Broken Arrows

18 | a steady confrontation

"Take care of her... Spirit... who could not be broken."

—Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002)

☁☁☁☁

Sachi woke up to the delightful feeling of lips being pressed against her forehead. The action brought about an involuntary smile, and her eyes fluttered open to stare at Elliot.

            "Good morning," he murmured, beaming. He laid atop of the covers, already dressed in board shorts and a plain T-shirt. His thigh rubbed against hers as he sat up, bracing his back against the bedpost. "How did you sleep?"

            "I've had better nights," she admitted. She brushed away a few strands of dark hair concealing her view of the boy in front of her.

            "I know." One of his fingers twisted a piece of hair around before letting it fall against her cheek. "Erin isn't here."

            His words startled her, and she sat up instantly, the covers falling from her body. She struggled to get to the other side of the bed, though she had to climb over Elliot to do so. "What do you mean she isn't here? Where is she?"

            When she got to her knees, Elliot urged her back gently. "Relax," he said. "Sorry. I should've realized how you would take that. She's fine. Lola took her out to cool her off. Maybe talk some sense into her."

            The pit in her stomach settled, and she loosed a deep sigh, falling back beside him.

            "Breakfast is ready." Elliot swung his legs round the bed and as his feet skimmed the floor, he rose to his feet. Turning, he offered her a hand and helped her out as well. "I think we're having pancakes."

            "Did you make them?" She arched a brow before dropping his hand and stalking to her dresser. "Or did Hunter?"

            "Neither. Lola made them before she left."

            "That sounds great, then." Sachi dragged open the top drawer and pulled out the items on top, which happened to be jean shorts and an old Hawthorne High Girls' Varsity Soccer Team shirt.

            "I'm shocked. Don't you trust me to make you a good breakfast?"

            She rolled her eyes as she dropped her pajama shorts. "I trust you—just not your breakfast." A sudden thought occurred to her, and while it hardly mattered, her curiosity got the best of her.  "Are you looking?"

            "No. I turned around the moment you went over to your dresser."

            A laugh escaped her, filling the empty space with her light sound. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted." She kicked her shorts aside, and put the jean ones on in their place. Swiftly, she ripped off her shirt and replaced the soccer shirt with it. It ended about mid-thigh, being a few sizes too large for her, and it made her look like she was wearing a dress, as it hid her shorts completely. "Not like it's anything you haven't seen before," she muttered to herself.

            "Can I turn around?"

            "Yup." She turned around as well, and once his eyes flicked to her outfit, there was no missing the humor in them. "Glad you find this funny."

            "Is that really the only thing you have to wear?"

            "Whatever." Her hand latched onto his wrist, and she dragged him out of the room with her with little resistance.