Charlie's Angel

15 pt 1

Chris
The urge to smoke one was so strong that I was fidgeting on my couch. It was sitting on the coffee table in front of me, begging for me to light up. Pleading to help me relieve my stress. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't make myself to do it.

I knew I was better than that.

Bash had brought it over because I told him I needed to relax, and he offered to take Isaiah out for ice cream and toy shopping since his birthday was tomorrow. I was grateful for the quiet.

My nose was stuffy—forcing me to leave my mouth open to get air—my head ached with bright lights, and my throat was scratchy and raw. I didn't have an earache, though, but my muscles sorta ached. Question is, how did I get sick? Isaiah wasn't sick, Charlie wasn't sick, and neither was Paris. And I never got sick.

Add that to my list: sick, pissed off, and horny. Yes, horny. I woke up with a situation in my pants that made me chuckle. I jokingly blamed Mystery for that.

Figuring I had to ease my mind some way or another and to rid myself of these dirty thoughts, I jogged up the stairs to dress in sweatpants and a hoodie. My body had the cold sweats, but that was the least of my concerns. It didn't even feel like I had a cold. It felt worse, to be honest.

With Lil Boosie blasting in my ears, I pulled the hoodie low over my head and jogged the perimeter of my neighborhood. Twice.

...which didn't really help my situation at all.

My breathing was already fucked up, and this made it ten times worse. My chest heaved and my abs flexed with every breath I tried to take to relax myself, but my mind was still racing. The run pretty much made things worse.

I took a cold shower and opted to just throw on some boxers and sweatpants because my temperature decided to rise dramatically. I was sweating and trembling from the cold. That's how I knew this wasn't just a cold.

I didn't have any medicine, either, besides children's Tylenol of Isaiah. So I fell backwards into the couch and started thinking. For one: that bullshit note that she left for me. To me, that was childish. Why ain't she just come talk to me? We could have worked shit out. I was more than willing to stop fucking with her for the sake of having her around.

But no, she and I both knew that we liked each other and things could escalate to something more. Something deeper. But shit, she wanted to be a coward.

Like Isaiah said, fuck her.

No, fuck that. This wasn't over. We were going to talk about this. I called her, and she didn't answer for the first two times. On the third, she wasn't too thrilled to hear my voice. "What do you want, Chris?"

I sniffled. "Good morning to you too."

"Chris, it's three in the afternoon."

"Whatever," I grumbled. "We need to talk about that little stunt last night."

"Why do you sound... congested?" She was annoyed, but I could also hear concern.

"Because I'm sick, smart ass." I rummaged through my fridge for a juicy red apple. "And don't—"

"Do not get a fucking attitude with me, Chris," she spat. "You got anyone to... take care of you?"

"I got Isaiah, but he's four," I muttered. "So no. But that's not the point. What the hell was that note for?"

"What happened last night, Chris?" She asked quietly as if she didn't remember. Innocently.
I sighed. "You got tipsy and kissed me... again."

"No, no, no," she cursed. "Are you sure?"