𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈 everyone knows who she is. Worldwide model, covered in many vogue magazines, walked catwalks, and runaway. But people don't know what happens behind the curtains. Despite the many scandals that have plagued her reputation...
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I wake up when I hear soft whimpers coming from the bed.
I push myself off the couch and walk over and open a lamp, finding Winter sweaty on the bed.
She was mumbling but I couldn't hear what she was saying. Her brows were furrowed and her breathe was shallow. She was having a nightmare.
I sigh, pulling the blanket off her, and pick her up, laying under her and holding her back against my chest, her eyes snapping open and her breathes slowing down.
She looks up at me eyes teary and confused. I don't know what came over me to be so protective of her, but that night, seeing her mascara rolling down her face along with her tears, something came over me, a feeling I haven't felt for her in years.
I felt the need to protect her, I took handle of the situation, and made her leave as guilt free as I could've. If I could take the blood off her hands I would.
"Sorry." She says embarrassed crawling backwards away from me, and takes deep breathes, her cotton shirt clinging onto her body.
"Did I wake you?" She says tucking her hair behind her ear, and sitting up properly. "No." I say looking at her dark brown eyes, wide in whatever horror is haunting her.
"What was it about?" I ask, regretting it the second it came out, since when did I start caring about Winter Bacardi? Not counting when we were kids.
"Uhm." She looks around nervously, I haven't seen her this vulnerable since we were young. "I have nightmares about that night." She says hesitantly. "Sometimes." She shrugs shutting off the conversation.
"Why do you have nightmares about other things?" I ask biting my tongue. She looks at me, her eyes glinting in fear, distrust, and confusion. "Can you get me a glass of water?" She shuts the conversation.
"Yeah." I say standing up, and walking out the door, running down the kitchen I grab a glass and fill it up with cold water. I run back upstairs and hand her the glass, and she gulps it down.
She looks up at me with tired eyes. "I'm going to the bathroom." She says trying to stand up on shaky legs.
"Come here." I say grabbing her arm gently, pulling her towards me as she lays her body against mine, sparking goosebumps in her wake. "Are you alright? Can you walk?" I ask.
"It's not the first time I woke up unable to walk." She jokes, building her walls up again, it won't be long until we're fighting like dogs again. But I don't mind it. It's easier to hate her.
"Alright." I grunt helping her walk to the bathroom before shutting the door after. I walk over to her shelves, stumbling upon a huge bulky book. A book that brought back memories.
I pull it out, blowing off the dust, I open the first page. 'Lucas + Winter' was the center of the page, with scribbles of drawings all around. The second page was a picture of us. We were only seven, it was my birthday, I was holding my cake and she was on my back, smiling a teethy smile.
