• Troublesome • Rhett x Reader •

• Chapter Eleven •

"It was terrible, but amazing... but awful..." I groan into my palms. Nicole is sat comfortably across from me on my bed, wrapped in one of my soft blankets.

"So, looking at how you're wording this... you flirted with Rhett." Her voice was taut and her brows furrowed. "In a strange way, but nonetheless, still flirtation."

"I don't know what got into me. I wouldn't really call it flirting, but I definitely felt like he was hinting at stuff," I frantically explain. "but I don't know if it's just my mind being all weird again!"

"I think you should stick to your stories." She flatly concludes.

"What do you mean?"

"I think you're projecting whatever-" she gestures at me. "-sexual frustration  into your professional relationships. It's creepy."

"Y-yeah, I can see that, but I really thought he-"

"He wouldn't flirt with you. He's married. He's not interested." She raises her voice, snapping me back to reality.

"Yeah." I nod my head and take a deep breath. "He wouldn't. Nobody fucking would."

"Oh, come on. You know I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I know. It's okay." My voice is shallow, and I hold my hand up in an attempt to end the conflict.

"Ugh. Fine, (Y/n)." She stands up, shoving my blanket to the floor and grabbing her jacket from my desk. "You give me a call when you're done pursuing a married man."

"Wait, Wait, I'm not pursuing him?!" I get up to follow her, but she shuts the door behind her. I find myself returning to my bed in defeat. "Crap."

The plush comforter warms against my back. The plain ceiling looms over me. I'm filled with silent relief as the sun finally begins to set, despite knowing that sleep most likely won't be accompanying my night. My mind's battling a combination of Nicky and Rhett. Two contradicting yet appealing ideas. I can't help it.

The sound of my door creaking open alarms me, and I angle myself to see that my father's peaking his head in.

"Just seeing if you're still awake."

I turn my head to look at the clock.

"You're back late." I didn't notice.

"Yeah, late day."

"Okay."

After a moment he dismissed himself from my room. The urge to sob started tingling in the back of my throat followed by a heat in my eyes.

Instead of crying, though, I pop a melatonin and go to bed early.

The temperature dropped to 50°F overnight, being nearly January. When I wake up, it's just barely making its way back up to a bearable 60°F. I check the time and see that it's 8 o'clock in the morning. I slide into some warm fleece-lined leggings and a light sweater. I pass my father's room on my way to the front door. I take a moment to shut his door, seeing him sprawled out on his sheet-less bed.

Throwing on an ugly beige corduroy  jacket, I slide the keys from the hook onto my index finger and swirl them around a bit on my way to the car.

The cool, yet comfortable air floods around my exposed skin and makes me fill my lungs with it. Okay. I can do this.