Signed /Dream Team/

61

I sit at the right corner of the elevator and watch George do the same, positioning himself diagonally to me. Our feet touch, and I retract them until my knees are touching my chest.

"Aren't you gonna call for help?" He speaks, voice low and ignorant.

"How exactly?" I narrow my eyes, but because we're in the darkness of these four walls, I doubt he sees anything.

"I don't know, scream for help." I can tell he's shrugging by the sound of the fabric of his jacket rubbing against each other.

I had no energy whatsoever and didn't want to embarrass myself. At the moment, rotting in here sounds like a better idea than screaming my lungs out and possibly getting ignored.

"Why won't you do it?" My voice is filled with annoyance and disgust, and all of it is because his presence triggers my senses in the worst way.

"I don't know," George shifts in his seat, "kinda cozy in here."

The inside of my hand was just itching to slap him across the face. But I controlled myself and said nothing.

The unbearable silence wraps around the air and numbs my mind. Feels like every passing second stretches into an eternity, amplifying the absence of sound and making me hope it ends soon.

"Do you think you'll you ever forgive me?"

And I wish the silence lasted longer.

"No." I blurt out.

At least I hope so.

"I'm so sorry," he sounds genuine, but I don't really care.

"And? Does that make a difference?" I ask, my voice tinged with disappointment.

George adjusts his body uncomfortably again, and in the dim light, I can see him fidgeting with his fingers.

"I need you to forgive me." I could feel the lack of confidence in his voice radiating across the small gap between us.

But I couldn't understand why. Why is he even trying? I'm sure he doesn't care about how I feel. What's this all about?

"Why does it even matter?" I can't hide the fact that I'm oblivious anymore, "You got what you wanted, and we probably won't see each other ever again."

"No- it matters to me, Anastasia," he puts his forearms on his bent knees, leaning forward a bit, "please, just give me a chance."

With frustration and anger, I clench my jaw. My eyebrows go up, lips parting slightly, "A chance?" I sharply let go of the air that felt trapped in my lungs, "A chance to do what? Rephrase the same fucking apology once again and hope that it works this time?"

"I can't stop thinking about you."

The way his voice overpowers mine makes me bite my tongue. I take a moment to collect myself instead of just shredding his manipulative ass to pieces. I take a deep breath and dig my nails into the flesh of my palms.

"Really?" It takes a lot of power to make my voice sound stable.

He must've sensed the ignorance in my voice. Instead of speaking, he just stares at me.

"Good," I smile, "keep thinking about me while I'm busy fucking your best friend."

I know that my words shattered his self-assurance. I know that because he let go of one of those nervous chuckles of his that I had enough time to grow familiar with.

I could see George's features clearly now as my pupils were dilated and his face was close enough. I saw him take his bottom lip between his teeth and shake his head.

"It's funny how you only did that cause you were mad at me."

His audacity will never cease to amaze me.

"What's funny is how you think everything is about you," I shake my head.

George arrogantly leans in, our proximity becoming an unbearable pressure - heavy on my heart.

"Does it feel the same when you kiss him?" He continues, his confidence increasing as mine shrivels up.

If only he knew that I've never felt anything even close to what I was feeling before he ruined everything.

I chew on my bottom lip nervously, not vocalizing my thoughts because of how pathetic they are and how helpless they make me sound.

I don't say anything. My mind's not sharp enough to come up with smart lies on the spot, and I'm scared of making myself sound like an idiot.

I noticed the coolness of his fingertips brushing against my hands, as he continues, "It all happened so fast I couldn't process anything. I know it's not an excuse and it doesn't change anything, but please, just give me a chance to make it right."

"You had all the time in the world to process a plan and execute it perfectly, and the rest doesn't really matter, George." To my surprise, I refrained from pushing his hands away and allowed them to envelop mine. Not even sure why.

And I'm so mad at myself. So mad that I'm conscious of the fact that that still nobody compares to his touch after all of this.

"I didn't. I was under pressure- I was so anxious, Ana. Wouldn't you make stupid decisions to help your friends?" Jokes on him I don't have any friends and can not relate, "I wasn't thinking of the consequences and when I did, it was too late already."

I'd lie if I said I was touched or affected by his words. His hands wrapped around mine did more to my senses than the excuses he was coming up with. I didn't wait for him to finish. I was wondering one thing.

"What do you want from me now?" I blink slowly, making eye contact with him.

"I want you to forgive me," he didn't need too much time to answer.

"What's that gonna change?"

"Everything."

I shake my head, "I don't think so," before he can interrupt me, I continue, "all that will do is make me the bigger person while you stay the same jerk," I hope he doesn't see the pain in my eyes, "and I'm tired of being the bigger person, George. So fucking tired."