Clarity

||03|| Pinky-promise

Chapter song: Battle scars by Lupe Fiasco, Guy Sabastian

C H A P T E R T H R E E
Clarity's POV

It's strange to think that if this stranger hadn't seen me on that rooftop a few hours ago, just a few seconds later, I wouldn't be breathing like I am now. And neither would he.

After what happened with my boyfriend, Jonah Foyer, the largest argument I've ever had with a person about the simple word no, I was sure my mind was made up. The terrible words he spewed at me had hurt and still do. Even days before that argument, my mom kicked me out of the house. She said that I was a burden to her, and I believed her. Leading me to my situation with Jonah.

With nowhere to go, alone and scared, I found myself on the rooftop.

But now, I find myself peering into his apartment of Olias... what exactly is his last name?

I tapped Olias back as he opened his front door, "Hey, what's your last name?"

He turns around, "Grey. With an e."

"Grey? Like the color grey?" I question. Can his name get any prettier?

He pushes his black curls out his face and nods, "Yeah, the color." He steps to the side of his door, clearing a pathway to his apartment.

I stare inside. It's dark, a small lamp illuminating a corner of his living room. It doesn't look like a death chamber of a murderer. Although maybe it's the cover-up and as soon as I walk in, the walls will shift and transform— I read too much fantasy, God.

"You coming in, or are you scared?" Olias asks.

I shake my head. Scared? Ha, he should be scared me if anything. I'm the cereal killer; did he forget already?

"No," I only say.

"Then why are you biting your nails?"

Looking down, I am in fact biting my nails.

I hadn't even realized I was doing it. Most of the time, it's anxiety. Other times it's out of habit. It's the reason my fingers look so stubby now.

I drop my hand and put them in his jacket pocket, "I'm not scared, alright?" The words come out quicker, more stern, annoyed that he thinks I'll be scared that easily.

"Right," he closes the door and begins walking down his hallway, "So if you were scared, which you are not, I would tell you that there's nothing here to be scared of." He turns around, stopping at a closed door. "Okay?"

"Okay," I nod, shifting on my feet, "But I'm not scared."

"I was speaking hypothetically, Clarity."

The way he speaks my name feels the same tingly way that crunching on fallen leaves makes you feel. And perfectly cracking open an egg. Or opening a fresh book; the tingly satisfying feeling that runs through my body runs through it just as my name falls off his lips.

His voice is low and coarse, as if he woke up and kept his sleepy voice forever.

Now I wonder what his actual sleepy voice sounds like then...

No you don't, Clarity.

I clear my throat and nod, looking at his rather cozy-looking apartment. There's one brick wall in his living room, unlike the other white ones. It makes the place feel homier.

We pass the kitchen, and I glance at his cereal storage, but I don't see Frosted Flakes.

Ugh.