Meant to Crash | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Three

There was a slamming sound, loud enough to shake the walls, that woke up me up. Turning to my side, I waited to see if it was the front door that was being knocked on.

One second passed.

And then another.

The noise recommenced, accompanied with a slight moan.

It was not a knock, but rather the bed frame hitting the wall in the room connected to mine. I sighed, realizing that it must be Nigel and Layla, going at it again. Curling my pillow around my head, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to get back to sleep.

I needed my rest. Today was the day of the party. The more I thought about it, though, I couldn't blame Layla for me not getting a lick of sleep. Before they started humping like rabbits, I was struggling and only had just gotten my eyes to grow heavy, drifting off to sleep.

I wanted to disappear.

Not literally, but if I could fake my death to get out of going to this party...then I would consider it. There was an ache in my stomach, charging me to pick up that phone and spew a lie. There were a few hours left. The clock was ticking, running out of time to get ready for my time out with Sebastian and his family.

The problem developed into something bigger than itself, though.

My mother knew about the event. I told Layla, and because of her big mouth, my mom found out through my roommate and called me up yesterday to congratulate me like I won some kind of award.

"I'm so happy for you," Mom sang, going on to describe how she was looking forward to  this happening sooner rather than later. "I hope you have everything set out and ready to be worn tomorrow. What are you wearing?"

"I'm planning on not going."

Even then, at that moment, I had no bravery to tell my mother the real emotions rushing through me like a roaring ocean. Biting down on my lower lip, I waited for the blow to my eardrums, hearing her scream at me for not wanting to attend.

"Did you hit your head on something, or have you really become that illogical, Maddison? I thought I raised you better than that."

"You didn't raise me. My dad did."

She paused. "You know I was there in the beginning."

"Sorry, sure," I muttered. "Excuse me for saying that."

"You've been excused."

I wanted to hang up. "You have no right calling my stupid for wanting to keep things professional with my boss. Things are going to get awkward—"

"Did he not invite you there himself? He knows what he's signing up for."

"You have your eyes set on things that won't happen."

"I don't get you at all. Elaborate for me, dear?"

"You know exactly what I mean," I said, seconds from shouting down at the phone. I refrained my anger, subsiding it with a slow breath through my nostrils. "I have to go, mom," I lied, "goodbye."

As I walked to the kitchen, I thought about the conversation for a third time. The dialogue drifted through my mind while I lazily looked for the tea pot. From what the clock on the cable box said, it was two hours past midnight. Thankfully, the relentless pounding that was coming from Layla's room stopped quite a while ago, giving me some needed silence.

In the kitchen, Layla had left her laptop on the counter. Sprawled beside it were countless sheets of paper. She must've been in the middle of schoolwork when she got surprised by a visit from Nigel. I didn't get any water on it, so I made sure to take it over to the living room. In the process, I had turned the screen back on. Layla didn't have a password set on her computer. When I touched the keyboard, the last thing she was looking at appeared, taking me by surprise.