pretty little liar // brad simpson

twenty three

SPENCER

Brad and I sat on opposite sides of the large dining table, him still dressed for the day and me in a frail tank top and some pijama shorts and socks, each with our own helpings of Chinese on plates before us. All of the rest of the food sat in the boxes between us, closed and collecting steam on the inside of the clear plastic.

"You've been unlike yourself." Brad began, and I felt my whole body tighten in my seat. "And I don't say that because I want to get out of this, or blame you for a photo that looks bad. It does - look bad, I mean."

A scoff escaped the back of my throat, and Brad sighed. "That's Sabrina Carpenter, she's working on a new song with us and somehow someone managed to snap a photo that just doesn't look right. She's a friend, barely - I've not even known her more than two days. I wanted to tell you about the song once we had a better idea of what it was going to be like."

Brad's hands, still holding his cutlery, were resting on either side of his plate. His food was left to get cold, while I was still cutting up my orange chicken into tiny pieces before me until it was hardly recognizable any longer.

"What I'm saying isn't meant to be any excuse, Spencie, but you've been different. More emotional-" Brad paused as I scoffed again, this time louder and more disbelieving. His nerve was outstanding. "Most often it's been justified, as I'm not perfect and I screw up. But even when we aren't right or something happens, you've been reacting a bit more than you used to."

"You're just finding new ways to screw up, and so I'm responding in new ways too." I responded hotly, scooping up as much as I could onto my fork and placing it in my mouth.

"You're more sensitive and I don't know why, but I want to help. I'm trying to be a better boyfriend, and I know I can do more. But I just want to make sure there isn't anything you're not telling me." Brad persisted, poking around on his plate, glancing away from me momentarily.

Once I'd thoroughly chewed and swallowed my food, I pulled the tubs closer and started serving more onto my plate. Fighting Brad back when I knew he was trying to reach out wasn't going to make anything better. Was I still upset? Yes. But now I was upset with myself, knowing that I'd seen some photo of a girl he was working with towards his dreams, and jumped to conclusions so quickly. It'd looked bad, in my defense, but I should've trusted Brad more. And the fact that he wasn't upset with me for not trusting him, but instead was apologizing... it was a testament to what a great lad he really was.

So I let him in, instead of trying to force him out with my pride. "My hormones feel like they've been all over the place. I haven't been able to stop eating, it's like every single week this month has felt like the week before my period, you know?"

Brad chuckled, watching me scrape heaps onto my plate. "Can't say that I do," he admitted, and I shot him a look as I spotted the teasing expression on his face.

My cheeks pinked up as I stared back down at my plate, which was laden with far more food than I should've been able to eat in one sitting. I set the container back down and pushed it towards Brad. Unexpectedly, Brad picked up his plate and pushed in his chair, walking around the side of the large table and instead sitting at the spot beside me, on the opposite corner.

"Eat as much as you'd like, beautiful. Nobody's judging you here." He encouraged, picking up a piece of chicken from his plate and putting it on mine instead. "I want you to do whatever you want to do, whatever makes you happy. If that's eating a whole plate of orange chicken, then so be it."

I held back a smile, reaching out and putting my left hand on top of his. We sat in silence for the next ten minutes as we finished our plates of food with our free hands, our others intertwined between us on the table. Staring down at my empty plate, my leg began to bounce under the table, because I was hungry. No, I was starving, still.

Brad's fork appeared in my vision, the last piece of orange chicken stuck on the end as he pushed it towards my lips, letting me eat it off the end. "Need more?" He quizzed, pulling our hands onto his leg and resting his elbow on the table. 

Even the way that he looked up at me, between his thick eyelashes, with such love even when I'd wanted to scream at him just thirty minutes ago... it was magical.

And then my stomach grumbled.