August & Colin | WRU series | book 1
We take risks. We make mistakes. We lie. We love. We hurt. We lose total control.
I took a risk. I paid the price.
I made a mistake. I felt the guilt.
I lied. I lie.
I loved. I try not to.
I hurt. I still do.
...
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"So is this what you do these days? Laying on the ground at parties." I tease, trying to bring humor into the conversation in an attempt to be casual about this whole situation. The one where August walked in on me kissing another girl.
The whole interaction from her bursting into my bedroom to her monologue to the moment the door slammed shut, I was paralyzed. I couldn't grasp the fact she was standing there. Neither do I know why I immediately pushed the girl away the moment August stepped out of my room. The same goes for why I'm standing here, looking down at her. The only reasonable answer to that question is the number of beers I've consumed this night.
"I'm trying to view life from a different perspective."
"How philosophical." Two simple words fly out of my mouth, yet their impact is greater than I want them to be. They're the first crack in the dam holding back the river of memories. I hate the crack. I curse the crack and I curse the alcohol rushing through my veins for taking away the filter I desperately wish was still here.
"Says the one who now actually has a beard, Mr. Philosopher." The corner of my mouth curls up and drops in a matter of a second.
Another jab at the past, another crack in my dam.
I observe her, wondering if she realizes the weight her comment carries. If she too is fighting the surfacing flashbacks. But as always, the only thing I can conclude from her expression is that her mind is currently going a hundred miles an hour. Thoughts, opinions, ideas, and memories are speeding through her brain. There was a time I would've done anything to catch a glimpse of them, to get an idea of what happens inside her head, to make her share. Now, I'm not sure I want her to.
"I like it, the stubble beard. It looks good on you." From the way her eyes widen at the sound of her own voice, I assume the compliment she gives came as unexpected for her as it came for me. My mind blanks, my jaws clench, my chest tightens, and my heart trips. It stumbles but regains balance just as quickly as I blink the confusion away.
"Thanks." I focus my eyes on anything else than hers. Her thick, brown waves are scattered around her head and her cheeks are almost the same color as the deep red stain on her blouse.
"I see you're still as clumsy." I nod my chin to the stain.
"It wasn't my fault." The simple gesture of me cocking my eyebrow makes her add a crucial detail to her story. "Entirely?"
There's an itch inside of me to ask more questions. Perhaps to know the full story, or perhaps a part of me wants to prolong the conversation. However, it's the other part of me I allow to reign over my voice. The part that wants to take a step back and build unbreakable walls as high as the sky. The one that wants to shut her out and walk away because that part acknowledges the past rather than ignores it. But building stable walls with alcohol in your system is easier said than done.
"You should get that cleaned." My comment could've ended our interaction. She could've nodded and let me slip away. She could've let me escape but she doesn't. Instead, she kicks my wall to see how unbreakable it really is.
