Bad Taste (Part II) // Colby Brock

207 - Rebecca

We got to the house eventually and I ran. I ran up the stairs and through Colby and I's door and over to the bed. I didn't have the energy or the will to stay downstairs and see the others, I just wanted to be alone. And so I made it that way, lying on Colby and I's bed still dressed but with my hair all over my face and the pillow alike. It didn't know where to go; it had no plans; no direction.

No one came upstairs to visit me—not even Colby, and I appreciated that. I didn't want even my boyfriend to come and bother me and something had told him that, so he'd stayed away to let me think to myself. It wasn't every day Colby just knew me like this.

The night had started so well. I'd looked fucking fantastic, I'd delivered a speech without stuttering or messing up, my parents had somewhat been polite to Colby, as they always seemed to be. Things were just great. Dad seemed to be under the impression that he'd been keeping Mom from being fed on, too, and I wanted to believe him. But that only made it more tragic.

If I hadn't helped Angela, that would have been Angela—not me, as I'd never go out there alone with Julian. Angela would have been the one lying on that concrete dead and it would've broken both of my parents' hearts, perhaps even convinced Mom of how much she needed to quit her addiction. But that would bring about the end of Angela.

After everything lately, I'd warmed up to her. I didn't admit it to anyone but Colby during one of those sweet, sweet afternoons where no one else was awake. I liked Angela now just a little bit and the thought of her replacing Mom was somehow worse... but I wasn't supposed to say that, was I? I was supposed to say this was the biggest loss I'd ever had to face and I was destroyed by it.

I was, in a way, just not as much as I should have been. I felt numb now, after crying for so long. Utterly numb. My eyes stung and my stomach ached, not to mention my heart. Lying there, I didn't know what to do with myself.

All I knew was that being alone was necessary.

Unsure wasn't the start of it when I heard footsteps—loud, familiar footsteps—approaching the door. My eyes stayed glued to the wall opposite me and my body laid still, but I was painfully aware of who was currently slipping inside. I heard his footsteps as he gently shut the door and I felt his footsteps as he hesitantly walked toward the bed.

I didn't look at him at all and I think that told him how I was feeling. He left me lying there but he didn't leave the room. I felt the bed dip and listened to him get settled at the other side, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. There were no other sounds after that, just his presence here with me. It made me feel better but the stinging and aching never stopped, even as I felt the world disappearing around me.

A pleasant rush of moisture coated my eyes the second I close them and I became addicted. That was the last straw for my exhausted body; I knocked out within seconds.

Was it because of Colby? Probably, but I still wanted to be alone for now.

My sleep was dreamless and healing, so when I woke up, I felt ten times better than I had... physically, not emotionally. To my surprise, I was dressed in a pair of leggings and a t-shirt that smelt like Colby, and I was tucked under the covers at the other side of the bed to the man himself. He laid facing me still asleep—shirtless, obviously, though my eyes remained on his face.

I'd been on my back until I rolled to face him, too, just so I could see him better. He was peacefully in another world oblivious to my stares. A part of me envied that, but I saw how he frowned and knew his sleep wasn't as whimsical as it seemed. I wasn't entirely with him, curled up in his arms. Any other night, that would have affected me, too.

I couldn't stop staring at him for a short while. Everything I felt about the previous day was in the back of my mind while I stared at him, and it was close to addicting to be able to let it all slip.

But even at that moment I knew that wasn't how I ought to go about things.

Finally, when I felt like I couldn't watch my boyfriend any longer, I got out of bed and slipped silently over to the door. He never moved or showed any indication of my absence so I didn't stop. I was glad it was light outside because that meant no one would be around—hopefully including Katrina and I didn't know where Angela would be.

Heading down the stairs, I was dead silent. Without my boots, I was so light that I didn't make even the tiniest of footsteps the whole way down. As I went to the kitchen, it was the same thing. Absolutely no noise.

Food was far from my first plan, but I found myself making something small anyway. I wanted just enough to last me a while so I could go back to sleep and pretend for the moment that my mother was still alive and going to come to scold me about leaving the designing community, or come with Dad to get mad at me for having a vampire boyfriend. She hadn't really done either of those things—not recently, anyway. How could I even justify disliking her now, when she'd unknowingly helped me get everything I wanted?

Just as I was about to head back upstairs, I ran into Angela, who was hurrying toward the door completely alone. She stopped when she saw me. She had a backpack on her shoulder and she was dressed in silk pyjamas that reminded me of Mom. Her hair was tied into a neat messy bun on top of her head and she didn't have any makeup on. She wasn't heading out-out, she was going home.

We stared at each other but didn't say anything. I knew she was running off and I didn't blame her; she knew I was going to stay and I assumed she didn't blame me, either. There was something like mutual respect there.

Although, if she could see into my mind, she'd know I didn't care where she went as long as she didn't go back to him or to any of the others like him. She could run away to another country and I wouldn't give a shit. Not yet.

Convinced neither of us were going to say goodbye, she continued until she was outside pulling the door behind her. I also moved, heading back for the stairs with my food.

Even when I got back to our room and sat down on one side of the bed, I didn't dare to look at Colby. I didn't want to want him; to need him to get through this. I wanted to figure my shit out on my own. I wasn't the "little thing" Elliott had said I was: I was me, and I didn't need people. Right now, I didn't want to see, hear or speak to people, either. That included seeing myself.

As soon as I'd finished my food, I curled back up under the covers as far from Colby as I could get, and I let the trance of my thoughts settle over me again.

Sorry if there are mistakes here, I'm having the kind of bad day that makes your head pound and I just don't have the energy to edit this thoroughly. I'll double-check it tomorrow, or whenever my head doesn't hurt.

Hope you enjoyed anyway.