Neighbors with the Bad Boy (In Editing And Reconstruction)

Charles' Party

 

Chapter 11

The party had been going on for hours, and in that duration, I had already swallowed down a few cans of the intoxicating content. Though after bumping into, no-other than Charles Longo, The Host of the party and my former boyfriend, things seemed to have gone downhill. And it had all started after seeing Mike and Lela dancing… together.

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I entered the teenage-filled home, and as I was wondering around, trying my best to find people that I knew, or were at least familiar with, my eyes landed on two people: Mike and Lela. They were dancing with one another, holding each other as if their life depended on, smiling like there was no tomorrow, and all I could do was stand there with wide eyes, tears starting to form inside of them, but I couldn’t move. My body was lifeless—but because I could no longer hand looking at the two—I moved one of my legs, and though it felt like I was dragging rocks, I kept moving, and I never turned back.

I rounded a left, and I was then greeted shoulder to shoulder with another person. I looked back to apologize, though I was unable to once my eyes met a pair of familiar icy-blue ones. We only stared at one another—him smirking, and me just looking up at him with tear-filled, alarming eyes.

Though after minutes had passed, I finally uttered two words: “Hi, Charles.”

“Hello, Elyse.”

And then, as if the building tears could handle no more, salty droplets of water began to pour down my cheeks. I quickly covered my face with my hands. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed, apologizing for the accidental shoulder-bump, thought the apology was muffled because my hands were covering my mouth.

Suddenly, one hand was wrapped around one of my wrist’s while the another hand was wrapped around my other wrist, and they slowly pulled my palms away from my face, and I was, once again, greeted face to face with Mike, and that only caused me to cry even harder.

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“Are you okay?” Charles asked hesitantly as he took the tear-filled tissue into one  of his hands.

Once breaking down, Charles had taken me to a near bathroom and helped me clean up my tear-streaked face, though he said nothing. And I was grateful for that, as well as surprised.

“Yes,” I answered softly, and then looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“Why what?” he asked, confused.

“Why didn’t you make fun of me for crying?” I questioned. “And why didn’t you just leave me there?”

Charles sighed as he leaned against the bathroom sink, and then smirked at me. “Well, no guy can never not feel sympathy for a crying girl, which was why I didn’t make fun of your or leave you,” he said, but the his smirk dropped. “And I guess you could say it was a favor for what you had done for me back in Freshman Year.”

My eyes widened, and the haunting memory began to play in my brain.

“I’m sorry about, um, forcing you, Elyse. I really am.” Both his eyes and words were filled with sincerity, and I could feel a smile slowly developing on my lips.

“I forgive you,” I said softly. But I had already forgiven him, though because he had never said sorry and I had never told him that I had already forgiven him, I could feel butterflies start to erupt in my stomach. I was happy he apologized; it felt good.