Wrong Side Of The Bed

24 | the breakup and a little heart-to-heart.

CHRISTIAN'S P.O.V

I WAS WORRIED. Uncharacteristic of me, I know, because worrying incessantly was an unnecessary strain on the only two brain cells I had. But, my sweetly violent Walter was hanging out with the witch called Ava in the washroom, and it was not tickling me the right way.

"You look like you're two seconds away from throwing yourself out of the window," Neil commented as he found me holed up near the staircase. "Nice act, by the way. The break up seemed  pretty real."

"Defenestration," I murmured absent-mindedly, playing with a thread that had come out loose from my pants. If Walter was nearby, she'd be in front of me in a blink, swatting my hand away with more force than necessary, and would give me a sixty minute lecture on how I was essentially ruining the structural integrity of the pants.

"What?"

"There is a word that expresses the act of throwing oneself or another self out of a window. It's called defenestration."

"You know so much," He said, and then snickered to himself. "And yet, you don't know how to stop lying to yourself."

"Did some lone wannabe philosopher's ghost possess you?" I asked, trying to raise a brow in the cool way Walter always did, but failed miserably. So I tilted my head at him in an interrogative stance instead. "I told you not to lurk so much in dark corners with that nice smile of yours. Lonely ghosts will take a liking to you."

"I am flattered that you think my smile is attractive to ghosts," Neil replied coolly. "And nice way of changing the subject, by the way."

"Thanks. I took a three months long workshop on it — how to effectively change the subject of a conversation and save yourself from potentially awkward conversations," I remarked, an amused smile on my face. "Guess my money paid off."

"No, they ripped you off," He said as he straightened up, and then extended a hand towards me. "They forgot to warn you about annoyingly persistent people like me." He nodded at his outstretched hand. "Take my hand and stand up, already. We are taking this conversation to the bleachers."

"I am not making out with you," I replied, taking his hand, allowing him to pull my weight. Much to my surprise, he did it quite easily, leading me to achieve two possible conclusions — (a) Neil, under his too loose shirt and not so tight pants, actually had muscles that could lift weights; or (b) I was very light and feathery.

"My Ma sent a box full of parathas and mithai," He said. "If you want, I could stop by my locker on the way."

I squeezed his hand tight. "Let's go. To your locker, and then to the bleachers!"

Seven minutes and forty two seconds, six curious glances from people I didn't know the names of, four words from people who accompanied me when I bad mouthed Walter in the past, and one longing glance at the girl's washroom (where Walter was, pretending to cry and earn Ava's sympathy) later, we were at the bleachers.

"Fresh air," I said, sniffing the air. "And sweat of teenage boys running around on the field and chasing a ball around."

"What an... interesting combination," Neil commented.

"Hey!" Came Lucas' voice from out on the field as he waved both his hands in the air. We waved back as he jogged towards us, his strides as long as usual. Thankfully, that hadn't changed. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We are here to talk about feelings," Neil said. "To have a heart-to-heart about this breakup."

"No we are not," I replied.