me. "Ah, so you're the pillow-throwing best friend Dev was talking about."
"Dev?" I raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Oh, right—um, Devon," she stuttered, "we have nicknames for each other."
"Really?" I bit back a chuckle, knowing I would never get an answer out of her if I started laughing even before she told me. "What's yours?"
"Tay," she mumbled, and a light pink blush coated her cheeks.
I beamed at her, moving forward so that we were barely an inch apart. Towering over her, I breathed, "Well, Tay, you're absolutely gorgeous."
That made the smile drop from her face. Pushing at my chest, she stumbled away from me. "Thanks. You—you can leave now." Flustered and curiously aggravated, Taylor shuffled to the sofa. Collapsing into the same spot I had been sitting in just moments before, she groaned. "Seriously. You can leave."
"Why would I do that?" I smirked, claiming the armchair across from her. "You're gorg—"
"Don't humor me." She warned, her once soft voice now hardened and authoritative.
I scoffed. "I'm not. I think you're stunning."
"Yeah, well, I don't like playing stupid games like this. Don't make fun of me, and just get out. I'm seventeen; I can take care of myself until Devon comes back." Taylor finished with a flourish, pieces of hair sticking to her lips as she lectured me.
"Long day?" I questioned.
She glared at me. "Yes, dammit, it's been a very long day. So, I'd appreciate it if you could quit teasing me, and get the hell out of here. I'm sorry," she murmured suddenly, the resolve seeming to have been drained from her. "Maybe if I'd met you another time, I would have been more... uh, civilized. But I'm just—just tired."
I shrugged. "I get it. I'm going." I kept my sympathetic expression as I passed her, muttering a courteous, "Goodbye."
The second I was out of Devon's apartment, though, I started laughing. Taylor was something. For such a pretty girl, she sure had a temper—and a bad one, at that. I'd barely flirted before she erupted. And it was interesting, how guarded she was against compliments. It was almost as if she'd never gotten any before.
Her appearance was branded onto my brain, though, and I couldn't erase it. She was gorgeous, and I had been telling the truth when I said that. Her eyes were the color of frozen water, but they burned like fire when she was angry. Her smile was shy and pleasant, but she frowned daggers once she was upset. Damn, Taylor was just a slew of contradictions.
But I was impressed. She'd be quite a challenge, but I was determined to turn her around.