ʍoɹplǝss, ᵇⁱˡˡⁱᵉ ᵉⁱˡⁱˢʰ

010: Willing, Angel

It started off simple.
What's your favorite color?
Favorite food?
Least favorite food?
When's your birthday?
If you could live anywhere, where would you go?
What your favorite genre of music?
What's your middle name?— They were questions I could handle. But when you're trying to get to know someone, you're supposed to dig deep.

"Okay, okay. Are you ready for the deeper questions?" she asked with her demeanor slightly dimmer. My chest sizzled uneasily as I nodded. Her golden hair brushed across my thigh since we laid parallel to each other on her bed, but our heads in opposite directions. Her scent of vanilla was drenched in her pillow cases— it became difficult to keep her out of my mind.

"All right. What should I ask you?" she muttered to herself. Her index finger tapped rhythmically against her knuckles as she pondered. And after a minute or two, Billie's once gentle smile falters and her pupils flicker over to me for a beat.

"What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing's wrong," she says, her tone clearly trying to hide something.

"Billie, come on."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Billie." My sat up straight and focused my gaze on hers. "The whole point of this is to get to know each other, so just go for it," I said kindly, a smile playing on my lips. But, in all honesty, I was worried. A sizzling nerve kept striking chords along the column of my throat, my forearm, heel of my foot.

Billie sighed, weaving her delicate fingers through the blonde. The fabric of her sleeve brushed over the skin of my leg almost unnoticeably, but the lingering itch was ever-present.

She mumbled quietly, which didn't ease the clinging tension wrapped around my bones. And before I knew it, she said: "What did Margo do to you?" To be frank, my confidence shattered. Though I was not surprised, I couldn't help but want to crawl away beneath her covers and hope to vanish into the air with her scent. Or maybe to be enveloped by it. More comforting, I suppose.

"I'm just curious, and I don't want to pry. So feel free to–"

"Don't backtrack. I'll tell you." My fingers interlace above my lap, cradling my fragile nerves. I wanted to be strong, but with a thorn so close to my heart, I found it difficult to even move without the worry of puncturing it. And with words so close to my tongue, I had no choice but to breathe.

"Ambrose." I flicked my eyes over to the girl who lay so thoughtfully beside me. The gap of her lips, her lashes so pretty above those irises, freckles dim beneath the lights. Can't deny the fact that she's a masterpiece made to bring anyone to their knees—an angel sent to sprinkle ease upon those who are lucky enough to cross paths with her.

"Margo. . . She used me."

Margo and I used to be best friends. I don't know what happened that changed her, but maybe it was graduating into high school. She began caring about things that she never cared about before, especially boys. She wanted a boyfriend. Didn't care if he was kind, just wanted him to be popular, I guess. I ended up fooling myself into wanting one, too. There was never any tension between us because of it, though. Not until Jace.

"Jace. . .? I think I've heard of him before."

"How long have you been going to our school?"

"Since this school year started."

"And I assume you must have kept to yourself the entire time."

"Had my headphones plugged in my ears most of the time when I came here. Always left early, too. Must have missed a few things, I guess?"