Typical.

Chapter 5: The Eye

I woke to the soft sound of birds chirping. The comforter was wrapped securely around me, but Liam was nowhere to be found. My eyes were dry from too much crying and my limbs felt like they were unable to move. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and remembered everything that had happened last night. Slowly, I let my eyes adjust to the light that seemed way too bright. I looked at the clock on Liam’s bedside table. 1:28. Pulling myself up, I realized a terrible headache. I uneasily made my way downstairs wearing exactly what I wore to bed: an oversized tee that didn’t belong to me and plain black underwear.

The smell of coffee hit me as soon as I began descending the winding staircase. Crossing the living room to the kitchen, I was greeted by Liam’s smile.

“Good morning, love,” he said, and brought me into a hug. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the island.

“I think we…” we both said in unison. We smiled at each other, then he went on.

“…should talk about last night.”

I nodded slowly. “I agree.”

“By the way,” he said, looking at me with a slight smirk. “You look adorable in my tee shirt.”

I felt my cheeks get hot and we slipped into an awkward silence. The tension in the air was practically palpable.

“I…” we both started again, then smiled.

“I want to ask you…” I went on.

“Yes?”

“Did you mean everything you said?”

His face darkened, as if he was guilty, or was harboring some sort of secret. He turned his back to me and poured another cup of coffee. While his back was turned, I gulped. What If I didn’t want to hear the answer?

He turned back and took a long breath in. “Of course I did. I do.”

“Why… do you look so guilty?”

He looked down and leaned on the island in front of him. “Because it’s hard for me to admit that I want more from you than I already have.”

“What does that mean?” I said, confused. My fingers curled around my mug of coffee, the warmth spreading from my fingers to my spine, reverberating through me like a flood let loose.

“It means…” he started, then looked away.

“Yes?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have gotten into that.”

“But…”

“Drop it,” he suddenly snapped. So I did. He just left me right in the damn dark. Nothing was clearer. Nothing was accomplished in that conversation. Thanks, Liam. Great talking to you.

“Oh,” he said, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree again. “I forgot,” he said, suddenly trotting out of the room. When he came down, he had a large, wrapped box in his hand. I blushed a deep tone of red.

“I thought that the plane tickets were my present.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” he said, shoving it in my hands. I tore the pink—my favorite color—wrapping paper off the box and opened it, gasping.

“Why the hell did you buy me this?” I said, throwing the box at him. I couldn’t believe what he got me. He bought me a fucking vintage oil painting set. Who does that? Who spends over $100 on a present for a friend? I picked it up, looking at the wood of the box, running my hands over it. There were oil colors I didn’t know existed.