Trust Me. I'm Lying - (SLOWLY EDITING)

That Kind Of Light: Chapter 8

"You're going to discover that conversations are best at 4 am. The heavier are the eyelids, the sincerer the words. Those are the talks you'll remember. It's okay not to know the answer, and silence is not awkward. It's shared, so share it more often than not."

—Tumblr

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CHAPTER EIGHT:

That Kind Of Light

Me: We've been through this, you know.

Him: So? Things change— people change.

Me: Not so fast.

Him: Don't be so stubborn :( I'll get sad.

Me: Being stubborn is a part of my personality. I'm not going to change it. *sigh* Fine, go on.

"Bells!" Christina kicked me from under the chair, making me jump and cutting me out of my trance. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Y-yes," I stammered, putting my phone in my lap and looking up at her annoyed expression. Very well, my stammering was not helpful in my lie. "I'm always listening."

We were at my house in the dining room. Chris had invited herself over, gushing that she had no idea what to give her family or Aiden for Christmas, which was less than two weeks away. I didn't pay her much attention, partly because I was concentrating on something else. And partly because I already had Christmas presents for my family.

And also because I hated Christmas with a burning passion.

This detail is ironic since Mom loves Christmas more than any other time of the year. She adores the holidays and cooking and snow. The only part of the Christmas holidays I enjoyed was that my brother came to stay with us and the cold. Not even gifts, since they got more and more horrible as I grew up.

"What was I saying?" Chris questioned and raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow.

"Something about Aiden," I waved my hand dismissively. That was, in fact, true. Lately, all Chris did was talk about Aiden. It was pretty obvious she liked him. Very much. He'd been growing in on me. But I'd admit that to her later rather than sooner.

Chris sighed, obviously exasperated with my lack of interest or attention. "It's also his birthday in, like one month," she reminded me. Or rather, repeated. I was sooner to forget my name than the date Aiden was born.

"I know," I muttered, trying hard not to roll my eyes at her. "Right after my Moms' birthday."

Mom's birthday was in the last week of January. On the twenty-third, and Aiden's birthday was February the first. Chris wanted to throw him a party since he was officially turning eighteen, ignoring my protests. I hated parties and people and alcohol— high school parties were a bad combination of all three.

I looked at my phone, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips. Giving Hot Writer my phone number had been either my best or worst decision by far. We talked so much I had to flex my fingers to stop them from cramping.

Pathetic, I know.

He wrote surprisingly fast, which made me think of how many people he talked to compared to me. I tried not to dwell too much on that fact. He'd been the one to text first that night, and I was so paranoid and nervous I nearly vomited, and it took me one hour to think through it enough to answer him.

And that was what I'd stored his name under him. Chris had saved it under HOT WRITER, but I'd changed it to her various protests, too embarrassed if somebody ever saw it.