Faking It

8:Faking It:8

Unedited!

*picture of Madison Walsh to the right -->

 

Chapter 8

 

Aiden

 

Waking up was a bit of a downer, seeing as how we had been planning on not sleeping at all for the entire night.

Waking up to see a thrashing Alina, covered in sweat, however, was anything but good.

“Alina! Alina, wake up! Get up! Alina!”

Her eyes flew open and she immediately flung up in an upright position, breathing in heavily, rubbing her eyes.

“Uh…” I say, my mouth going a little dry. “Want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, the palms of her hands still covering her eyes, and it takes a moment for me to realize that she’s crying.

Like, she’s really, actually crying this time. No false alarm. There are real tears falling from this girl’s face.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

“Do you…want…cookies?”

Facepalm.

She doesn’t respond this time, but she doesn’t lift her head up either. So I decide to go through with the original plan. “Come on,” I sigh, pulling her up by her arms. “Let’s go.”

Now she looks up, shooting me a questioning look.

“To bake cookies, obviously,” I tell her, as if it’s obvious. She cracks a small smile at this.

Look at this! My quick thinking actually worked for once! WIN.

It’s kind of a miracle that nobody else woke up. With all the clattering and clinks of pots and trays in the kitchen, you’d expect someone to wake up, tell us off, throw a pillow at us, anything.

None of it happened.

Alina taps her finger to her wrist. “Time?” I ask, and when she nods, I glance at my own watch. “Three thirty.”

Her face breaks out into a wide smile, and this time I don’t know if she’s actually okay or if she’s faking it (I mean, she is a really good actress) or what.

We ended up making a bit of a mess in the kitchen. Cookie dough was splattered everywhere.

At some point, after we had all of the batter made, Alina decided to scoop some up in the wooden spoon and flick over at my face. My mouth flew open at this, as a reaction. “You did not just do that, Princess.”

She gave me back a shy, sly, smile, inching away with every second that passed. So, I mean, I did the only rational thing that I could have done.

I threw some cookie dough at her.

Her jaw was slightly ajar, and she felt her forehead and hair, to be sure that I had honestly just done such a thing, and when it was confirmed, she gave me back an unhappy glare. This was seconds before she grabbed a handful of flour and threw it in my face, leaving me in a coughing fit, and pure white powdery face.

She doubled over laughing at me, and only stopped when she felt the sugar sprinkling on her.

We took a few seconds of staring at each other in all ridiculousness glorified before falling over and laughing.