Hazy

Chapter Nine.

Author’s Note: I know the flashbacks are getting draggy already, and I’m so sorry for that. But please know that this is the last chapter of the flashback. :) Let’s enjoy it while it lasts!

A lot of you have been telling me that you are disappointed because I have written too many chapters just for the flashbacks, as I have started the present with just two chapters. (Chapter One and Two, to be exact) For one, the flashback chapters took quite a few because I don’t write lengthy chapters and don’t update regularly, if you’ve noticed. Two, this is the main core of the story. Nope, not the main story itself, but the main core. Notice the difference? This is like a plot twist in the beginning of the story. This makes this book original from the others. (I hope? Haha.) Three, character development, if that makes sense. And four, I think the present-flashback-present-flashback-present POVs are confusing. It isn’t my cup of tea, so I settled for this.

And I know I shouldn’t explain to you guys, but please, trust me on this one and on my approach. I’m really thrilled for Hazy itself! The flashbacks seemed fitting to be a sub-story, and I’m happy I’ve written them. No regrets. ;)

Anyways, happy, happy Christmas, guys! I love you all! And cheers to Jamie and Marcel! I hope you like the chapter. x

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Hazy.  Chapter Nine.

“Can I stay here for the night?”

“B-but, we’re probably going to be alone here all night.” Marcel stuttered, swallowing hard at his words.

My mind swiftly flashes to Austin, where he would ask me to stay in his house and I would decline. I always decline. I felt a pang of unfairness about the way I treated him.

But this is different. Of course, this was different. This isn’t Austin.

“And what difference would it be if your mom and Gemma are here?” I bravely insisted, even though my heart swells everything.

Everything is always different. Inconsistency is consensually barring.

“Nothing, I suppose.”

Marcel sounded unsure of himself, and I can only imply that certainty is definitely out of the way here.

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Marcel’s house has four rooms upstairs. Three of them were their own rooms respectively; Marcel having the biggest space because of his study. The fourth one was supposed to be a guest room, but since Marcel told me they weren’t any guests, not until now, the room was full of random boxes scattered on the carpeted floor.

I followed him headed upstairs. We made our way up slowly, step by step, my feet dragging, but trying not to generate some unnecessary motion or noise.

Marcel stopped halfway, turning to me. It was quite a surprising move for me, even to him, so I raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask what’s wrong.