The Fake Girlfriend

Chapter 16

s i x t e e n

               "You look awful," Mila frowned, snatching my sunglasses off of my face. I groaned but didn't bother to get them back – I was so freaking exhausted.

               "Rosemary Hastings, were you partying all night?" Mila said in a taunting yet disbelieving voice.

               Last night, Oliver dropped me at home at ten thirty, just as we planned. The gallery we visited–the Hauser and Wirth–was amazing. Oliver had been so kind the entire trip and asked me a dozen of questions about each artwork we saw. It was great knowing he was so interested in my opinion and it was even better knowing that we both had the same taste in art. Given that, we both enjoyed the abstract art; although, neither of us knew what the hell we were staring at.

               We agreed that was the beauty of it: the vagueness and mystery behind what inspired the artist- whether it was sadness, loneliness or even anger. Art never comes from happiness but could they have felt relief while painting? That's what hooked me about Frein Rich's 'Lost'. We had spent half an hour studying it and even now I couldn't fathom what it was. Most of his works had the tendency to show darkness overlapping light. Maybe it meant that something was overlapping his light in life? That he wanted happiness? Perhaps that's what drew me–how easy it was for me to be attracted to something so vague.

               Anyway, after Oliver drove me home and I gazed longingly at his departing car, I met Zach. He was sitting on the first step of my flat building dressed formally in a white shirt, black trousers and polished shoes – even dressed so simply he still looked remarkable. 

               It took me a minute and a shoe full of puke to realise that ninety per cent of his blood was alcohol. I was so mad at him for ruining my shoes that I totally forgot that I was the one in the wrong. I mean yes, it was insanely stupid to be mindlessly drunk at that time; all the while ruining my entire evening and sleeping schedule by forcing me to take him home. But, I should have remembered the dinner his parents had organized for me. I had to be the worst fake girlfriend in history. If such a thing ever existed...

               Out of irrepressible guilt, I dragged Zach home and listened to him babble about the obscure nonsense floating in his mind. He talked about how much he hated his father for voting for David Cameron; he spoke about how crazy it is that broccoli is a flower instead of a tiny tree; he even complained about the plastic cutlery our school canteen issued, claiming that he was "far too superior to handle the flimsy pricks". 

               So you could see why after listening to Zach drone on and on, when we finally arrived at his front door I stopped dragging him and allowed him to slump ruggedly against the tall oak door. 

               "Rose, um, where are you going?" I heard him say timidly as I made my way down his porch stairs.

               I didn't hesitate in my walk. "Home, where'd you think?" I said without turning around.

               "Please don't go." 

               Unconsciously, I found myself stopping.

               "Don't go yet."

               I was unable to walk away when he sounded so tiny and desperate for me to stay. Those words had an indescribable effect on me that made me want to fall by his side and stay for as long as he needed. 

               I still had felt guilty, but what I said and did next was certainly not out of guilt. I still cannot figure out why I even said it in the first place. I mean, I had to know at the time how out of character, not to mention mind numbingly irrational, I was being! 

               "I'll stay." I turned around slowly and saw a tiny smile start to form on his rosy lips. "Just for tonight." 

               "Sure, sure... thank you, Rose," he said, rising to his feet. His brown eyes never broke contact with mine as he sauntered towards me before grabbing my forearm. 

               I gave him permission, with a small smile, to lead me into his house.

               And that's how I spent my Sunday night: in the bed of a boy who passed out on his cold bedroom floor yet looked so frustratingly charming.

               Mila cleared her throat bringing me back from my reminiscence. 

               "I never party–you know that. I stayed up studying for finals... that's why I'm tired," I lied.

               Mila sent me a look that clearly expressed her scepticism but, thankfully, she didn't press matters further. 

               "Anyway, on a more exciting note, I've decided to tell Marshall... about our baby," Mila said, whispering baby as if it was a bad word. 

               My wide eyes prompted Mila to hold up her hands defensively, "He has to know!"

               "I know, I know he does! I just wasn't expecting that, I mean, it's about time!"

               Mila laughed just as the first period bell went off meaning we had to leave the sixth form common room. 

               "I'm telling him tonight since he's taking me on a date," Mila clarified. "I've already written down what I'm going to say, what his reaction should be after each paragraph before I conclude by saying 'your baby gravy made my body a host to your first child'".

               Despite furrowing my brows to her blunt words, I returned her smile with thumbs up. "That sounds great!"

               Before parting our separate ways, Mila gave me a short hug. "I'll see you..."

               "Tomorrow?"

               "Yes!" Mila confirmed, hugging me once more before tucking something into my back pocket.

               I smiled when I found that she had returned my sunglasses. I'm surprised she never kept them considering she owned a replica before Marshall accidently sat on it thus smashing the lens. I can’t remember a time she looked more heartbroken...

               "Rose!" 

            Catching a glimpse of Oliver at the end of the empty hallway, I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, since when did you start coming to my school?”

               Oliver shrugged. “I know a few people.”               

                I rolled my eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Listen, I’ve got to get to class but I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

               “How later is later?” Oliver mused.

               I scoffed. “I don’t know? How red is red?”

               Grinning widely, Oliver settled his hands into his trouser pockets and looked away bashfully. He’s so cute when he does that...

               I blinked realising how embarrassing that sounds. He so totally isn’t cute – especially with his uncute floppy hair and uncute clothes, like seriously, who wears a tie to school? God... who am I kidding he IS cute. However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to start liking him again. I’m definitely not some hormonal fifteen-year-old girl; I can handle Oliver’s cuteness... those cheekbones, though...

               “Rose?”

               Blinking out of my reverie, Oliver was stood right in front of me waving his hand in front of my face. His confused expression told me that he had noticed me daydreaming. Pushing his hand away, I nervously laughed before running to class.

               Get it together, Rose!

~*~*~

A year! A year since I've last updated... In fact it's been over a year! I am SO sorry but I am vowing to finish this book even if it kills me! (ok slight exaggeration but you get this gist!)