Can I be your favorite?

Chapter 6: Who am I?

Rick's POV

Watching her sleep on my chest feels like a dream. One I wish to never wake up from. It reminds me of the first day I laid eyes on her, it was her first day on college campus, almost a year ago. That day my friends and I had been lounging underneath the tree in front of the infirmary, ourselves third years. Her shoulder length black wavy hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her button nose was scrunched up in confusion as her oval face swiveled left and right. Her eyes sported a frustrated look, and whenever they caught the sunlight, they would turn from a deep black to a vibrant hazel. She looked lost, unaware of where she was. The two suitcases she had beside her clearly indicating that she was looking for the dorms.

Her gaze turned toward our direction, momentarily stealing my breath away, but she completely ignored us. Since I was hidden under the shadow of the ancient tree, I doubt she noticed me at all. However, my eyes locked on to her like a predator stalking their prey. I was no longer participating in the conversation, my concentration zoned on the ethnic five-foot, four inches beauty walking towards a group of giggling girls. Anika was wearing a floor length summer dress, where the fabric itself was printed with intricate designs: a mix of blue, green and red. It was an off-shoulder top that cinched at the waist, allowing the rest to flow down gracefully, and her sleeves reaching to her elbow. She had no jewelry on except for a pair of gold earrings studs. The same exact ones she was wearing now, sleeping in my arms, they were a pair of leaves made up of six tinier leaves that were each hollow at the center. I brush my thumb across it, careful to leave Anika undisturbed by the motion. I stare down at her sleeping form, her perfect hourglass body covered by my yellow t-shirt. That day her dress had hugged her curves perfectly, teasing the sexy body underneath. I watched as she struck up a conversion with the blonde girl (who I later learned was Jessica, her roommate, the bitch). In that moment I longed to be among that bloody group, just to hear her voice.

After that day, I hadn't seen her anywhere. It was like she fucking vanished, stopped existing all together. Became a ghost. So, all I could do was imagine what she sounded like and if I were to ever see again. Did she have a soft, delicate voice? Or a strong, confident and loud voice? My thoughts were consumed by her, begging the universe to send her my way. A year and half had passed and there was no sign of her anywhere. Wesely was fucking huge. A fact that pissed me off on daily basis. Having to walk a fucking mile just to get anywhere was a curse and blessing: Great for cardio but a bitch when you are late for class. Or after a long day of professors shoving information down your throat. My hatred only increased with each passing day I hadn't find Anika.

In some twisted form of shitty humor, the universe sent me right towards her, the day after I get shit face drunk. Usually I avoid café Wesley, (something I kicked myself for later) since it was far away from my apartment and is always crowded with students, whom I actively try to avoid. The day before, my brother, had arrived on campus to deliver the news of his engagement. Moreover, my twenty second birthday was a week ago, so we had plenty of reason to celebrate. Therefore, my brothers, sister and I hit the bar. Although my sister was underage (she is twenty) she had a fake ID card, which Rafael, my older brother, confiscated the next day. However, she was excused for the night, under the circumstances it would have been cruel not to. Besides, it would better if she had her first drink with her brothers rather than with a piece of shit who might take advantage of her inebriated state. Thus, my siblings and I hit the shots, hard. I can't remember much other than the fact that it was clearly not the first time my baby sister had tequila. In fact, she was the one who was least affected by the aftereffects, the next day. 

By the end of the night our group of four had become a party of motherfucking fifty. The party had continued at my place, people whom I didn't know were inside my home, drinking and eating my food. At that point I had enough, both of drinking and motherfucking strangers. So, I left and crashed in my brother's room. However, I distinctly remember having to clean up the mess, alone. My asshole siblings suddenly too busy to help out. Essentially, I was ghosted. It has always been like this; those motherfuckers create a mess which I have to clean up.