Racing Down Sunset Boulevard

Chapter 2

Nathan's POV

I lay down in bed, staring motionlessly at the ceiling, my phone plugged in beside my laptop in the opposite side of the room, as if it could keep me from checking for that one notification I so foolishly hoped for since approximately 7:43 PM this evening. That was exactly 4 hours and 36 minutes ago (not that I was in any way keeping track lest you dare accuse me of such) and since then I only care to admit to checking my phone a handful of times, despite the utter look of exasperation etched on my golden retriever's, Biscuit's face whenever I got up to check yet again in the span of 10 minutes.

No, making the choice to deposit my phone as far as possible from my bed only served to make the task of checking more arduous. It made my endurance wear thinner, as I could only picture her shy yet decidedly heart rending smile I was fortunate enough to only get a glimpse of, while tormenting myself with the fifty percent possibility of the coin landing on tails, and never receiving even a courtesy text.

If I had been endowed with any type of artistic inclination, I would've painted her dozens of times, trying to capture the exact shade of her long hair ( still debatable if only comprised of one shade of amber) or written poems about her very endearing blush which she wore so well on her moonlight skin, where I would have imagined it would've looked much better painted all across her body, especially if it would've been the only thing she was wearing. But alas, even if I did have the ability for some masterstroke, the fact that she is already marked is a relentless blot of ink on an otherwise blank possibility canvas.

Yet before I could allow myself to wallow in the unfairness of it, that unmistakable cheery ding associated with messages from unknown numbers (though never unknown for long) filled the otherwise ghastly silence, only punctuated here and there by a low whine from Biscuit or the roar of some ambulance, racing somewhere at the beck and call of the ungrateful. As I ripped back the covers and stumbled blindly towards the source of the new yet decidedly welcome sound, I felt my resolution take form and cement.

Her one simple text, a banal hello and a slightly underwhelming smiley face comprised of the old fashioned two dots and parenthesis, held an intoxicating relief, liberating even, as she had set the gears in motion herself, unprompted and unadvised, exempting me of all guilt for what was to come. I even felt the urge to laugh, a maniacal laugh bubbling in my chest alongside a slight heartache, at knowing what irreversible heartbreak she had brought upon herself.

Me: Hello yourself :). I'm guessing you've decided I'm worthy enough to get a name after all?

Ariana: Well, since I know yours, its only fair I'd reciprocate. It's Ariana, or Ari for short.

Judging by the time passage between her reading my text and her response, approximately a minute and a half, I could already draw my first conclusions. Either she's a slow typer , and judging by the length of the nails I surprised tapping the steering wheel highly likely, or her nature hasn't allowed her to send a mindless text and she spent the time writing, backspacing and rewriting. All that considered, as well as my crucial first impression, I was more inclined to believe the latter. Yet only to test my theory, I let her roil in her own anxiety and mind, as I half heartedly texted him curtly informing him of the turn of events. Then, taking it a step further, I sat my phone face down on my desk, and climbed back in bed, a pleased smile etched on my features as I drifted into dreamless sleep.
                                
                                 xxx

Ari's POV

Leave it to me to mess up a perfectly good conversation. It has been at least a quarter of an hour since I've texted him and despite my phone being on full volume and seemingly glued to my right hand, it had stayed stubbornly silent ever since then. And pacing, it seems, did nothing to calm my racing thoughts or disperse the heat pooling low in my stomach at every recall of his richly low voice, his sun kissed pianist fingers, and the plethora of ways that mouth could be put to use. For the first time in weeks, the concept of upcoming exams seems to be the farthest concern on my mind, as I started to feel tethered to the ground again by something potentially solid, giving me at least a short break from the immutable aimless floating state which left me hollow, allowing me to exist but not to fully live. Now, heart pounding against my ribcage and fingers shaking from something else than exam stress, I felt very much alive.

Lost in thought, I felt myself collapse on my bed, absent mindedly registering the sharp pain from hitting my arm on the bed's frame, hard enough to bruise. Tired of waiting around for a response like a lovesick puppy, I closed my eyes, determined to get a good night's sleep and hopefully clear my mind. But of course, as I sank deeper into my mattress, and consequently, allowed my tiredness to take hold, my resolve weakened, and my dreams were plagued by two boys and heartache.