EXCEPTional

Ch. 23 (Chance)

*Chance*

Bridget sat next to me on the couch to watch a TV show about murder mysteries. Something about her beside me was almost comforting, like seeing the sun after a day of rain and clouds. Her rapt attention towards the show kept me focused as well, so my thoughts didn't wander into unwanted territory.

Occasionally, my mind did travel in that direction. I would think about the possible repercussions of the breakup: what the media would say, how they would react. I was dreading the moment they found out. And there was no "if" about it—they would find out. That was stomach-churning for me.

But before my imagination could run off with wild daydreams about what could happen, Bridget would laugh or make some kind of noise to take my mind off the subject.

While watching, Bridget would make comments to herself. She'd make guesses as to who the culprit was, and even whisper a list of clues. It was quite entertaining.

We watched several episodes. In fact, the rest of the afternoon was filled with murder mystery. Every once in a while, Bridget would nod and whisper to herself, "I remember who did it." I continued to watch it just to listen to Young comment to herself.

At one point, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at it discretely—I didn't want Bridget to know I wasn't paying attention to her favorite show.

The screen flashed the name "Adriana Pierce" at me, and the announcement that she had sent me a text.

I sucked in a quiet breath, debating whether or not to look at it. But I was too curious; I looked at it.

It read, "Chance, babe, can we please talk about what happened?"

My lips pursed. I honestly wasn't in the mood to deal with her. I didn't want to have to convince myself again that breaking up with her was the best thing I could do for myself. So I left the message simply read and locked my phone, sticking it back in my pocket.

It remained forgotten for an hour, until it vibrated again, with another text from Adriana.

"Please, I know we can work this out if we just talk about it."

I huffed, louder than expected, and Bridget looked over at me inquisitively.

With a mien of defeat, I shoved my phone at her and dropped my head in my hands. Muffled, I told her, "Read it."

"'Please,'" she read aloud, "'I know we can work this out if we just talk about it.'" She fell silent for a moment. "So, do you want to talk things through with her?"

I shook my head but didn't lift it. "What more is there to talk about? I know that she was only dating me to boost her popularity, and that's the exact same reason I dated her. I want to be with someone I genuinely care about."

She tapped my phone against my leg. "Then tell her that."

This time, I looked at her, head lifting. Her voice was so soft, I had to know what expression she was (it was one of near boredom).

Shrugging, she added, "If she can't accept that, then that's her deal and not yours." She flashed a quick smile at me before returning her attention to the TV.

A small smile touched the corner of my mouth. I looked at my phone, took in a breath, and picked it up.

I sent my reply: "There's nothing more to talk about. We dated for purely selfish reasons. I want to date someone I genuinely care about. I want to try my hand at being selfless."