Unforgivable

Chatper 11

“I know she’s there,” Nico spoke, his voice muffled against the apartment door, “let me in, please.”

I sat up in bed, stretching my arms. I looked over to see Booker’s eyes flutter open, and he grumbled, swinging his legs over the bed and walking towards the door. He squinted one eye to look out the peephole, and he shrugged, stumbling back into bed.

“I’ll get it,” I yawned, pushing myself off of the spread out pillows.

I looked out to see Nico, a black bruise covering his right eye, and a bandage taped across his nose. His left arm hung awkwardly at his side, and gauze was messily wrapped around four of his fingers.

“It’s Nico,” I spoke, looking over my shoulder to see a Booker frowning, “should I let him in or do you still have a thing against him?”

“That’s your decision, not mine,” Booker replied, pulling the covers up over his chest, “let him in if you want to.”

I slowly touched the handle, goosebumps forming across my arm as I felt the cold metal rotate in my hand. Even as the door was wide open, Nico still stood in the doorway, cautiously peering into the apartment.

“H-hi,” he spoke, his gaze falling to his feet, “I’m so sorry Rhea.”

I nodded, and watched as Booker’s eyes follow Nico as he stepped into the room. He stood about a foot away from Booker’s bed, and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I just came to apologize,” Nico started, “I was being stupid.”

“Yeah,” Booker mumbled under his breath, “you were a fucking bitch.”

The veins in Nico’s muscles tensed under his tight v-neck, and his gaze shifted to meet Booker’s.

“I’m trying to apologize, Booker,” Nico spat, “don’t fucking test me.”

“Test you?” Booker replied through a smirk, “you can’t fight looking like a bruised banana.”

I sighed, bringing my hand up to rest my fingers on my temple, shaking my head. Booker’s ego can be extremely irritating.

“I’m done here,” Nico grumbled, glaring at Booker before turning towards the door, “I’m very, very sorry Rhea.”

Nico gripped the door handle, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Booker?” he called, his blank expression transforming into a smile.

“Yeah?” Booker replied.

“Fuck you,” Nico laughed, slamming the door behind him. 

I walked over to Booker’s bed, sitting on the soft comforter. His hand reached over to barely touch mine, and I decided to let him keep it there. The sun peeked through the curtains, which let a ray of sunlight shine onto his face. Booker’s face had a great similarity to Matt’s, but Booker’s jawline was more defined and his nose was skinnier. Somehow, I preferred Booker’s prominent green eyes over Matt’s pastel blue.

“Sorry for letting him in,” I spoke softly.

“Don’t apologize,” Booker laughed, “it was fun to see how bad he looked after I fucked him up, his eye looked like-”

Booker held his tongue as I shot him a daring glance. 

“Sorry,” he spoke as a grin crept across his lips.

Booker rolled out of bed, and lifted his shirt over his head. I looked away, letting my hair fall in front of my eyes. I heard Booker laugh, and felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen a boy shirtless before,” he spoke through a grin.

I snuck a peek at Booker, and my heart nearly stopped as I saw the way the sunlight caught his muscles perfectly, revealing his sculpted stomach. His sweatpants clung low at his hips, defining his torso even more.

“I-I have to go,” I spoke abruptly, pushing myself off the bed and reaching up to tie my hair into a ponytail, “I’ll catch the next bus.”

Booker laughed, and pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head. He walked into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and tossed me a bag of chips.

“What’s this?” I asked, studying the plastic.

“Breakfast,” he laughed, pouring himself a glass of water.

I pulled the sleeves of Matt’s now tear-stained crewneck over my hands, and headed towards the door. Booker watched me walk away, but he didn’t move from the kitchen.

“Usually by now, you would have followed me across the room and blocked the door,” I spoke, smiling,  “I guess I’ll go now.”

Booker smiled, and pulled himself onto the countertop, sitting on the granite. He reached up to push his messy hair off his forehead. I rolled my eyes, and opened the door, resisting the urge to stay.

“Bye Rhea,” he called, as I walked through the doorway and paused to look back at him.

“I don’t think you’re bad, Booker,” I said over my shoulder, “you’re really not.”

“I’m dangerous, Rhea!” he yelled, as the door slowly closed, “You hear me?”