Write Me A Letter

08 | fun

CHAPTER EIGHT - FUN

"SO THIS IS YOUR IDEA OF FUN?"

Ollie smirked. He was so fucking annoying. Every time the sound of potato chips crunching in his mouth would fill Brie's ears, she wanted to slap his face or throw herself out the window, whichever came first really. It was almost an hour since she told him that she needed to leave, but he had stopped her with just a few slaps of truth and a kind offer of some fun.

Yet, Brie didn't find anything fun about staying in an eighteen-year-old boy's room for the rest of the afternoon.

"Of course." Ollie raised his bag of potato chips, tilting his head to the side. His dimples showed small creases in his cheeks that made him look so much kinder. Well, kinder to look at anyway. "We got chips, an air-conditioned room, a gorgeous guy and a comfy bed. The possibilities of a fun afternoon are endless."

As if pulled by the magnet of his teasing words, their eyes fell to the unmade bed that was pushed against the wall. A fleeting image of him in just his boxers tickled Brie's imagination. She cleared her throat and looked up to a smirking Oliver. "Shut up, Oliver. You're not funny. I want to go home."

Ollie groaned. He looked at her as if Brie was a petulant and frustrating child that couldn't make sense of the situation. Honestly, she just couldn't grasp everything in. "But why⁠—when we can just chill here and hang. I'd even order pizza if you like."

Tempting. "No. I need to go home. Why are you holding me up here, anyway? Did Xander ask you to?"

It was his turn to shake his head, floppy ash-blond hair falling over his dark blue eyes. She used to tease him about it. Ollie didn't like having a haircut. It seemed to be his way of angering his mom who preferred clean-cuts. But looking at him now, Brie finally realized that this look suited him better. She couldn't imagine Ollie without his floppy blond hair. "That is a very heavy accusation, my friend. Xander did no such thing, and even if he ever did ask me to do that, I wouldn't do as he asked either. He's no boss of mine. I'm way hotter than he is."

"Then why?"

"Because we're friends?" It was a statement, but it sounded more of a question. "Yeah, that. I mean, dude. You're obviously upset over god-knows-what. You were walking around your neighborhood with tears all over your face. If you think I'd let you leave in that state, then what kind of person do you think of me as?"

Truthfully, Brie didn't know. At this moment, she felt like she didn't know everyone good enough. She was never really close to Xander⁠—her feelings for him that grew overtime prevented her from trying to be close to him. Yet, she knew to herself that they were good friends enough for her to have a vague idea of how he was as a person.

Kind, smart and charismatic. Sometimes annoying and a bit standoff-ish, but overall a good person. That was what she thought, until today.

Until he started screaming at her, begging her to say that she didn't matter to him in any way.

So how could she say that she knew Ollie good enough when the guy she thought was kind turned out to be her heartbreaker? She kept quiet anyway, dry lips pressed and thinned. She blocked all these words from escaping her mind, easing them back down with each steady breath.

Ollie was watching her carefully. He looked like a child who was waiting for some validation and approval. Then, he looked down and blinked it all away.

"So," he said, voice rid of all the traces of concern. "I'm thinking that maybe we can go out instead of staying here. What do you say?"

Her brows furrowed. Out? "Where?"

"Paradise."

-

"Paradise Café?"

Brie frowned at the red-brick walls that had plants crawling on its sides. It wrapped the building like octopus tentacles that needed warmth. A small signage hung above the wooden double doors with mosaic, colorful glass panels that only hinted shadows and silhouettes behind the fragile squares of colors. It had "Paradise Café" written in dainty and thin calligraphy. It looked homey, warm and inviting.

It was both obnoxious and silly to her.

Ollie spread out his arms again just like he did in his bedroom. He had this stupid grin on his face that was starting to become redundant, a smile that was too infectious and big for a single person. "It has cats too. You can cuddle with them!"

"Why would I want to cuddle with cats?"

"Uh, is that a rhetorical question?" He still sounded bubbly, like a kid overdosed with candies but Brie felt like going home.

"Ollie," she stretched out his name, clicking her tongue after the last syllable. "I'm a dog person and I have asthma."

His face remained a canvass of confusion. "Yeah, so?"

"Yeah, so? What do you mean⁠—yeah so?"

"I mean..." he pointed at the huge, transparent, window that was lined with flowers where a gray Persian cat was licking its paw. "Cats are cute too."

"But I like dogs." It was a no-brainer, everyone knew that about her. Cats... cats were mean to her. Cats made her heave if she inhaled their fur.

"Ah." He nodded his head slowly, looked up the sky and pressed the bridge of his nose. Brie watched him breathe in and out for a quarter of a minute before a frown won over her face.

"What are you doing?" She couldn't stop the accusation from escaping her lips. It was already out there before she could use her brain.

"Shh, quiet. I'm trying to absorb the bitter truth of your demise."

Her frown deepened. "What?"

After one last exhale, Ollie turned to face her. He placed each firm hand on her shoulders, blue eyes focused on her. She was startled, small feet clad in purple Chucks almost tripping on each other. Brie felt like shrinking under his hold, he was tall, looming and far too serious than what she was used to.

"Brie," he softly said her name. It sounded like a tired sigh and an echo of disappointment, her stomach twisted in knots.

Brie swallowed. "What?"

"This is the reason why you can't get over Xander. You always like dogs no matter how cute cats are."

She was stunned. Not from the reality of his words, but of how poor his analogy was yet it totally made sense. Her mouth opened and close, but the words that she pushed in earlier were nowhere to be found.

Ollie gave her head a light pat on the head with a small sad smile on his lips. He looked like he pitied her and that she was a lost cause. "It's okay," he said, tone equally as soft as his face. "It's your loss anyway."

Then, he burst out laughing.

"Asshole."

With that she pushed his chest and strode as fast as she could into the café, blood boiling at the sound of Ollie's laughter and her shame.

She hated him, but she hated the truth he spoke more.