ADD IT UP ✰ RODRICK HEFFLEY x MALE! OC

CHAPTER 11

The silence on the other end of the receiver was the longest, most deafening solitude I had ever experienced in my life. But I had a revaluation.

"What do you want?" a croakey, all too familiar voice inquired from the other end.

"Can I come over?" I pleaded, against my better judgment.

"Susan would kill me if she found out that someone came over after nine. Hell, I have to sneak Heather in-"

I hung up. And the next thing I knew, I was grabbing my windbreaker, wandering into the kitchen, and stuffing a tin of Oreos into a drawstring pouch. My mother was still fast asleep in the living room, her breathing a ticking time bomb, as one wrong move would cause her to awaken and descend into a hungover slump.

But then, my eye caught the wide-open garbage chute, which led down to the dumpster and out of the apartment.

Sucking up every ounce of dignity I had in my body, I jumped into the chute, conveniently forgetting that the trash bin had been emptied the night before, meaning that there was little to break my fall. Despite my cushioning being nothing more than just a bag of garbage, it sufficed, and I walked out with just a stench comparable to Rodrick's van— albeit without the weed.

The walk to Surrey Street in the dark was practically hell, and the dimly-lit streets in the Westmore area of Plainview did not do me any favors. The cobblestone streets in the Historical District were difficult to navigate in the dark, and despite my newfound lack of vision, I seemed to be hyper-aware of all the cracks in the pavement beneath my feet. The Heffley household seemed thousands of miles away, though the walk only being fifteen minutes long, tops.

Yet, I continued to press on, until I noticed the environment grow more suburban, fireflies beginning to appear spottily around the areas that the streetlamp didn't cover. 12 Surrey Street was practically unrecognizable in the dark, held for a shiny, brass number 12, illuminated by the porch light.

I snuck around to the backyard, and clambered up the branches of a juniper tree that lay adjacent to the attic window, where I heard Viva La Gloria by Green Day playing softly from the bedroom. Looking around to ensure that no one would catch me, I knocked lightly on the window, Rodrick gawking at me with shock.

"The hell are you doing here?!" he exclaimed.

"Fixing things," I grinned at him. "Can I come in?"

"What choice do I have?" Rodrick grumbled, reaching out to open the window.

I tumbled into his room, Rodrick rolling his eyes at my clumsiness. It reeked of a pigsty, and the appearance resembled one even more; there were clothes and empty bottles of soda skewen across the floor, and old food lay on every table in the once-creatively cluttered room. On Rodrick's bedside table, however, there lay a collection of photographs awaiting development.

For what felt like hours, we did nothing but sit in silence, every tick of the clock feeling like another minute had passed.

Then, Rodrick broke the seemingly-infinite silence.

"I'm sorry."

I stared at him, my mouth agape in shock. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

He avoided my gaze. "Heather forced me to get with her. I never wanted any of this. I never wanted—" His voice broke. The lingering silence continued, but the look in his eyes told him everything I needed to know. "She threatened to tell everyone about your home situation if I broke up with her." The nonchalant manner of his voice pierced into my already-aching heart.