You're the Melody [UNDER MAJOR EDITING]

Let the Sun In

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"𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄!"

"Baby, stop pretending you don't like it."

"You're an ass," a familiar feminine voice laughs.

My eyes screw open and sunshine peers in through the open curtains, making me want to throw up at the sight. I feel tremendously weak and fragile, the two most annoying feelings to ever exist. I slowly sit up and see Corbyn and Christina on the couch, Corbyn on top of her.

I gag out loud and they both nearly fall off the piece of furniture in their fast attempt to separate. "You're awake!" Corbyn announces, his and Christina's face red.

"No. I'm dead," I remark grumpily and tiredly stand to my feet, my legs wobbly.

"What time did you get back?" Corbyn questions, him and his pretty girlfriend sitting back down on the couch they were just sucking face on.

"About 11," I reply, opening the fridge to get out a water bottle. Not Fiji, sorry Quen.

"Oh. You slept for three hours," Corbyn calculates.

I shrug, "I don't feel any better so that was a waste of my fucking time."

"Have you seen Daniel? He's usually always here," Corbyn ignores my whining.

I'd expect to feel troubled at the mention of Daniel, but right now I'm too selfish to give a shit about anything.

Except for Jack, my mind reminds me, super fucking annoyingly, at that.

I shrug once again, "Haven't seen him."

Thankfully, Corbyn doesn't continue to speak of Daniel and instead, turns back to Christina, who's still cherry tomato red from when I caught them swapping saliva.

I make myself a sandwich and the rest of my day consists of messing around with Christina and Corbyn while we move the furniture to the kitchen so we can paint the walls tomorrow. I explained to them that my dad's rich and can probably talk to the school board about it. Corbyn tells me that that's a bad idea and I respond with, "Your mom thought the same thing about you." Christina's extremely funny so her and Corbyn combined put me in a much better mood.

A part of me was hoping Jack would show up here, but I knew deep down that he wouldn't. And I should feel content with that because the less I see him, the less he can hurt me.

But the knowledge that I don't feel content is my dilemma.

By now it's 9 PM and I'm tired, which is weird. I third-wheeled the happy couple while we watched '90s movies for five hours straight and ordered take-out. I climb into my bed that's placed in the kitchen up against the counter and groan as flashbacks of me holding my tears in on this very bed pop into my mind.