Ditching Greek | editing

06| Like Madmen

I let my mind dabble at the thought of Brandon being alone with some unknown girl. Who was she? How come I didn't hear about this so-called Claire before this point? His voice had gone uneasy after I asked. Why would he hide someone from me? I thought to myself, then realized how crazy I was to think such a thing.

Honestly, I wasn't sure where the ludicrous thought had come from, but the second it blossomed in my mind, it was hard to shake off. I kept this to myself though; there was no need to play the suspicious-girlfriend card this early in the morning.

"She's Trey's sister," he filled in, and just like I had feared, I was the definitely the one overreacting. "Trey took us to a bar that Claire bartends at."

We spent the next few minutes describing our plans for the day. When it neared the end of the call, I started to talk about my internship and how it would start up again once college classes went back in session.

"That's great to hear, sweetheart," he said with a softness in his tone. "I probably should've gone with your choice in picking a internship that had more of a break period that aligned with the schools breaks. I wouldn't be working like a dog if I would've done that in the first place."

"Hey, you love your internship. Take that back."

"Not as much as I love you."

"I love you too."

"And I miss fucking you." 

"Brandon!" I burst with laughed and shock. I whispered into the phone, "I'm in public-"

"Speaking of public," he cut me off, "remember that time we went into that unisex restroom and-"

"Stop."

"You weren't saying that when I-"

"Seriously," I blushed, slightly embarrass at the hot images that started flashing through my head. Despite the distasteful location and the pungent smell, we made memories that night. Memories I'd much rather not talk about with my housemates next to me. "You can't just talk like that when...I'm with people."

"Okay, okay," he murmured. "I'll be good. It's just that it's been so long since we've really done anything. I even miss phone sex."

Was he seriously complaining about our sext-life right now? I was beyond exhausted. And on top of that, he wasn't all that free to talk in that kind of way lately either. That film internship somehow took over a lot of our "us" time, making moments like these rare and more cherished. Last year, we'd talk on the phone every night. Nowadays I'd be lucky to talk to him at all before he passed out on his laptop.

"Oooh, did he say nasty stuff?" Hazel reacted a little too late to my outburst in pure surprise. She shouted into the phone: "I wanna know!"

Monica groaned, "I don't. I'd prefer to keep my breakfast down."

I moved my phone away from my face and narrowed my eyes at Monica, "You had breakfast?"

She nodded, "Yeah Clyde had some out for us in the morning. He was going to ask you to come down to join us after your talk, but you know, you freaked out on him and he knew you wanted to get the hell out as soon as possible."

"Whoa, wait they have cooks at XIX to make the guys food?" Clyde was rich enough to sleep in a bed made for a millionaire, so it wouldn't be farfetched to assume he had some nanny or maid serving him and his frat brothers.

"God no," Hailey snorted a laugh, "Clyde cooked it himself."

Now that really had me stunned. With Clyde's large build and lean frame, it was almost laughable to imagine him in a apron, flipping pancakes, and preparing meals. And for some odd reason, extremely attractive. My boyfriend couldn't even make scrambled eggs without burning it if he ever wanted to, let alone an entire meal.

Before I asked anything else, I stopped and thought about everything that has happened in the past few hours. I didn't let myself grin at his kind gesture in feeding my friends. I was no fool, I knew exactly what he was doing. First with letting me sleep in a over priced bed, then the luxury Mercedes waiting for us, and now with the whole breakfast thing. He was doing his hardest to...I didn't know. To swoon me? No, that's impossible, we just met. No one plays that card this early in the game, I thought to myself in silence as the car swerved in front of our apartment that wasn't too far from campus.

Not wanting to think to much on the matter, I returned to my call with my boyfriend and informed him that I needed to go. He seemed fine with the sudden request to discontinue the call. After hanging up, we made the short walk up the steps and down the long corridor that would lead us home.

Ahh. Home. It felt like days since I had entered this amazing [read: basic] three bedroom apartment. Monica did the honors of unlocking the door. She was a good ten feet ahead of us, so she left the door ajar behind her. I inhaled a long deep breath when I got inside and took in the crisp, clean smell of the living room.

It's been a little over half a year now since we moved into Grove Brooks apartment complex. The second we moved in, we painted every room of the house a different color--and that nearly drove Monica insane. She regained control when she got the position of choosing the colors for the living room, the bathroom, and the kitchen. Because Monica is Monica, she chose three colors that practically all look the same.

"Matching things is a necessity if you want to maintain balance and stability. It's a fact," she had explained.

To this day, I was 100% sure she pulled that "fact" out of her ass. Hazel and I didn't judge though, cause we painted and designed the place like madmen. We replaced the dining room light with a small crimson chandelier and kept the red theme going on the through our the apartment.

"We call it á la my bloody womanhood," Hazel defended for the both of us. But like Monica, we had no clue why we did what we did. I guess--in some sense--that was how people my age did things. They did things impulsively, not thinking much of the outcome. Monica wasn't having any of it though.

"I'm not going to pretend like I know what that means," she had said while rolling her eyes.

Thankfully, we didn't disagree in much after that--excluding on the topic of clothes and boys.

"That's weird," Hazel said, glancing down at the answering machine. "We have two missed call and one message. Do you think it's from Brandon?"

I shrugged and walked toward her, "I don't know, play it."

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