Never Again

Chapter Seventeen

Octavia is officially going crazy. Ever since Emerson left, she has been more headstrong and bossy, which is saying something for her. Wil has been working alongside her for what seems night and day— despite my wishes— on the party they're wanting to throw me. The planner that she tries to hide seems to grow each hour; she keeps scratching things off, adding check marks and "tsk"-ing to herself. As of now, she's pacing the floor, and has been doing such for hours.

"Octavia, please." She pauses, looking up. "Your pacing is getting on my nerves." She rolls her eyes and says,

"Eleanor, darling, you need to relax!" I scoff at the irony. "You do! This is your party, and I just want everything to be perfect, that's all." She shares a glance with Wilson, who is in the kitchen, cooking something.

"What?" She shakes her head, waving me away. "No, what?"

"Nothing! It's nothing." I give her a sly look, not believing her. She offers up an innocent grin and flits off to the next topic. "Babe, where are we on decorations?" She walks into the kitchen, but I follow.

"Avie, why can't I help?" I lean up against the counter and grab a pretzel out of a snack bowl.

"Because, it's your party! You can't help! It'll ruin the surprise!" Wilson snorts.

"Av, I'm pretty sure that she knows about the party. It's not going to be a surprise." She thwaps his head with a towel, making me laugh.

"Well, at least the looks and food and such can be!" Wilson rolls his eyes but continues to chop up the watermelon.

"Octavia, I just want—"

"No! Now shoo, go take a nap or something. You have to be ready by six, okay?" She starts to push me out, but I dig my heels into the hard wood floor.

"Wait, what do I wear?"

"Clothes!" She gives me one more push and I'm in my room. She gives me a wave and closes my door. I let out a huff of frustration, flopping on my bed. Not wanting to scroll through social media and feeling too anxious for a nap, I take this opportunity to work on my room. I sit up on my bed and take a look around. So many things are still wrapped up, and my walls are bare. I look up at my ceiling and see that the tape is still up from when I painted them. Well, when Emerson and I painted them, I suppose. I pick at my nails, thinking of him, the way he just barged into my house and took charge: helping me with my room, cooking me dinner.

God, that food was amazing, I think. It seemed like such a simple dish, but all the ingredients were somehow so flavorful and everything blended so well, I wonder how he did it when we had zero food in this house.

Shaking my head from thoughts of him, I start unpacking the purchases made a few days ago, laying it all out.

Where to begin?

I end up taking everything out of the bags and laying them all over my floor. Taking in the view of purchases (all thanks to Octavia), I let out a sigh and get to work. Thanks to him, my walls are all dry and look amazing— the accent wall is my favorite, a soft burgundy, and all the others are a crème. I pull my desk chair over to the windows and I hang up the darker maroon colored curtains, bunching them up at the sides. I throw the rug out on the floor, and move onto decorations. There are some vases that I set on my vanity and dresser, and add a lamp to my desk and side table. I add the variously-sized and colored photo frames around, all of them filled with fake, happy families.

I haven't heard much from dad or Lottie lately... Feeling a bit homesick, I shoot off a text to both, apologizing for the lack of communication and blaming in on the move. I ask how they're doing, sign off with an, "I miss you", and get back to work.