Morose ✔️

17

After the trip to the bar, I went straight to bed. The next morning I walked across town and picked up my car without seeing anyone at the house, and buried myself in schoolwork. I read ahead in a few books, dared myself to draw and told myself it was purely for practice—when it in reality was mostly for pleasure.

I kept my distance from Helix over the weekend, not wanting to poke the bear while he was angry, but a part of me felt sorry for him and wanted to give him a big hug and say it would all be fine, because I recognized that look in his eyes. He truly believed he deserved to be mauled by that girl's claws, to hear every word spat at him— he believed it was his fault that her brother died during their fight. I, in my probably biased mind, couldn't see that.

Kept drawing for a while, until I had full-blown illustrations, sketches and half-finished works of everything from the roses in the pitcher and Helix's golden eyes to the river banks and my personal black hole. It was therapeutic, it eased my mind and all my thoughts. As I finished a detailed sketch of a howling wolf inside a rose wreath, I tilted my head and considered snapping a picture of it to ask whether Helix would've had something like that on his bike— on the gas tank, maybe?

But I shook off the thought. He'd probably only mentioned it to be polite before. I set the drawing aside, on top of the pile of papers I'd wasted the last few days, and went to bed thinking I'd better get some rest before my new assignments were handed out.

The next morning I woke up with a desire to just stay under my blanket the whole day—week, even. But I couldn't do that. I had to get up, so I forced myself to get up, dragged my sorry ass into the shower and made a promise: I was gonna make him proud. Months had gone by and I was still moping around, feeling somewhat sorry for myself in the miserable bubble I never strayed from; it was time to make a change, a permanent one.

What that change would turn out to be was another question, but I wasn't prepared to ask that one yet. For now a simple promise to make him proud was enough.

As I chewed on some dried noodles and read through what I hadn't yet done of the week's schoolwork, I found myself daydreaming about Helix's cooking.. The lasagna, oh God, the lasagna... and somehow he even managed to make a simple breakfast sandwich taste heavenly the morning after our—

I cleared my throat and put the pack of noodles down, grimacing at the memory of our lovemaking— not because I didn't like it, or regretted it, no— because it started to ache between my legs by the mere thought of it. Oh, how I hoped my outburst on Thursday night wasn't a dealbreaker for him. I mean, he stepped out of line too by raising his voice at me like that, and... if Jesse wasn't there with us, would he have just left me there when his grumpy butt decided to leave alone?

I realized I'd grown a distaste for the white carpet on my floor and got up, picking up my books and setting them on the coffee table as I grabbed the half-empty pack of crushed, dry noodles. It went into the trash, and I groaned as I saw it was full, and picked the bag up. The worst part of being an adult was that I had to take care of the garbage, clean and tidy up everything myself— but it was also just my own mess I had to take care of. I couldn't imagine having to clean up for three man-boys and whoever else lived at the clubhouse, so my heart instantly clenched in solidarity to whoever did that on a daily basis. My guess was that Jordan did it.

A quick glance out the window told me it was raining, and I groaned, before taking a deep breath. I'd only be kicking myself in the shin if I didn't go outside with it right then and there, so I braced myself and opened the door.

There... on the ground, just in front of my door, laid a single red rose. I almost stepped on it on my way out, and swallowed as I hunched down to pick it up. Attached to it was a small card with elegant handwriting.