Wanted

•I Love Messes•

{•edited•}
~Atticus's POV~

"Hey," Chelsey says, stopping me before I can get to the door to leave. I turn around, walking back towards her desk. She hasn't spoken to me since that day with Bex. I assumed she wanted nothing to do with after what happened.
"What's up?" I ask, resting my hands on her desk. She smiles up at me, her makeup more dramatic than usual. It's a nice change but doesn't fit her well.
"Did you head about that shooting at the new club?" She asks. My shoulders tense. I shift on my feet, remembering what Bex told me. She did that shooting. My heart slowly starts pumping faster from nerves. They haven't been able to solve who killed Pablo. I've never been so relieved that a case isn't getting solved.
"Yeah, briefly," I answer. Ever since Bex told me what she did I've felt like shit for my reaction. How else would you expect a cop to react? Part of me wanted to hold her, seeing how broken saying that made her, but I knew I couldn't. I had to think things through. Could have gone about it a better way, like not ignoring her calls, but the distance is good for me when thinking.
"I wonder what happened; why blood and nobody," she says. That's new. Pablo's body wasn't there when the cops showed up. "They ruled it as a shooting because someone standing outside heard a bang thirty minutes before the cops showed up." I have so many questions, but I don't want to ask her them. She might start catching on that I know something.
"That's interesting," I mumble, straightening up. She sighs loudly, standing up. Her eyes stay on me, papers in hand.
"How's your girlfriend?" She asks, walking out from behind the desk. I turn my body towards her. She leans against it, crossing her arms, pushing them up more than she needs in an attempt to brush her breasts up. I'm used to this action from her.
"She's good," I lie. She couldn't be further from okay. Last night I could hardly sleep, having gotten used to Bex sleeping with me when she stays over. Clearly, I had more room, but that made me feel extremely guilty. She was supposed to stay the night, but I'm too much of a dumbass.
"She looks a little young. How old is she?" She asks, squinting her eyes. My brows raise, finding humor in the fact that she's trying to "casually" get information from me. It seems everyone is trying to get that these days.
"Eighteen. She's probably a few inches shorter than five foot. Stubborn as hell. Born September 17th. Anything else you want to know?" She repositions herself, arms falling to her sides. Clearing her throat, she looks around.
"No."
•••••

I stare ahead of me with a bored expression, staying at my reflection on the TV. Zav decided to stop by to pay me a "friendly visit" before he takes off for a few days to god knows where. You would think spending time in prison would scare a man into cleaning up their act; not him.
"I'm surprised Bex isn't here," he says. Her name feels like a punch to the gut. Every now and then I'll look towards my phone with the consideration of calling her. Every time I chicken out. She's probably pissed at me, which she has every right to be, and I'm scared to see her mad.
"Her and I aren't talking at the moment," I say, seeing no point in lying. If they still talk he probably knows what happened. He probably knew she killed Pablo before I did. I wish she could trust me in the way she does people like him, but I made that impossible with how I acted.
"What do you mean?" He asks. I clear my throat, looking at the beer bottle in his hand, pushing back the urge to get one myself. When he came in with a case I wanted to throw them all away immediately. I go on to tell him what happened, figuring he could care less. "That fucking sucks for her. She must feel like shit."
"She does," I tell him. "I fucking walked out on her when she needed me. She told me she killed him and I didn't know how to react; I still don't. I still don't want to see her yet." That's only half true. I want to see her to talk things through, but I'm also scared of what she'll have to say.
"You're kidding me right?" He asks, looking at me in shock. I shake my head, staring at the bottle. "You have a sexy ass girl who is down to ride for anything and you're doing this to her?"
"This is murder."
"No. This is rape," Zav yells at me, his mood changing fast. "This is the last fucking thing you should do to her. She probably thinks that you don't give a shit about what happened to her, only that he died, that she killed him. What the fuck else was she supposed to do? If that was Marissa, I pray to God she kills that sick son of a bitch. You need to think more clearly."
I wasn't expecting him to get as upset as he did. He looks at me in disbelief, scoffing. Running his hands down his face, he shakes his head.
I hate that every word he said was right. I should have listened to what she had to say without reacting quickly. She needs me right now to just be there without any judgment.
"I'm gonna go," he says. "I can't fucking believe she moaned your name," he says under his breath, sounding absolutely baffled.
"What?" I ask. He stops, spinning around.
"Yes, your fucking name, you damn douchebag. Things were going places them she says your name." Now I don't feel so bad about myself.
•••••
~Bex's POV~

I look up at Zav in confusion, my hands on my hips. After talking to Alaric and my dad I feel a lot better than I did yesterday. Marissa has been out all day running errands and Alaric is somewhere he refused numerous times to tell me. He was the last person I was expecting to show at my door.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, letting him in. "Marissa isn't here and she mentioned that she told you exactly that." I hope me saying I'd think about having "more fun" with him didn't come off the wrong way. I have no idea what the situation between Atticus and me is, but I'm not taking chances with Zav.
"My asshole brother and I had a conversation. I thought I'd be a good idea to talk to you," he says. I sigh, surprised that Atticus told him about it. I'm not mad about it; Zav is the last person I'd think to tell on me.
"I'm doing a lot better," I tell him, giving the best smile I can. It's not completely real, but it's something. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem. I'm really sorry about what happened and...what you had to do. It must be hard knowing that you did that," he says. I nod, sitting down on Marissa's bed. "I remember the first time I took a life, I was an emotional mess for a month after. Then I got used to it. You're not like that, you won't ever get used to it. Don't beat yourself up."
It's so weird how everyone can say the same thing just in a different way. "I'm a huge mess," I say with a chuckle. He drops down to the ground, sitting Indian style.
"I love messes."
•••••