Not About Angels ➳ A TBNRFrags/PrestonPlayz Fanfiction

You Have To Trust Me ➳ Chapter 40

Nicola's POV

4:57pm

I'm a tiny bit heart broken at the loss of my photograph. After all, it was the last one I had of Preston and me after clearing out my phone. It must've fallen out when my book fell out of my bag early this week; I did see a sheet of paper blow away in the wind.

Suddenly, a gust of wind managed to slip into my bedroom, turning a few pages on my novel. Irritated, I flip back, though I really couldn't be bothered to close my window because I'm a teenager and I'm lazy. And besides, the wind is cooling me otherwise.

My room's furniture is positioned quite effectively. I'm laying on my bed, my back up against that headboard.  To the right of the bed-according to how I'm oriented, the left of me in my current position-is the small open window that applies exceptional light despite the tree that blocks the majority of my view. At my feet, a simplistic desk lays empty against the wall, only a few papers and books occupying the otherwise clean surface. A lonely armchair rests against the wall, but I prefer my bed. And last but not least, my closet door is to the left of my bed, while my room door is positioned beside my desk. I moved my dresser to my brother's room because I didn't need it.

Despite this comfortable feeling, I miss my old room. It was like a safe haven for me, meaning leaving it was like leaving the only place I felt safe.

Speaking of safety and pain, I haven't even touched my blade since I left. I don't know why, but I tell myself I don't have the time to. But I know it's because I don't need to, ultimately meaning I'm happier than before... Before I left. But if anything, I'm not. I miss home. What is that, the fiftieth time I said it?

I sigh. I shouldn't be brooding over things that can't be fixed.

"You've settled in quite nicely, I see," a masculine voie murmurs from behind me, or more specifically the window. In any other situation, I would scream from myself being a coward. But the voice sounds familiar.

Too familiar.

"I'm real. I'm not an hallucination, if that's what you're thinking." He whispers as I turn my head slowly to see none other than Preston's blue eyes staring at me. His brown hair is swept up like usual, though slightly messier. He is sat parallel to my window upon the window sill, his knees bent to fit his body and his forearms calmly encircling them. Along all of his clothes, small raindrops stained the fabric while a relaxed smirk lightly danced across his lips.

Despite our last note, I can't help but feel the corners of my mouth quirk up slightly at his presence. I open my relaxed mouth, waiting a moment before I make a sound. "Why... are you here?"

"Why not?" He says, now letting his legs dangle off the window sill inside.

"Shoes off," I tease, referring to the first time he was at my house.

Sighing yet smiling, he slips off his signature converse and places them onto the white window. He cautiously places his sock-covered feet onto the carpet of my room, fulling placing his body in warmth. His eyes drop towards me once again, where I'm still sitting atop my bed. Preston approaches me slowly and sits on the comforter, at the furthest most possible point from me.

"So why'd you leave?" He asks, his eyes studying my nearly blank expression.

"Parental decision." I mumble, my answer simple. That is all I tell myself, but of course, there is another reason. Hopefully, he's not completely oblivious...

"Before you say anything," he murmurs, "I... don't know what got into me that day." I assume he's referencing the last time we spoke to each other. "I just... froze up. I wanted to go up and just hug you... comfort you, but when you ran... I couldn't move. I was frozen." He looks down, guilt flooding his expression.