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CHAPTER TWENTY
I laughed as I made some toast for me and Brad, since the pancakes got burnt whilst we were dancing around. Brad, however, was the least amused and was horrified that his "art" had gotten burnt.
I butter the toast and slide it over to Brad, who only mutters a thank you. I take a bite of my toast and he sighs, causing me to raise an eyebrow.
"Sorry, I'm just annoyed that the pancakes burnt," he explains.
"Well," I reply. "How about we go to my favourite place?" He frowns at this but nods nonetheless and I grin widely, eating the rest of my toast.
"Where did I put my phone?" He asks and I shrug, and he jogs upstairs and then back down once he's gotten it. "Where's your favourite place?"
"A bus journey away," I say and he rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll love it."
"Yeah, yeah."
As I lock the door to my house, I feel his hand grab mine and I look at him weirdly before he slides his fingers between mine and tugs me, indicating he wants to leave.
I don't say anything about his sudden urge to leave, or the fact that I'm holding his hand — that he held my hand. Instead, I blush and keep my hair in front of my face so he can't see my reddened cheeks.
When we reach the bus stop, he lets go of my hand and I miss the feeling — he has warm hands, okay? I'm definitely not falling for the fuckboy, because, well: yikes.
"Which bus are we taking?" He asks and I look up at the timetable.
"La Pier," I say and he raises an eyebrow. "That probably doesn't mean The Pier, but let's go with it."
"Okay, okay," he nods and we sit down. "So, Mollie, where do you wanna go after to school? Any colleges in mind?"
"Why are you actually bothering to ask about me and my intentions of my future?" I question, raising an eyebrow.
"Because, although I don't show it, I think you're a decent person–" he begins.
"Decent? That hurt Bradley."
"–and since all we ever do argue, I thought I'd actually get to know you."
"Um, right, okay," I nod and he laughs. "Well, I'm planning on saving up to go to a college in New York. I've always wanted to leave this town and go somewhere new, somewhere big."
"Why New York?"
"I feel like if I go somewhere new, then I can be a different person and people won't judge me for my past," I say and sigh. "But my mom and dad have, like, no money and I can't even get a job at my age: or at least one that pays enough."
"Okay, well," Brad starts. "My dad owns this huge apartment complex in New York — he owns some all over the place, to be honest — and I'm sure I could sort something out so you could stay at an accommodation there whilst you try and find a place, and I'll sort out travel."
"Why do you care?" I ask, squinting an eye as I turn to look at him, the sun shining right at us. "No offence or anything, but last week we hated each other's guts."
"I know, I know," he nods. "But I feel like it's the least I could do. You know, as your new. . . friend?"
"I wouldn't consider yourself a friend, Bradley," I laugh. "You're an acquaintance."
"A hot, sexy acquaintance," he winks. "That also stayed at your house last night, and could ruin your life in the click of a finger."
"Friends don't threaten other friends," I stand up and he copies my action. "Friends are loyal and always stick by you, and–"
"People like that don't exist, Mollie. No one is loyal, because suddenly life isn't about who has the most friends like in kindergarten, it's about how many girls or guys you can fuck without getting an STD or who has the best makeup, the best clothes!"
"Yeah, I guess you're right, and of course you'd know that," I nod and take a step back. He doesn't take one forward. "Because you're playing that sick and twisted game — you even admitted that you tried to get in my pants not even a fucking week ago," I shake my head, keeping my voice as calm as I can. "And I bet you're just gonna say that again, aren't you? You're gonna ruin my life, in the click of your fingers. Because, Brad, fuckboys like you don't change: as much as the stupid books tell you."
Before he can argue and before I start shouting at him, I turn on my heel and leave. I won't cry, not over him: I should've know that he was not who I thought a split second ago.
"You're so fucking extra, Mollie!" He shouts, probably in frustration, at me and I turn and give him the finger before turning back around again.
"I fucking know!"
Call me extra? Oh, Bradley, you're in for a treat.
