October.
Almost two weeks had gone by and it was already evident that Michael was hiding something from me. Even if it already showed the day we left for New York, he'd been ignoring a few of my calls and would dodge the question whenever I asked what was up, and shrug it off like it never happened.
Even if it was elementary, we almost never kept secrets from each other. And he was breaking that silent promise; I was going to break him if he didn't crack open anytime soon.
The climate had changed, now changing to five degrees Celsius, so I decided to walk over to Michael's apartment by myself, to finally clear up the air between us.
Was he cheating on me with another best friend? God, that boy is dead to me.
I grit my teeth together as a cold wind flew throughout my jacket, as I quickly jog into the building, pressing the elevator button - fifth floor - and step in.
And as I was leaning against the elevator's walls silently, it was as if I had grown from twenty-one to forty-one, and had a mid-life crisis. In a good way, that is.
I was twenty-one. And I have a best friend. And my mother and father know where I am living, now.
I'm not struggling with regret and boulders on my back. I wake up with a smile on my face or arms wrapped tightly around my waist, every day.
I have an absolutely darling boyfriend who I love with all of my heart. And the best part is, the feeling is mutual on his side.
My life was happy. People around me were happy; people I cared about are happy.
I was happy. And that's all that mattered.
Suddenly the atmosphere surrounding me uplifted my spirits, and all that built up anger towards my sly best friend had diminished.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened, as I skipped out, giggling to myself as I read the door numbers and stopped in front of 513, and I slid the metal key into the lock.
"Oi, Michael!" I hollered, stopping in my tracks as I heard faint whispering and mutters echo down the hall.
Curious, I slowly tiptoe towards the source, pushing his bedroom door open to find Michael with his back against me, his phone pressed against his ear.
"No, I haven't told her, yet I-"
"Michael?"
He shrieked, clutching the phone to his heart as he gawked at me with a panicked expression - I couldn't help but laugh. "What the hell are you doing? Who's on the phone?"
He was still frozen in his position, as his eyes widened and darted around the room, averting his attention to anything but me. "Jake."
"Jake?"
"Jake."
"Jake who?" I cross my arms, chuckling.
"Jake from...Target. You don't know him. He's a friend."
Although I was growing more suspicious of this little game he was playing, I decided to let the phone call go, since it wasn't any of my business. For now. "Alright, then? Just came by to talk to you."
"O-oh, really?" he questioned, stepping around the room as I tried to walk towards him.
I rose an eyebrow, pinching my lips together as I tried to approach him once more, as if he was my small prey, and I was the large predator. "Yes. I feel like - I don't know - you're hiding something from me. And you need to fess up. I'm getting tired of this bullshit." I place my hands on my hips, the seriousness now making its way back into my body after I had been reminded why I visited in the first place.
"There's nothing to confess," He reassured, sounding tired and exasperated, as he turned to walk to his study desk and absentmindedly played with the edge of a few papers sprawled out over it, his back once again turned towards me. I walked over to him quietly, peeking over his shoulder to watch every single move that he was making - when I noticed the bold print on the papers he was fiddling with. Courtauld Institute -
"Hey! Uh-" He must've noticed that I was peeking, as he grabbed the papers in his hand and strode towards his closet. "I got new music from Ashton," Michael smiled tightly, before opening his wardrobe and rummaging through useless junk. I quickly ran towards him and grabbed the papers that were tucked underneath his arm, climbing on his mattress before he could get to me. "Wha- October! Give those back!"
"The Courtauld Institute of Art, London." I read out loud before I had the papers torn away from me, as I tilted my head at him, even more confused than ever before. "What even is that? Michael, what the fuck is going on?"
"I- Nothing."
"Michael Gordon Clifford," I half yelled, running a hand through my hair frustratingly as I jumped down from his bed, cornering him against the wall and pointing a finger at his chest. "Tell me what the hell is going on now, or I swear to God Almighty I will fucking rip this piece of paper to shreds-"
"Don't, it's important!"
"Well then, just fucking tell me already, damn it! I'm sick of you hiding things! What, are you jealous, or something? That I've been spending so much time with Luke?"
"October, no, I-"
"Are you feeling left out? Huh? And what the hell is all of this bullshit about London?" The words kept flying out of my mouth, and I didn't try to stop myself, "And Courtauld Institute sounds fucking fancy, but can you just tell me what is going on with you-"
"I've been talking with your mother!" He yelled, and the words I was just about to say lodged in my throat. What the fuck?
"You what?" I reply tiredly, trying to find my breath after my rambling. "You- you have a thing for my mother, now? Is that what this is? Michael-"
"October, shut the fuck up for once second. Okay?" Michael ordered, licking his lips as he looked around the room in aggravation. "Just- sit down, and wait."
I silently abide by his order and take a seat on his mattress and he stepped into his bathroom, splashing water on his face as my stomach started to churn in anxiousness. I could already tell this wasn't going to be good.
"Okay," he breathed, taking a seat next to me and bumping my knees with his. "Hey, okay?"
"Just tell me," I shrug, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. "I just want to know. Am I annoying, or something?"
"God, October, no." he chuckled, scooting closer and enveloping me in a hug, and I nuzzled my face against his shoulder. "It's just- I've been talking to your mother. Like, actually talking. Just talking."
I nod slowly, urging him to continue. "About what?"
"You."
And that's when I felt my heart slow its pace, as his green eyes bore into mine.
Funny, the look he was giving seemed all to familiar. A little too familiar.
Was it something that I had seen four years ago? Something I wasn't very fond of?
"And?" I mutter, my voice a little raspy as my gut kept bursting with too many nerve-wracking
He sighed, dropping his gaze down to his hand and bumped my knee again, before picking his head back up and opening his mouth slowly to speak.
"October, we've been talking about sending you to college."
I was right; I knew that look was all too familiar.
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wait what
