dear diary

chapter 9

dear diary,

if someone had told me a month ago that there would be someone sleeping over my house at my fifth new school, I would've laughed.

if someone told me that that someone would be a boy, a rude, arrogant, but undeniably attractive boy, I would've told them they were insane.

yet here I am, waking up on a random Thursday to spend the day with the boy downstairs on my couch, who I would've never predicted to be here.

this is nothing but out of the ordinary for me, for many reasons. when I found out I had to move schools again, I didn't care because I didn't make any new friends in my last town. But here, it's already so different.

I have friends now, and as much as I hate to admit it a part of me burns to get to know the boy downstairs on my couch.

I shut my diary and look over at the clock, seeing that it's already 10am. This is the second day this week I'm not at school, hopefully this doesn't become a habit.

I walk over to the bathroom and brush my teeth before washing my face, moving to my closet to throw on leggings and a sweater.

I don't think Chase is awake yet, but I think it's time for him to start moving around again. He can't stay asleep on my couch forever, and we need to talk about this.

I can't help but feel like a hypocrite for wanting to ask him questions, but this concerns his safety. My breakdown was a moment of weakness after a nightmare, isn't that normal?

Sure, the reasons behind the nightmare aren't normal, but he doesn't know that.

I walk downstairs and expect to see him passed out in the couch, but instead I smell bacon. Is he cooking?

I walk into the kitchen and sure enough, Chase is hunched over the stove making bacon from my fridge. I didn't even know we had that, my mom must've bought it before work or something.

"Good morning," I grumble, watching him flip the pieces of bacon, careful not the splash himself with the grease.

"Morning," He says, his eyes not the leaving the pan in front of him.

I think he can sense my stare, because his eyes eventually snap over to mine that are directed on his hands working the bacon.

"Oh, um, sorry, I got hungry," he says, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Don't worry about it, I'm glad we actually had something in there for you to eat," I say, realizing that might've been a weird thing to say after it already left my mouth.

"Yeah, it was pretty slim pickings in there, you should probably go shopping or something now that the bacons gone," He says, and I nod my head.

I walk over and sit on one of the kitchen stools, watching him over the stove.

"It's almost done, do you like it crispy or chewy?" He asks. I didn't expect any to be for me.

"Oh, uh, I'll take mine chewy, thanks," I say, trying to hide my shock. This is such an odd situation.

"Figures," He mumbles, and I laugh.

"What, is it bad that I like my bacon chewy?" I ask.

"No, it isn't bad, just disgusting," He says, and I laugh again.

"We can't even agree on bacon," I say, and he cracks a half smile but it's gone as fast as it appeared.

I guess he only shows emotion when he's drunk.