ocean eyes || c.evans

xxi.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Yes,” you brushed her concern away with what you hoped was an easy smile. Judging by the furrow of her brow, it was decidedly not. “I’ll be fine. I’m just picking up the rest of my stuff and giving him back the keys.”

“And what if he’s there?”

“I’ll ignore him.”

“I don’t like it. It’s been two weeks, you’re doing much better now. Just let me go in and…” she gestured her hands in the motion of packing.

You laughed off the exaggerated movements. “I don’t think Dodger or Chris will like a stranger in their house.”

“He doesn’t seem to have a problem if that stranger is playing tonsil hockey with him…” She grumbled. The look you shot her was lethal. “Too soon, sorry.”

You’d been living on her couch for too long now, and it was taking a toll on you. There was only so much of her you could really take. Don’t get you wrong, you adored your friend. But you two were simply too… different. But you had nowhere else to go, and she’d been a major help. With everything. Getting over Chris especially.

“I’m a grown woman,” you sighed, already growing tired of the interaction. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

———————

For the most part, you handled it quite well.

Without Chris and Dodger being there, it was almost easy. You could slip in and out, like a motherfucking ghost, and they’d never even know, aside from a cleared room and the set of keys on the table. The house felt haunted enough. Luck was on your side.

And then it wasn’t.

You’d been looking for your journal when they had gotten back. Just the sound of the door had your heart in your throat, the scamper of Dodger’s paws on the tile and wood, and sheer panic overcame you.

You had avoided seeing his face again easily enough. Chris was not a problematic or publicly wild person, so likelihood of him turning up in the tabloids were slim to none in just those two weeks. And your friend had made a big show of dumping all of the old DVDs she had that even hinted to Chris – surname was irrelevant, and she pulled Hemsworth, Pratt, and Pine from the shelf too – in a box and kicked it under her bed the moment you got there.

You didn’t know how you would react. You hadn’t laid eyes on even a picture of him, and you’d never felt like this before. About anyone. Your mood was unpredictable, and that scared you – you couldn’t give yourself away now.

Your search for that stupid book with all your stupid fucking feelings was newly energized, and you were practically ripping open your drawers, flinging cabinet doors to the point their hinges whined.

You didn’t care about the noise you were making. The Evans’ would find you anyways, especially while you were on your way out. And if that happy bark at the door was any indication, Dodger had caught your scent long before your search began.

You wracked your brain as you heard Dodger paw at the door. Where was it? Where could it have been? It never left your room. Hardly ever, of that you were certain. Too much room for error.