In The Pursuit of Success

Goals & Goodbyes

Next chapter's up! Finally! ;D

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"What does he even mean by 'goodbye'?" the short-tempered girl shouts, slamming her cellphone onto her bed, only to have it bounce back up and hit her right in the face. "Ow!" she screeches, rubbing her injured eye. Her cellphone falls down beside her feet, just barely missing her exposed toes.

"Careful, Trish," Trent rushes over, laughing lightly at the scene. "Hehe, you okay?" he asks, walking over, swooping down and collecting her phone. He hands it back to her, then adds, "Let me get you some ice for that eye."

"No, that's okay Tre–" Trish starts, a bit too late. Trent had already rushed out of the dorm room to collect some ice from the kitchen down the hall. She sits herself down onto her bed, keeping one hand on the eye that her cellphone had slammed into. With her other hand, she grips her phone, her uncovered eye looking down, again, at the text message on her now-slightly cracked screen. "Goodbye…" she utters quietly. Try as she might, she cannot stop the sinking feeling in her chest that this simple two-word text had brought upon her. Her body is unsure of how to respond at the moment, and her mind unsure of how to react emotionally. Anger and aggression was her initial answer from her mind and body, sure – but now what?

Curl up and cry about it? No. That isn't the Trish way.

However, it does not seem that far-fetched of an idea at this time. No one's around, Trish…You can let your guard down, her mind instructs her. No, Trent will be back any moment with the ice, she reminds herself, sucking it up. She swallows down the lump that had risen into her throat and pulls herself together, tossing her phone, gently, beside her on the bed.

Just as expected, Trent returns shortly with the bag of ice he had set out to collect. Trish removes her hand from her now purple-tinted eye area and takes the bag. She presses the bag onto the affected eye, hissing in pain as the cold from the ice stings her. "Thanks," she lets out, looking back up at Trent.

"Hey, no problem. Like I said, I'm here for ya, Trish," the tall boy states, seating himself on the bed beside her, bouncing slightly as he does so. "What are friends for, anyway?"

"You're not my friend, Trent," she snaps at him, turning and glaring at him with her one exposed eye. Trent puts his hands up in defense.

"Hey, hey, I may not be your friend, but I consider you one of mine. And that's fine with me," he says, shrugging and putting his hands down onto his lap. "So…You wanna talk about this Dez situation or…?" he continues to pry. Trish tightens her lips, growing all the more annoyed with the guy.

"Trent, the only reason I called you here is because you're the only person I actually know. I don't trust you enough to tell you stuff like this, okay? The moment I make a friend here, you're never gonna hear from me again, got it?" she explains to him, now regretting calling him over in the first place. He's probably just being nice 'cause he wants me to book gigs for him or something, she figures.

"If you really care about the guy, then why are you beating around the bush? Just tell him," he advises her, changing the subject. "And y'know…If he doesn't take it well, then…Forget about him. There are other fish in the sea," he adds, winking at her flirtatiously. Trish's face shows disgust as she leans away from him.

"Yeah, and sharks, too," she snarks, letting out a sharp exhale.

"Hey, I only bite a little," he remarks, grinning and leaning in towards her. She heavily shoves him off of the bed, her wall of patience now completely shattered.