Blurred Lines [BxB] COMPLETED

0.24

0.24 - Sunday 3:47 p.m.

Maverick Bale

I force myself to leave the room and not look back to see if Rhys follows after me. With trembling fingers, I text my mom, asking for a ride home. She sends a quick reply that she'll be there in ten.

I just can't do this anymore.

What happened? Did I do something wrong? I try to remember the last few weeks and whether I said or did something that would send Rhys hiding away again, but all I can remember is Rhys's body pressed against mine, his breath ghosting my lips, my hands threaded through his hair.

My eyes sting, and I rub at them. My mom can't see me crying. She'll ask a million questions. How did this end so suddenly?

All too soon my mom pulls up in front of the house. I sit down in the passenger seat, avoiding eye contact with her.

"How is Rhys doing?" She pulls onto the road.

"Great," I say, trying not to flinch at his name, even though I knew she'd ask.

"Is there something going on between you two?" she asks, her eyes not leaving the road. I stop breathing.

"Sorry, w-what?"

My mom glances at me with a concerned look. "You guys were pretty quiet at that dinner we had. I don't know, I thought maybe there was some friend drama going on. I could sense some tension with both of you since then."

I allow myself to relax. False alarm. She just thought it was friend drama.

"Well, there's always friend drama, mom."

My mom laughs. "Don't I know it. Well, it's nice that you two have each other's backs. It's really rare that you find a close friend like that."

She pats my leg and I force a tight smile.

Is it possible that not only have I lost the person I love... but I've also lost my best friend?

***

I want to skip school on Monday, but I also don't want to be a coward. Rhys broke it off with me, but I'm not going to hide with my tail between my legs, no matter how much it hurts.

And seeing Rhys across the quad hurts like hell. He always has his hood on, and there's dark crescents under his eyes, which have lost their brightness. Whenever I see those dark, chocolate strands falling over his forehead, my fingers tingle with the memory of tangling in them.

Sometimes I wonder how much I'd give to be able to kiss him one more time. To hear my name falling from his lips. Sometimes I think I'd give up everything.

I notice him eating lunch in the art room, at times alone or talking with a girl that wears heavy eyeliner. I find myself jealous of that girl, and several times I've had to stop my mind from planning what to say to Rhys if I went up and confronted him.

There's nothing more to say. I love him. He doesn't love me back. It's so simple even a dumbass like me can do the math.

And yet.

And yet, I feel like there's more to the story. Something doesn't add up, and as each day passes, my curiosity to find out the missing piece grows more and more―as does a useless spark of hope.

It's Thursday afternoon after lacrosse practice that I finally gather enough courage to speak to Rhys. I text my mom, letting her know that I'll be home late, and then I get an Uber to Rhys's house.

I don't really know why I'm doing this. It's probably not a good idea. Maybe a part of me doesn't want to accept that Rhys doesn't have feelings for me. Maybe I can't help remembering all the words that passed between us while we were entwined beneath bed sheets, the confessions of vulnerability and passion. I was looking into Rhys's emerald green eyes each time, and I saw the script of his heart reflected in them.