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Weston Herrera's room is not as clean as Rafe Cameron's. I suppose Theodora should be use to this. Boys aren't normally like Rafe Cameron... or well, Rafe Cameron is not like other boys. His space will be clean where his mind is not. Boys spaces won't be clean where their mind is or is not.
Theo sits on the edge of West's bed, her red painted toe pokes at his boxers and the band snags over her toe. She stares at the grey pool of cotton. Her throat itches.
It's like something unravels over her mind. Her eyes screw shut and her jaw clicks. When her eyes flutter back open she kicks the boys boxers away from her and snatches at her purse on the floor. Her hands encase her pack of cigarettes, her lighters blue. It has Tyler's name carved into it. She grabs West's ashtray from the second drawer in his nightstand.
She sits at the edge of this boys bed for a while just smoking, her eyes hyper focused on the phone sticking out from her bag.
2 missed calls from Rafe. 3 messages from Rafe.
She flinches a little when she feels warm fingertips on her bare back. "What time is it?" The voice is deep full of the lull of sleep and sends a heavy chill down her spine. She looks over her shoulder at Weston Herrera. His dark green eyes. His brown hair that curls over his forehead. His tan skin reminding her of honey when he's in the sun. The tattoo of a willow tree on his left arm. "Seven."
The boys runs a hand over his face as his eyes flutter open. He smiles gently at Theo, she can't bear one back. She scrunches her nose at him in substitute. She looks back, her eyes falling down on her phone again. West thumbs at the waistline of her lace underwear, it leaves a funny feeling on his skin. "You want me to go with you?"
Her jaw clenches again, cigarette still between her lips. He is so fucking stupid for saying such a thing. She doesn't understand why she continues to do this? It just can't be for the coke anymore, right? Theo stabs out the cigarette in his ashtray as she stands. His hand falls away and thumps on to his bed sullenly. Theo snatches up her shirt and shoves it into her purse. She can't find her bra, but he can go ahead and keep it. She pulls on her jean skirt and moves towards his closet for a shirt. "That's sweet, but it's fine, West."
The boy sits up in his bed, his sheet falls down his torso and pools at his waist. He watches the girl rip a shirt off one of his hangers as she pushes her bare upper body into the cotton.
He continues to watch her as she slides her feet into her sandals and snaps up her purse from the ground. He gently grabs her wrist before she can disappear too far, and he won't see her for a while. Because she says she'll text, and never does. "Theo?"
