Zane Cyrus is a moody boxer from England. He hates small talk, fake politeness, happiness and most of all he hates it when people can't mind their own business.
Calista-Mae is the epitome of sweet. She cares deeply for those around her and will go...
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CALISTA
ONE WEEK ago I found the perfect apartment. I was walking down the street and I saw an advertisement for some apartments in a new complex that had just been built, so of course I instantly called Morgan and we figured out that it fit perfectly in our price range.
I wish I could say that I felt relived but I didn't, I felt disappointed. I liked being close to Zane and sharing those moments where we meet in his apartment, those moments where it was just the two of us. But it's time I get my own place and it's time I get my life sorted out.
That was last week and today is the day that I tell Zane I'm moving out. I haven't really spoken to him much since he saw me in my underwear. Even saying that is painful, my life really is a mess.
Walking into the kitchen, I take a deep breath as I see Zane and attempt to string together my thoughts.
"Hey." I say to get his attention and he looks up from his phone.
"Hey." Zane echoes, his comforting brown eyes settling on mine.
"I just wanted to let you know I found a place."
I'm not sure what I expected but I find my heart dropping at his response.
"Okay. When are you moving?" He asks without any show of emotion.
"The end of this week. I just wanted to thank you for all you've done for me. I honestly don't know what I would've done."
"It's nothing." Zane brushes off my thanks and I nod.
Despite every cell in my body screaming at me to leave, I stay for half a second longer than necessary, waiting for something more. As I turn I bite my lip, channeling my sadness into something other than tears. I walk back to my bedroom slowly as if each step is crushing every last ounce of hope I had.
I get to my door and close it gently behind me.
He doesn't care. I mean why should he? So what if I'm leaving, he doesn't see me like that. It was just a few months of my being delusional and looking for things that weren't there.
But then what the fuck was last week and all of those times we got close, all of the times I've caught him watching me from across the room because I know that friends don't look at friends that way?
Was that just him having fun, messing with me?
I frown as I sit down on the edge of my bed.
I feel used.
I don't like it.
An icky feeling that I'm struggling to describe creeps across my heart, like clouds covering the sun that turns my mind overcast.
Do I have reason to be upset? Am I just over reacting, feeling hurt from my own delusions? Does even matter if I have reason or not? I guess I thought he cared about me but he seemed as if he couldn't care less if I lived or died.
