"You may be his world, but you're the only thing that ever felt like home to me."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Some people never get second chances. Lilah never thought she'd get one with her brother's best friend.
She's quiet...
Thank you guys for all of the love and support! Please enjoy and have a great weekend. And happy Valentine's Day! 💛
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I tap my pen against my notebook, trying to keep myself awake and focus on the half-filled page in front of me, but the words keep blurring together. My brain feels sluggish, like it's wading through mud, and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to pull a decent idea out of it.
It has already been a week since Jackson had walked me home. As grateful as I am for him doing that, my mind is still struggling with the thought of seeing Nate next week in class.
Again.
Thankfully, I only have my writing class for three days out of the week, so I'm most of the time not having to worry about it. However, on Monday, Tuesday and Friday, it seems like a nightmare I can't wake up from.
Unfortunately, I am also working on a project in that class, and I just had to choose to work with Nate. It's not like I knew he would be capable of doing something like that, though.
During those classes, I haven't said a single word to Nate, and majority of the time he gets the point. But sometimes, on the way in or out of class, he pleads for me to talk to him, to hear him out. He follows me through the halls and out of the building until we reach the gates of the entrance to the school.
It doesn't help he has my number, and has tried to text me several times now too.
Each time I see his name on my phone screen, the disturbing feeling of fear tightens in my chest at the thought of him showing up at my door one day in retaliation to me ignoring him. Although I live with Kayce, there has been several nights where he isn't home because he's in football practice or going out on the weekends.
And it doesn't help Jackson is with him at both of those things.
To the right of me, Jackson is sitting unbothered. He leans back in his chair, his one arm draped over the back of the chair, twirling his pen between his fingers, his notebook mostly empty. It's annoying how relaxed he looks, like he has all the time in the world to figure this project out. Like there isn't a single thing for him to worry about.
He looks way too relaxed for someone who has contributed approximately zero ideas so far.
"We need a name," I mutter, rubbing my forehead. I push the notebook towards him. "Something catchy but not cringey."
Jackson exhales through his nose, slightly shifting forward in his seat to peer down at the list. He raises an eyebrow. "You seriously wrote down ReThreaded?"
I huff, but I'm grateful he's at least trying to contribute. "It makes sense! People send in their old clothes, and we redesign them. Thread—like fabric? Get it?"
"Yeah, I get it." He smirks. "I also get that it sounds like some Etsy store run by a grandma."
I scowl and reach for my pen, but Jackson snatches the notebook before I can cross the name out.
