Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eight Letters, Three Words
I wasn’t sleeping in my bed. That was the first thing I noticed. The second was that I wasn’t sleeping on the far side of the room, where I had cuddled the night before. I rose, and looked around, taking in the empty bed where I was. It wasn’t until I moved the bed sheets from over me that it all crashed down on me.
The party, Leela, the stapler, the car drive, Dylan, his words…
I sat up. Realizing I was alone, and for the briefest of seconds felt at peace, then tried to laugh easing the tension back into my body. My phone was on the chair where I’d left it last night; I opened it, and to my surprise saw only one message from Leela, which I decided to answer later.
On the bed, neatly folded where a pair of black Nike shorts, which I had to guess where Dylan’s mother’s, next I saw an oversized shirt, the one who’s scent of lemons was so powerful made a sob catch in my throat, by the familiarity of it.
My black dress was a crumpled mess; I pulled out the hair band I had used to tie the slit together, and quietly once dressed crossed the hall towards the bathroom. The bright light hurt my eyes as I washed my face and mouth.
It was quiet, except for the noise of the faucet and a distant humming from downstairs which led me to realize Dylan was already awake. I splashed more water on my face, futilely trying to delay seeing him.
I walked down the stairs, quietly, a sudden embarrassment settling on my stomach and spreading over my body, precisely resting on my cheeks, causing them to match the color of my hair.
He had his back to me when I walked in, I gulped in a breath of air, trying to relax my nerves. “Dylan?”
He turned, a plate of toasts in hand. “I’ll ask Leela to come get me,” I was already walking out of the kitchen, slowly, “I’ll wait outside. Thank you for the clothes, I-I’ll give them back to you tomorrow.”
Shit, shit, shit! Way to make a fool out of yourself Chloe! You could have stuttered a little more, it clearly wasn’t enough!
“Chloe…” Dylan advanced towards me, a slight smile appearing on the corner of his mouth. “We’re having breakfast, and then we’ll see how you get home.”
“But I should-”
“Tea?” he interrupted. I grimaced, and he chuckled at my expression.
“Coffee it is then,”
Tentatively I reached for the table, and sat down. “Aren’t you supposed to be suffering from a killer headache, and be puking your guts out by now?”
“Do not remind me,” It was his turn to grimace.
It didn’t seem as if he were experiencing a hangover, in all his glory he reached into the cabinet for a bag of instant coffee. His hair was wet from a morning shower, and the smell of spice, and his shampoo seemed stronger than ever. Or maybe… I had spent too long without being around it.
“Seems like you’re immune to hangovers…” I mumbled.
He handed me the coffee, “You missed it when I was overdosing on painkillers.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug, careful to not let my fingers brush against his. I sat there, soaking the warm from the coffee, as this travelled up my body.
He broke the silence, “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes… Sorry I shouldn’t have stayed.”
He took a bite of the toast, “I said you would.”
YOU ARE READING
Eight Letters. Three Words.
Teen Fiction"I don't feel anything towards Dylan Miller." Leela nodded, combing through the messy knots in my hair. "Whatever you say." "I'm serious!" "Look, just try not to move so much this time," she said, making me feel happy as she dropped the subject. "...
