Byron's Secret (Slenderman Romance)

Chapter 46. Static

Guys, I wrote this whenever I had free time and sometimes, I only have minutes to spare because I have 4 projects, involving performance which sucks. Also, this is going to have tons of sentences that sounds wrong, I might even spell some words wrong because I'm so sleepy (I wrote this because I really wanted to though, so it's all good). Kindly point it out so I can edit it ASAP, I don't think I have time to proof-read.

Monday

"I'm leaving." I sighed as I took my bag from the table and swung it around my shoulder.

"Yay . . ." Dylan sat on the couch, slouching as he stared straight to nothing, "Finally."

My skeptical stare lingered on him, "What?"

"No, stop talking." He mumbled, slowly shaking his head in a lifeless manner, "Leave."

"This is my house." I reminded, "What's with you now?"

"Technically, I still own this house." Dylan said with a scoff, "It's under my name."

"I can still kick you out if I want to."

"Leave already." He waved a hand, shooing me, "Give my ears a break."

"Why on earth are you－"

I jumped back when he abruptly stood and trudged towards me, his foot hitting the table in the process, but it didn't look like it had any effect on him. His face is inches away when he spoke, "Wahhh! He fucking hates me! No, he isn't a bad person, I'm at fault!" He mocked, stepping forward while I hastily tried to put some distance between us as much as possible, "What did I fucken' do?! I apologized! Why's he bitching about it? How am I supposed to react when I see him at work?! I can't fudgin' live without his almighty presence!" He started flailing his arms, hitting me, including the wall, though he showed no signs of getting hurt.

I looked at him with incredibly wide eyes as I leaned far back. I just noticed that I backed all the way to the stairs. He's basically towering over me with a face that looked worse than I did when I was hungover. After I regained my thoughts, I used a finger to push his face away, "First of all, I do not talk like that." I muttered as I circled around him, standing in front of the door once again, "Second, I obviously can live without him." I said as I gripped the doorknob while he turned to face me, "Third, I'm done with that, I'm just . . . going to work and do my job right, alright?" I said in an exasperated tone.

"Durr."

I blinked, "What?"

"Durr." He repeated, his eyes rolling.

". . . What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked, genuinely confused.

He crossed his arms, "I know you, Joy. Once you get home, you're going to start whining again." He rolled his eyes again. This time, it stayed that way and I swear to God, I could only see the whites of his eyes, "I wish you'd stop making a big deal out of it. You said you weren't even friends in the first place."

"Well, we may not be friends, but it's still fun talking to him." I argued, "Now, I can't do that."

"Just do it." Dylan shrugged, "Try acting like nothing happened. He seems like an airhead anyway."

"You're rude." I bluntly said.

"I'm honest." He retorted.

"What do you have against him? He didn't even do anything to you." I asked the question that's been lingering in my mind.

"I told you he's suspicious." He frowned.

"He is not suspicious!" I repeated for the hundredth time, "He's－"