Welcome to the States, Good Girl (J and S sequel to Bad Boy's Broken Cinderella)

I am Jealous! I am Jealous! I am Jealous!

I am Jealous! I am Jealous! I am Jealous!

Savannah’s P.O.V.

I sat in my house that night sipping at a cup of coffee, curled up in my biggest, fluffiest blanket as a show flickered across the television screen. But my senses couldn’t seem to register anything. The coffee had as much flavor in my mouth as chalk, my mind registered nothing but a droning buzz from the TV, and the blanket couldn’t dispel the chill that was wrapped around my bones.

I was numb. I was so unsure of what to feel that all my emotions had muddled together into one great nothingness. It had seeped into my skin like the sun, but instead of burning it had left an incurable chill.

All that I could think of through the fog was the feel of his lips against mine. How perfect it had been for those few seconds of elation. It felt so right.

I couldn’t help but think that if we had been different people, a different time, things might have finished in a different way.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion being the first emotion I had felt since running out of that room. It had been a mistake. A big mistake.

The next two weeks were awkward to say the least. Every class we had together was filled with tension, and art was almost unbearable. As I painted the happy, smiling face, I couldn’t help but wish that I could talk to at least one of the Johns in front of me.

Any eye contact made was swiftly broken by turning heads and flushed cheeks. If we were forced to talk to each other, it was in fragmented sentences, stiff, emotionless words, and downcast eyes.

Our sudden switch from a love-hate relationship to complete avoidance hadn’t gone unnoticed and I found myself constantly being badgered by June to explain the distance.

“Did you guys fight?” She questioned as Summer and Sunday scurried after us into the locker room for last period gym.

I sighed deeply as I muttered, “Something like that.” Maybe June could sense my dreary mood because she didn’t utter another word about it.

When we emerged from the locker room my eyes without my brain’s consent seemed to search through the crowd and land on the one person I shouldn’t have even been thinking about.

He looked different. There was something darker about him as he brooded in the corner with his arms crossed and his head hanging low. Even his friends seemed to be giving him more distance then usual.

He lifted his head and his intoxicating blue eyes met mine in a direct stare. A light flush rose to my face and I whipped my head away as I had done several times for the last few weeks.

John’s P.O.V.

I watched her pretty face flush a delicate pink as she whipped her head away, but I continued to stare. The beast that had erupted that day two weeks ago clawed painfully at my stomach and up into my esophagus until it ached to swallow.

Seeing her daily was pure torture. Having to sit next to her in class, watch as she laughed and smiled with friends, look on as she maintained the daily, heated but silent battle she had with Maura, and most of all seeing her lips every single day was undiluted agony.

Maybe it would have been better if she never came home from England.

“Dude,” I heard Reese ask cautiously. “Are you okay?”