You Are My Summer (The Cuttings #2) [In (Painstakingly Slow) Progress]

Chapter Ten

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the lovely comments and votes! I really appreciate them all. It helps motivate me to keep on writing. This chapter is longer than usual, but I don't think you'd quite mind that. :) Happy reading!

ESchwarz

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I didn't go out for days after the scene I'd witnessed. I just stayed at home, kept burying my head under the covers, and hid in the comfort of my room with a tub of ice cream while watching a Girls marathon.

The Cuttings (except Colton, of course) tried to visit me, but I explicitly begged my relatives to keep them out so Uncle Eddie shooed them away right after Aunt Mary took selfies with the reluctant visitors and posted them on Instagram. I repeat: like, why?

I felt like I'd just broken up with someone; it was so ridiculous! And it was hard to pretend everything was okay every time your family and boyfriend called you because you didn't want to worry them. Also, local news of my stupid "engagement" kept popping! I'd been so nervous, I hadn't slept properly because what the heck would I say when my family began calling me once it breached the States? I could tell them the truth but I thought I'd simply burst into tears.

I also knew Oliver was getting pretty suspicious because the last time he'd talked to me on FaceTime and had asked if I'd found my English knight in shining armour yet, my lips had grown smaller and smaller until I'd had to make an excuse about Brad needing some tea, which was stupid because Brad was an obese cat who detested tea. And the ridiculous creature hated me anyway. He'd rather bury himself in Uncle Eddie's mountain man beard and moustache than be with his real owner. It was so depressing. Aughh.

I was at the part when Lena Dunham's character, Hannah, got her OCD back when Oliver called my phone. I groaned and engulfed my head under my quilt but the thing kept ringing Taylor Swift's song that I started growling and had no choice but to answer. It was seven a.m. here so it was around three p.m. there. Under my quilt, I suddenly felt exhausted.

I whimpered, "Whaaaat?"

Oliver paused for about five seconds. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I sniffled, seeing Lena Dunham closing the door eight times in rapid succession on TV.

"No, you're not," he scoffed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"You're my sister -- I know when you lie and when you're upset."

"Well, then stop making me feel worse!" I whined, sinking lower onto the mattress and rubbing my socks on the bedspread in annoyance.

"You're right, you're right," Oliver sighed. He'd probably be rubbing his face by now, if I were there with him. "Sorry."

I hugged a pillow. "How're you? I miss you, Ollie."

"I'm okay. I miss you too, giraffe. But that's not why I called." I didn't speak, so he plowed on. "Have you checked your Facebook yet?"

"No, it's still too early..." I said slowly, wrinkling my brows. Not that the morning stopped me from binge-watching and binge-eating a tub of ice cream, I thought sarcastically.

He sighed, this time much heavier. "Good. Don't."

This didn't sound right. "W-why would you say that? Has something happened?"

"Oh, something's definitely happened," he sneered.

I embraced my pillow tighter, my stomach clenching. Now what could be wrong? Oliver was always cheerful and charming, so it was pretty rare to catch him pissed off, which he totally sounded right now. He could even be downright scary when he got angry.