"Can we, uh, agree not to tell anybody about this?"
"Yeah, sure. No problem. Consider it our little secret."
"Thanks."
Leaning over the side of the bed, Connor helps Sabrina pull her shirt over her back. The purple fabric is rough and cold between his fingers, contrasting greatly with the feeling of her skin, soft and warm, against his knuckles. Sabrina pulls her hair from inside the neckline and ties it into a bun, standing from Connor's bed. Picking her bra up from off of the floor, she flashes him a small grin and pushes it inside the beige colored purse she brought with her to the bonfire the night before. Connor, dressed in just his boxers, walks her to the front door.
"Pinky promise you'll keep this between us?" Sabrina's nose tints light pink from the wind outside. The question is innocent and once she grins again, Connor is reassured that this will not ruin their friendship. Around them, the world is just awakening on this cloudy Sunday morning.
He wraps his pinky finger around hers, "Of course I will. Trust me." His grin widens and the tension leaves his body as he leans against the door frame.
With a simple "okay", Sabrina leaves and Connor returns to his room after a quick stop in the bathroom to throw up and swallow a few pills to diminish the pounding between his ears.
He sleeps for two more hours before assessing the mess of red solo cups and used glow sticks scattered across his backyard.
YOU ARE READING
The Taste of Yellow Paint Chips
أدب المراهقين"No!" She wags her finger in Connor's face, her body tense with an immense amount of anger, "Don't 'Sabrina' me, asshole. This is all your fault! You just had to throw that goddamn party!" In which a friendship between four friends falls apart...
