Girl, Interrupted • HS

• S I X •

The next morning I woke up to the stench of burning plastic and the sound of mindless chatter emerging from outside of my bedroom. I dizzily stood up from my bed and grumpily opened my bedroom door.

"Hudson, what the hell are you-" I stopped mid sentence, seeing that she was not alone. Adrienne looked me up and down with a smirk at my lack of clothing causing me to blush.

"Morning Haz, just making Adrienne here some French toast." Hudson says innocently with a teasing smile.

"You don't know how to make French toast." I remind her, covering my bare chest with my crossed arms. "What are you, uh, doing here?" I direct to Adrienne who sat at the counter with an amused smile.

"Hudson invited me for breakfast. I figured you knew." She shrugged. I took my gaze off of Adrienne and let a glare settle on Hudson.

      "No, I wasn't informed." I hiss through my teeth.

      "Oh, look at the time! I forgot that I had my...aerobics class." Hudson raised her thick eyebrows as she lied. She gave us both a thumbs up and darted out of the apartment, grabbing her bag along the way.

I turn awkwardly to Adrienne who seemed to enjoy the situation.

"I like her." Adrienne grins making eye contact with me.

"Yeah, you always like her at first. Then you actually get to know her." I roll my eyes and move to discover what Hudson had made. I picked up a butter knife and lifted up the burnt, disgusting object that had stuck itself to a pan. "Her cooking isn't so great either." I pull a disgusted face and let the thing drop back down on the pan.

      Adrienne laughs and picks up a glass full of water to her mouth.

      "You're cute." She simply comments. I feel the top of my ears and cheeks flame as she places her chin into her hand to stare at me.

      "Thank you, uh, you are too."

      She tips her head in acknowledgement and decides to take a look around my small flat.

      "No way," She whispers, suddenly getting up from the stool. She moved across the room to the nook by the window where my extensive collections of vinyls lay. "Harry, you didn't tell me you were a music addict, too!" Her fingers slide across the top of the vinyls quickly.

      I slide my hands into my pockets and shyly walk over to where she stood.

      "You can play one if you want, I don't mind." I slyly tilt my head to observe the hairpin curve of her smile widen as I speak. She picks up the Nirvana vinyl and moves over to the record player that I inherited from my grandfather. She puts it in place and soon a familiar tune fills the air.

      "A bit mainstream, but it's one of my favorites." She moves her head along to the music, allowing her to feel the music. I admit Nirvana wasn't one of my favorites but they had some really sick music. "Do you know what I just hate?"

      I raised an eyebrow and shook my head.

      "I hate how people these days immediately assume I like music because everyone else likes it and not because the music quality is actually amazing. It makes me feel like I'm in a box, or I don't have a mind of my own." She rants, gesturing her hands in dramatic ways.

      "Like they are saying you can't like the music because it's so different that it's popular? I feel like it's because there is just so many people that claim to like certain music to fit in. It's sad that people can't be who they are and like their music." I fluently speak without any stuttering (shocking). She seemed to be surprised with my understanding by letting her mouth gape a little open. She pressed her lips back into a smile, and took my hands in hers.