Aaron's point of view:
Kyle Buchanan is a dick.
And he's not a big dick, no, he's a small, tiny little shriveled, unsatisfactory dick.
He's a penis with an STD.
What the fuck type of man cheats on their girlfriend and then breaks said girlfriend's leg—which was already in the process of healing—while harassing her after they're not together anymore?
That's right, no man would do that, and whatever male does is not a man.
They are a fucking child. A man-baby. A shriveled dick.
And who the fuck would ever willingly hurt Cassie?
She's Cassie.
I am so angry right now, all I want to do is go down to the police station and make sure that fucker gets charged.
But I need to make sure Cassie is okay first.
I'm stuck in traffic on the way to the hospital, and I'm so close to her.
The need to see Cassie is overwhelming, and I have to stop myself from weaving in and out of traffic. Besides, if I get pulled over, the longer it's going to take to see her.
The cars in front of me finally start to move, and I eagerly press on the accelerator, turning on my blinker to signal I'm getting off at an exit.
The rest of the drive to the hospital goes pretty quickly, and when I pull into the parking lot, the car is off and locked in less than five seconds.
I jog towards the entrance and move towards the front desk when I'm inside, the trademark hospital smell heading up my nose, people sitting in chairs in the lobby, looking desolate.
"How may I help you?" asks the lady sitting behind the desk, a desktop computer in front of her.
"I'm looking for Cassandra Parker," I tell her, trying to keep the desperation and worry out of my words. "She would've been admitted recently with a broken leg."
The lady clicks around on the computer before smiling up at me. "She's in room 104."
I take off, shooting a "Thank you," over my shoulder.
The room numbers go by, and soon I'm standing outside of her door.
I push it open, closing it behind me, and I see Cassie laying on the bed looking up at the ceiling, a spaced out look on her face.
"Cassie," i say hesitantly. "You okay?"
"Look at all the pretty colors," she whispers, still looking up at the ceiling.
I walk closer, sitting down in the chair by her bed, and glance up at the part of the ceiling she's staring at.
The ceiling is white.
"How much drugs do they have you on?"
That causes her to look away from the ceiling and finally look at me, her face falling. "I like your face," she tells me, sounding like an upset child. "Why is your face so pretty?"
I chuckle, amusement rising up inside of me. "I don't know, Cassie. Why do you think it's so pretty?"
She pouts. "I don't know. Your face is stupid but it's so pretty." She sits up and grabs my face in between her hands, yanking it closer to her, looking into my eyes. "Your eyes are pretty, too," she says, bringing my face closer to hers until our foreheads are pressed together and our noses are brushing. "I love your eyes."
She says something else, but I don't catch it because I'm on fire.
She does things to me—she always has—and now it's being multiplied by one hundred.
She moves her hands up to my hair and starts to run her fingers through my black strands, causing my eyes to close in pleasure.
A noise sounds from her. "And I love your hair. It's so soft," she sighs, and her fingers tug on my hair.
A groan leaves my mouth before I can stop it and all the blood in my body rushes south, and I force myself to pull my head away, getting it out of her grip, and open my eyes, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
Now's not the time, buddy.
Cassie stares at me with a gleeful smile on her face, an adoring look in her eye. "I like you."
Everything in me stops.
She's said it before, but we haven't really talked about anything concerning our feelings after I kissed her.
I still think about that kiss sometimes.
Her lips were soft, and warm, and I wanted them all over my body.
I shift in my chair as my jeans tighten around my lower area.
Come on, buddy, work with me here.
Cassie continues talking, reaching out once again to bring my head back closer to hers. "I mean, I think I do. I'm not entirely sure. I might like you, I really might. I like you more than I ever liked Kyle, that's for sure." My heart swells in my chest. "But, you're still dating Brittany, so I'm not sure why I'm hanging around you."
I feel my eyebrows furrow. "Who's Brittany?"
She rolls her eyes, and I would flick her adorable little nose, but I'm pretty sure she's high right now, and she's in the hospital; she got lucky this time.
"Brittany," she repeats. "The girl you're dating. The one in the alley..." She trails off, her eyes moving to the side and breaking contact with mine, before she returns her gaze to mine, her eyes sharp. "Why did you kiss her that day? Why didn't you kiss me?" Oh, she's talking about Tiffany.
My mouth opens in shock as I register her words. "You saw that?"
That day was quite possibly the worst day of my life.
Tiffany had asked—threatened—me to date her, and after I agreed, she told me to take her around town. We ended up in that alley, and she told me to kiss her; when she told me we could take that somewhere else, everything in me was screaming at me to say no. I'm not sure it came out that way.
Cassie looks so disappointed in me, and hurt, and I hate that I'm doing this to her.
"I was thinking of you," I blurt out, and the expression on her face transforms into one of disgust.
"What?"
I swallow. I don't want to continue the sentence in fear of what she'll say, but I can't stop myself. "When I was kissing her," I clarify. "I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how much I wanted to be kissing you. How I wanted to kiss you that day in my house. How I should've kissed you that day in my house. I was beating myself up for not doing it, and I walked into that coffee shop with the full intention to find you later and tell you how I felt, how I feel, but then you said you were dating Rick, so I never got the chance."
The adoring look is back. "You're such an idiot."
I give her a sheepish smile. "Everyone else said the same thing."
She bursts out laughing, and I smile, watching her as her beautiful grey eyes crinkle at the sides. I love watching her laugh and seeing her smile.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"
She stops laughing and looks at me in shock. "No, you haven't."
"Well, you are," I tell her, and I mean it; she's always beautiful, no matter what she's wearing.
Her face flushes, and I can't hide my smirk.
"You know something, Aaron? Sometimes I think you only like me because of how I look. You never noticed me throughout all of high school."
I blink at her. I forgot to tell her, didn't I?
"First day of freshman year," I begin. "Your biology teacher, Mr. Hayes, called you out because you were on your phone." She looks at me in surprise. "I was in two of your classes that year. You made the track team three weeks after that, and then, right before Christmas break, you quit. You were in detention almost every day the rest of the year. Second week of sophomore year, you got a detention because you yelled at the kids in your English class, saying they were all brainless monkeys." Her face flushes again, and I continue speaking. "Halfway through the first quarter of junior year, you started dating someone. He didn't go to our school, so I didn't know who it was, but I always overheard you talking about him in the hallways, or in class. You went to the mall once a week, always going into the department store I worked at to buy sweatpants and hoodies. We never talked, but I saw you everywhere, all the time, and I thought you were beautiful. It didn't matter that you were wearing sweatpants and a hoodie instead of jeans and a crop top. It didn't matter because you still looked beautiful, and you're beautiful now, just like you were beautiful then. My opinion of you didn't change based off what you were wearing because it never mattered to me. I think you look prettier in sweatpants, anyways."
She's crying, and my eyebrows furrow with worry.
"You," she tries to say. "You thought I was beautiful? Even back when I was snapping out at everybody?"
"I've always thought you were beautiful. And that hasn't ever changed."
Her lower lip wobbles and more tears fill her eyes. Shit. I didn't mean to make her cry.
Before I can say anything, her arms are wrapped around my neck and she's pulling me against her for a hug.
Automatically, my arms wrap themselves around her torso, and my head buries itself into her hair while her face rests in my neck.
She mumbles something, but I don't catch it.
I really like her.
And I wish I could be with her, be able to do all the things I want to do, but I can't; there's one thing I have to do first.
I have to deal with Tiffany.
---------
It's only one forty five in the morning, but I am so sorry this chapter is late; I said I would get it out yesterday, and I honestly had most of it written, but then I just forgot about it until a couple of minutes ago.
Well, anyways, how was Aaron's point of view? Better than the last time?
WE REACHED 5K, WOO!
We blew past it, technically, and I'm so grateful for each and every one of you guys reading this book. Thank you for reading, for voting, for adding this book to your reading lists, for commenting, for everything; i really appreciate it. Should I start hoping we make it to 10k before the book is completed or is that too high of a goal?
Next update on Wednesday!
Love you guys!
--Rose
P.S. I can't believe I'm still up, honestly I need help.