ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ was discovered at fourteen years old, being praised as a musical prodigy by the media ever since. His fame had only increased until now. At nineteen old, he's the most remarkable musician of his age, and he's only getting started. At...
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ɴᴏʟᴀɴ ᴍᴜʟʟᴇɴ
"How are you?" he asked me, standing in front of my front door.
"I'm good," I said. It wasn't a complete lie. Things could've been better, but they weren't necessarily bad. Kylan had left me alone since our conversation yesterday, but the conversation also left a bitter aftertaste. "How about you?" I asked him, opening the door wider to invite him in.
"Could be better, could be worse," he said. We went straight to my room and the entire time I wasn't sure whether to just be straightforward and ask him about it, or whether he rather wanted something else to talk about. My inner quarrel just led to a deafening silence between Oakley and me. The tension wasn't even this thick the first time we met. Or the second time. But then there was this fluttery feeling in my stomach that I couldn't get enough of, despite the tension being this heavy.
I gulped down the lump in my throat and finally began speaking once we reached my bedroom.
"What did you want to talk about?" I asked, leaning my back against my door. Oakley sighed and sat down on the edge of my bed. He stared at the corner of my room as he spoke. I felt like my question was open enough for him to decide whether he wanted to talk about the bad stuff, or wanted a distraction from it.
"I don't really know," he said, smiling without it truly reaching his eyes. "I felt like I had so much to say, but now I'm here and it's just..." He turned his gaze towards me and his shoulders slumped, "...I don't know. I guess I just missed talking to you in person."
I made my way towards my bed and sat down right next to him. From the corner of my eye I could see him watching me.
"Would you like to not talk, then?" I asked. I was fine with not talking. For all I cared, we could sit here in silence, watching the plain white ceiling for as long as he wanted. It wasn't until I looked at him, and really put in the effort to watch him, that I noticed the way dark circles sat as shadows around his eyes. His eyes themselves were looking glassy, like he was looking straight through me. It was like someone drew a picture of him, but didn't quite get his essence right.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and I watched his body relax as he breathed out. But when he opened his eyes again, they were the same, slightly off copy they were before.
I put my hand on his shoulder, and his eyes flicked around the room quickly before they found me. And then his shoulder, where my hand was sitting, and then back at me. A chill went through me as I watched it happen. It was like he had fled his body for a moment.
"Maybe you should go lay down."
He didn't look away from me, but he didn't follow my advice either. "I don't think I'm okay," he said, honestly and without hesitation. He trusted me.
