𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃, chris sturniolo

023.

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₊❏❜ ⋮ ᶠᵒᵒˡ'ˢ ᵍᵒˡᵈ ⌒
𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗒-𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾
ʳᵉᵃˡ ˡⁱᶠᵉ

❝ 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿. ❞

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PRETTY LITTLE LIARS quietly plays in the background, the light from the television screen illuminating the living room as no other light is turned on. Chris' eyes slowly open, his gaze wandering around the room quizzically. Sat on the right side of the couch, his legs are extended and rested atop the coffee table, his arms are crossed over his chest. Looking down, he sees a sleeping Bianca lying on her side with her head resting on his lap. Her lips are agaped slightly, her eyelashes kiss the skin under her eyes, her breathing pattern is even, her nose twitches every so often, her thick hair covering most of his lap though she still looks striking. Her hand rests on his thigh just beside her head whilst the other is under. How she ended up in this position is a wonder to him as they were both sitting next to each other like a pair of awkward teenagers being forced to sit next to each other.

The sun sinks below the horizon as can be seen through the white curtains. The orange gold stretches far and wide, the colour of fire hearths and tangerines. It is but the reflection of the dawn, the promise of the rising sun that comes after the velvety night has had its say and the land has rested once more.

Chris' fingertips faintly move strands away from Bianca's face as it seems to bother her because of how much her nose scrunches up, most likely from it tickling her. He was not sure how someone who loathes physical touch could be sitting down right on the off-white couch, finding solace in her touch.

From the night of their first kiss, Chris has been drowning in his own thoughts from all these feelings that are wildering him. Every morning, he awakens with nothing but her name flashing constanly in his mind. Every night, he falls asleep with the sound of her mellifluous voice replaying in his head.

Just then, Chris' phone vibrated on the small table next to him, his screen showing he had received a message from an unknown number he has never seen before. Curiously, he unlocks his phone to read the message.

Immediately, the color drains from the boy's face as he grows pale.

+1 (617) 539-9026: We need to talk.
( Attachment: 1 image )

Chris swallows harshly as he clicks on the image, his eyes shutting tightly whilst he lets out an aggravated sigh. Fuck, he thinks.

This can't be happening right now.

Chris: Who's this?

The grey bubble indicates that the person is typing, Chris biting into his thumb nail as an anxious habit.

+1 (617) 539-9026: Meet me at Marietta's Diner.

The boy curses at himself, wondering how his day suddenly got egregious. Gently, Chris unwraps Bianca's hold of his thigh, placing them by her sides before lifting her diamond-shaped head to lay it down softly on the couch; making sure to grab a pillow just behind her legs and cover her frame with a knitted blanket that was folded on top of the couch. Then, he exits the abode without a second thought.

He has never driven with much speed until now, his foot never leaving the gas pedal. He was ambivalent why his heart is pounding loudly against his chest that he can hear it or why his palms are perspiring heavily. The number that messaged him is unfamiliar to him, and a part of him is comvinced that he is being illuded by someone out of apathy.