The Halo Effect | ✓

36 | ruined

E P I G R A P H

❝The ocean and you; my happy place.❞

☾ thirty six | ruined ☽

Halo's POV

"If you'll excuse us, I'd like to go have a word with your girlfriend."

Holt glared at Santana, I stood there awkwardly feeling extremely uncomfortable that Holt just found out about her and me because she couldn't keep her trap shut, that and now she wants to speak about me.

Holt nodded, "Go for it." he told Santana, "Bring her upstairs when you're finished."

I rolled my eyes, "Firstly, I am not his girlfriend." I retorted, "And secondly, I do not need to be bought to you, I'll come to find you if I want too."

I get it, he cares, but I am not some child. I can take care of myself and I do not need to be bought back to him, I can find my way perfectly on my own. I'm not as weak as I look.

Holt nodded, clearly not wanting to argue which I was grateful for, "Keep an eye on her." he said directed towards Santana before turning around and heading back up the stairs.

I watched as his broad figure ascended the stairs before he disappeared down the hallway, turning my attention to Santana whom still stood next to me with her arm slung over my shoulders like we were best friends.

It felt strange.

"What do you want to talk to me about?" I asked curiously.

She smirked, "Come get a drink with me."

I followed because, in all honesty, I would rather be with her rather than Holt right now. I was excited to come here and spend time with him, whether that be as friends or. . .whatever, something is always better than nothing, but tonight—I don't know, something just feels off.

I came here for him, to talk to him and gain some understanding as to why he has been so absent lately, but I don't understand why he bought me here of all places to talk. Maybe it's just a distraction, as in a smoke-weed-and-put-it-off distraction.

Today is filled with maybes. Maybe he isn't ready, maybe he doesn't want to talk, maybe he doesn't even want me here.

Maybe I really really like him. Ha, who am I kidding? Liking him is a definite, not a maybe.

I just expected tonight to be different. We drove here which was alright, we talked and joked but then me being me--I couldn't resist, so I had to bring up the fact that he chose this awkward and not so relationship-like relationship status and that was it, the whole night was doomed once I uttered those mere few words.

We entered the party and it was average, nothing out of the ordinary. Holt led me upstairs and then he delved into a meaningless conversation with his friends, disassociating from everything around him as smoke filled his lungs, so I took that as an opportunity to sneak back downstairs and get a drink quickly, grabbing two so that I could skull one down on the journey back.

As I returned, Holt panicked until he realized I was back—and just in a nick of time—then we went back downstairs after I admitted how horrible and boring this event was, which then led me to try to lighten the mood and rid of some tension by dancing like a lunatic. Holt smiled the whole time as I did so and it gave me hope.

His grey orbs concentrated on nothing else in the room but me as I swayed back and forth, dancing completely on my own and then as soon as he gives in to my encouragement to dancing, Santana waltzes on over and demolishes the once light atmosphere.