Octavius

xxi

FINLEY

       Octavius had been texting my phone all night and yet I couldn't respond, not even with a single word. I glanced at the clock perched on my dresser that read 4:30 a.m. then my sleepy gaze flickered to the phone in my hand reading over the words on the screen. Messages. Groups of messages, and missed calls.

        Although it wasn't technically missed calls since I had seen them, but I didn't take not one ounce of action. I couldn't. I remained torn between the facade of being Mama's perfect daughter than listening to the voice of my favorite person.

        b: Topolina, are you asleep?

        b: I'm worried. I haven't heard your voice all day.

        b: Call me.

        b: Don't test me, little girl.

b: Finley.

        My heart clenched from his words, instantly feeling regret about the decision I had chosen. Mama. I inhaled a deep breath, my lips quivering at his recent message before I turned my phone off, and hid it beneath my pillow.

        Shutting my eyes closed, I desperately attempted to remember the soft, cradling embrace of his firmly protective arms as they held my body against his, and unconsciously I breathed in his intoxicating scent feeling just a tiny bit alive from the memories in my mind.

        I had never felt more alone... yet emptiness crept into my heart and cultivated a home in the darkness of my soul. 

        Just a little bit longer and then I can talk to him again.

At least I had hoped.

I spent the next few days in pure anguish, every single second of the day I wished to simply send Octavius a text and explain everything—the whole situation about Mama but I knew I couldn't like him... I couldn't even befriend him. I couldn't know him. I had to forget everything about him in order to make Mama proud.

Even if it made me want to burn with the hottest flames of hell, even if it agonized me to ignore his hundreds of text messages. I had to do it. I had to.

He doesn't even like like me.

"You're not rambling today. What's gotten into you, kid?" Darcy's low voice asked from across the dining table, and I instantly shook my head, keeping my eyes fixated on the stray fabric of my dark jeans. "Seems like something is wrong. Stop lying and spit it out. What's going on?"

"I-I... nothing," I said adamantly, shaking my head once again, and yet I knew Darcy wouldn't drop the matters. He was like a man on a mission, and he would drag the truth out of me no matter the tactic, or the challenge.

Darcy huffed a low sigh, then I felt the slight tap of his feet from underneath the table. My head instantly snapped upward, staring into his softened dark eyes before he rolled his gorgeous blue eyes.

        "I don't... I don't usually do this.. Fuck, this is hard. Talking to people is so damn stupid," He groaned lowly flicking a stray piece of brown curl from his gaze. "Talk... talk to me. I'm here to... to listen?" Darcy asked with a raise of his brow, almost tasting the foreign words on the tip of his tongue.