Racing Down Sunset Boulevard

Chapter 7

Ariana's POV

Me: I'm starting to get worried.

Tigress: Don't be. You know I ghost people too. And plus, it's only been a few days. I'm sure it's all fine.

  After staring after Nate's retreating form and thinking back on the day's events, I decided to phone my best friend, Kaylah, and do my best to rid our bond of the strange and uncomfortable tension. Frankly, I was in desperate need of my most trusted and closest friend, which I had come to rely on every time something seemed too complex for just my mind  to work through. And right then, I needed someone to shine some light onto this situation.

Bracing myself for the "I told you so" that was sure to come, I dialled her number, settling down on my bed. Surprisingly, she picked up on only the second ring, and as I was expecting her to ignore me for at least a full minute, I was taken aback when I heard her slightly distressed voice come through the speakers "Ari what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did you have a  panic attack? Where do I pick you up?" her voice seemed to get increasingly lounder with every question, as well as taking on a harder edge as it so commonly did when she had her mind set on something. An edge I'd desperately missed.

I only realised how silent I'd been when she started speaking again, this time with surprising calm and gentleness, which she nowadays only seemed to reserve for her girlfriend. "Ari, sweetie, look. I know I was too harsh, and I shouldn't have been so blunt, but you know how I can sometimes let my mouth run unchecked. And you can continue to be mad at me afterwards but right now please, tell me what's wrong" she said in rapid fire, almost too fast for me to comprehend. "What? No. I thought you quit texting because you were upset?" I pointed out, although my conviction wavered the more I thought it through. She was giving me time. Just as I had asked. A deep sigh. "We're idiots" she pointed out, followed by a slight giggle. As if it weren't blatantly obvious.

We talked for a total of one hour, 12 minutes, and 37 seconds, which I can proudly say is a personal record. Another quite notable feat is how I've managed to elicit the whole spectrum of emotions from Kaylah in that time span. From exhilaration for me meeting Nate, to anger at Gage and fierce protectiveness towards me and finally a state of thoughtfulness I was accustomed to every time I shared something in need of a solution . Her final answer was just as predictable. A swap. Nate for Gage.

If only it were so simple. I could only evade Gage's request for a meetup with curt responses and made up scenarios for so long before I  had to face him and make up my mind. As for Nate, I hadn't heard a thing from him since that very night. That was nearly five days ago. I had long ago passed my usual quota of three texts lest I annoy the other person, Nate's phone currently registering around 10 unread texts with varying degrees of desperation as more and more disturbing scenarios crowded my thoughts. Of course, he could've just realised I'm not worth his time. I stopped myself before I could take that thought any further, focusing instead on the unread pile of books on my bedside table.

With a little over a week before the start of my senior year, there was no chance I'd be able to get through them all. I was quite content with rereading the synopsis' so I could decide which ones where to be prioritized, when a short ding dissolved my newly acquired serene mood. Praying for anyone but Gage, I was pleasantly surprised to see my friend's WhatsApp group animated once again after a stagnant period of almost three weeks. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have been worried at all about the lack of activity, as August was normally the moment when the conversation fizzled out, but with Zariah now around working to seed mistrust, I heaved in a sigh of relief.

At peace with simply watching the conversation unfold, I watched the familiar pattern of excitement, disagreement over dates and locations, and Kaylah finally stepping in with clear propositions as to answer all the questions of when, where and what flooding in from 6 people simultaneously.

Usually, Kay asked for my input, but knowing I wasn't able to even make the simplest choices since Nathan popped into the picture (not even able to decide which book to read apparently), she went ahead and did it herself. Eternally grateful to only be left to join the stream of "Okay's" with one of my own, I quickly typed it and sent it out, noting the date and movie choice. Tomorrow night, Marvel movie. No wonder everyone was so quick to agree. Although Seth would probably fall asleep regardless, while Mateo would be busy laughing way to loudly at Malik's slightly obscene running commentary, leaving Skylar and Anna roll their eyes and complain, I found myself looking forward this more than ever. A taste of normality was something I desperately needed.

Checking my messages for a sign of Nate, only to be disappointed once more when I saw no apparent change, I turned it off and tossed it down on my bed in a show of frustration. But not before sending one more plea to Nate's already overflowing imbox. Picking up the nearest book, I buried myself in it, set on escaping the feeling of being caged in a perpetually shrinking cage of my own making. If only I'd known just how right I was.

Nathan's POV

Noting the new text sitting unread along with the dozen others, I merely felt detached disinterest. The attention had stopped being flattering after about exactly 6 texts and two missed phone calls. After that, the blue bubble only seemed to taunt me, as the number it indicated only grew at a rate of roughly 3 texts from morning to evening. Inconveniencing.

I continued to inspect my eye, still an ugly dark shade of purple, as well as my split lip and most importantly, the bump on the back of my head. That would be sure to last, even if the lip and eye heal until the football match. I couldn't quite recall ever feeling so giddy about anything in a long time. Directing the show had always felt exhilarating, but I had never done something quite so interesting before. I wonder how dear Ari will react. Not hearing from me for days and then seeing me beaten up, recording in hand pointing at her boyfriend as the culprit. Disgusted? Ashamed? And how would Gage try and deny it? Especially after his lovely outburst of jealousy at the game? Delectable.

I vaguely remember the look of horror marring my mother's beautiful face the first time she found me trying to drown the neighbour's cat, as well as my dad's stumbling explanation given to the neighbours. In my defence, that was the one cat I had a legitimate reason for drowning. She found it enjoyable to meow incessantly in the early hours of the morning, effectively waking me up every single morning at 6:35 AM. But although I tried to explain my reasoning to my parents, it seemed to do little good to help my case, making my mom sob in my father's arms as he pinned me with a look of disgust.

One that would only intensify over the years, accompanied by passive aggressive comments used sparingly yet effectively. That was around the time when the wretched pills came into the picture, after the most useless doctor visit of my life. Psychiatrists seem to be just as deluded as the questions they pose and the treatments they prescribe. Having my father closely monitor  my pill intake only strengthened my conviction that they were only meant to dull my nature, as if it were in any way inadequate or unnatural.

It made me bitter to even think it, recalling the plethora of times that word had been associated with me. So I conformed. I took the bare minimum, one every three or four days instead of daily, so my impulsiveness would become manageable and I could appear ordinary. Normal. I scoffed at that thought. Like the others, caught in their distorted view of reality and their delusionary ideals easily manipulated and reshaped could compare to my versatility and realism.