sweater weather ↠ markle

five ↠ the final warning

Maya's P.O.V.

I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do. It was a new feeling, but not foreign. It'd been there before, still written in my veins with an invisible marker, ready to shine the second things start going down a different path. 

I stood there like an idiot that day, note crumpled in my hand, sweater wrapped around my arms. A stupid, fuming idiot who couldn't take the time to read a note. I faintly remember racing to my truck, tossing the cashmere sweater in my passenger seat and racing off just in time to beat the buses, leaving the lines of peer cars in my frozen dust. 

The weekend was slow. I spent most of it in my truck, parked on the sidelines of the city, sketching out every detail of the skyline while I tried to ignore the bright mess of cashmere in the side seat. I wanted to throw it out the window, truthfully, but my hands wouldn't let me. There was something about it, something I just couldn't shake. 

It wasn't long before I found myself sketching the knitting lines of the material, shading the indents with the tip of my pencil, lost in the lines and divots. A work of art unfolded on my paper, the lighting changing with each hour passing by, but the sketching didn't stop. I had each shade, each fold, each crease down on paper and burned in my mind until I could recreate the picture without a second glance to my passenger side seat.

It was eleven at night on Sunday before I realized I had wasted away my weekend in my truck, barely spending the nights at home. I was usually up before dawn at some gas station, filling my tank up to the first quarter line before dashing off to a new spot, with a new piece of paper. By the time I got home that night, I had enough pictures of that sweater to cover my wall, and enough thoughts to keep me up until my alarm rang the next morning. 

My feet fell short on the side of my bed, having to slide down before they touched the cool glaze of my hardwood floors. The shiver that tumbled through my spine didn't effect me anymore, becoming numb to the lack of heat in the house a long time ago. I shuffled to my closet, grabbing the first thing I saw that wasn't covered in holes, no matter how small.

I was just beginning to throw it over my head when I recognized the pattern. Purple polka dots. 

This was Riley's.

I knew there were still a few of her items laying around from freshman year, myself too lazy or angry to muster up the strength to return them. They usually lied where they were left, but the clothes resided in the far back corner of my closet. No wonder it was the only one without holes— It hadn't been worn in two years. 

Tossing the sweater back into the closet. I settled for a long-sleeve shirt and a rugged jacket I had been given as a present years ago, worn and torn from use. Gliding to the bathroom, I finished my usual morning routine before throwing on some pants and shoes and hitting the door.

The cashmere sweater glared at me from my passenger seat the entire way to school, burning a gaze into my brain before I finally blocked the vision with my backpack, nearly spinning out on the road in the process.

With that little scare in the back of my mind, I trek into the school parking lot, begin extra careful to miss the potholes on the way in. I was lucky once today, I doubt it'd happen twice. I come to a halt in my parking spot, letting the gas off easy this time, not ready for it to break down today. 

A soft sigh left my lips, eyes hovering over the material in my passenger seat, flashing between the sweater and the school. I wondered if it was really worth it. There was no doubt in my mind that Farkle would be back at school today, he hardly ever missed— Hell, I was surprised he missed Friday. He'd be back with the Big Three, and I'd be stuck with his sweater. 

One last glance around the parking lot made me realized I had shown up earlier than usual. There were only a handful of cars in the lot, but the shining silver Lexus on the opposite side was the only one I cared about. It was his. 

Realizing this could be my only chance to end this back and forth once and for all without making a complete scene, I grabbed the sweater and darted out of my truck, dashing along the ice with determination not to fall. 

I stalked into the school, not caring about the chill on my hands, more focused on the locker I had seen a few times before. It only took me a few moment to find it, along with the boy that was grabbing books from inside. Instead of shouting, like I had before, I knew I would have his attention just by walking up.

The look on his face was one of surprise, mixed with the redness of a breaking fever. "Look, I don't know what your deal is or why you're so determined to give your sweater to me, but cut it out. I don't need your sweater and I definitely don't need your charity." With one final huff, I shoved the sweater back into his hands, turning around.

One quick thought moved into my brain just as I was stepping away. I swirled back around, catching him in the midst of forming words, and cut him off. "And don't you ever get Riley involved with me again. We don't talk, and we don't want to talk."

I began stalking away, but I couldn't ignore the string of words that followed behind me.

"She wanted to talk to you..."

↠

Once again, complete shit and kinda short, but this is the first time I've had muse for this book in over a year so I milked it! If you're still reading, thank you so much for sticking around! I hope to post again soon 

I know it seems kind of repetitive, but trust me that ends soon! its just to show that he is making a hell of an effort to keep her warm!

dont forget to VOTE AND COMMENT !

- dani <3