August & Colin | WRU series | book 1
We take risks. We make mistakes. We lie. We love. We hurt. We lose total control.
I took a risk. I paid the price.
I made a mistake. I felt the guilt.
I lied. I lie.
I loved. I try not to.
I hurt. I still do.
...
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It's been three days since Colin opened his mind to me and let me know the consequences of my actions. His words had cut through my heart, and butchered my thoughts, leaving only one sentence behind.
I expected you to talk to me.
All I had to do was talk. All I had to do was pronounce words and form sentences, instead of using my legs to run away as far as possible.
All I had to do was share, yet all I ever do is shut down. I lock my words and thoughts in a box until I've pushed down so many of them that the only fate the box has, is exploding.
My box exploded. Yet it wasn't words that slipped out. It was actions that eventually led me to stare at his neatly folded shirt laying on my desk, hoping it'd stop gawking back at me.
"Good morning, sunshine." I spin my office chair around to face a beaming Brooklyn in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. I casually grasp the shirt from my desk, shove it in my closet and nonchalantly close the door pretending I'm tidying up, instead of covering up.
I glance at my watch. "It's half past 12," I playfully correct her.
She flops on my bed like a sea star with her dreamy expression still resting on her face. "Well, it's a good morning for me." I'm not surprised by her phrasing because whereas my mornings begin at half past 6 in the morning, hers begin at around half past 11. Eleven at best. She usually skips her morning lectures, yet on rare, calculated occasions she attends to ace a pop quiz.
How she knows is still a big question mark for me because pop quizzes, however well prepared I am, always take me by surprise.
"Go on," I grin curiously settling myself back in my chair. Good mornings, or rather good afternoons, aren't rare for her. She always finds a reason to wizard a smile on her lips and share the joy.
"My Patricia's were on sale." She beams with a sigh of satisfaction.
"The green ones?" Like a parent would name their kids and a pet owner would name their pet, Brooke names her pairs of shoes. Recently she fell in love with Patricia, yet her relationships with shoes were never monogamous. From what I remember she has Rose, Ginny, Darek, John, and a bunch of other names to fill her extensive collection of shoes.
"Look at these beauties." She turns her screen to me to showcase a pair of dark green, velvet heels. "They might've robbed my bank account but who cares, the love of my life arrives in four workdays."
"I'll schedule the runway show for next Monday." Whenever Brooke buys a pair of shoes we organize a little fashion show where we each get 1 minute to choose an outfit for someone else. There are no rules. Every closet is open, and every outfit is possible. The one who puts together the most ridiculous one is the winner of the round and gets to hand out a shot.
"I love how you can read my mind." Her grin is matching mine as I'm sure we're both thinking about the same couple of memorable nights that started with this game. "Am I bothering you?" She lifts her head off the mattress to look at me.
