"Oh, I didn't order this"
"It's from that guy over there"
☕☕☕
One blueberry milkshake, a stranger sitting next to her, a cheerful waitress. The play begins.
Wott, the coffee shop close to Avery's school, is the stage for the act she plays, again and...
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White ceiling stares at me as my eyes flutter open, focusing on that one crack on the painting just above me. I yawn lazily, rolling on the navy shits of the small bed. I take a moment to remember where I am.
James' loft. Right.
Last night comes back slowly; Louis, my father, Reed.
I sit up, reaching for my phone. Five missed calls from Courtney glow in the screen, along with a text from mum, answering the message I had sent her last night. She didn't bother to call, knowing I needed to cool down. Still, I can already imagine the punishments she must have planned because of my dramatic escape. Oh, and the sermon!
It's eight in the morning. School starts in half an hour. I have to get home.
Yesterday's clothes laid on a chair and I put them back on, the dark day peeking through the window making me regret it. James' large t-shirt is way more welcoming than my pink tank top. Not going to lie.
Making as little noise as possible, I go to the living room.
James is sleeping on the sofa, the thick blanket wrapped up in his legs, barely covering him. I glance at him (yes; I know I'm creepy, deal with it). It's still hard to believe that this is Reed, the skinny sports kid hater of tennis.
He's still the scowling, annoyed boy I knew so long ago, but that was not the man I got to know. James might be closed off, yet the sweet way he displayed with me is not the same as Reed did.
Even if they're one. As I look at him now, at this brunette, tall, tattooed man with whom I shared many conversations, it doesn't feel real.
I take a step back when I see him shift and, being the sofa as limited as it was, he falls on the floor.
He complains and I flinch at the roll of words I'm not repeating.
I clear my throat and he looks at me, getting up and squeezing his left shoulder.
"Oh, you...you're already awake...and dressed..." he mumbles.
"Can you take me home? Please," I rush.
I don't want to go to school, even less knowing that later I'll have to deal with whatever father nonsense there is to fix, but I don't want to stay here either, barging into his house. Besides, mum must be worried sick.
James' eyes lock with mine, something like hurt flashing over his face. His voice was a little hoarse when he speaks "Morning to you too"
"Sorry, good morning," I smile.
"So, you want to leave?"
Realising my own words, the first words I had said to him today, I feel bad for being so blunt. I don't want him to think I'm not grateful for being here.
