I awaken blissfully to the sound of All Time Low mildly playing through my phone. As I roll over to the other side of my bed, I stretch my arm over to my bedside table and grasp my phone in my hand. My eyelashes sweep over the top of my eyelids as I open them, blinking hard to rid of my blurred sight.
Incoming Call: Connor
"Hello," I groan.
"So, how was your night?" He asks, remembering to add that extra bit of sarcasm.
"If you phoned me simply to be sarcastic, you can hang up now," I say, aggitated.
Jordan had dropped me back home a minute before he was expected to. The drive home couldn't have been more awkward, the tension was the only thing bounding us together, an immaterial feeling of discomfort which unfurled over the leather interior. His grip on the wheel had remained vice-like since the journey's start and he kept his fierce-looking eyes on the road, perhaps purposely so he didn't have to make any possible eye contact with me. I remained quiet but the silence irritated me, the look of hopeless confusion upon Jordan's face causing me to wonder how he really felt, how much I had hurt him within that second of pulling away.
My only escape was looking through the tinted windows as I stared awkwardly out of it, looking at nothing in particular as the drive continued. If the hurt look on his face didn't kill me, perhaps the tension between us would. This was a hope that I think we had both shared equally. I pretended to listen to the radio, tapping my foot along to the music but secretly, I was pondering on whether this tension would end.
"I was actually phoning to ask if you could meet me at the pier. 1 o'clock?"
"Why?" I couldn't help but be suspicious towards this.
Please," he begs, anxiously.
"Okay, how did you get my number anyway?"
"I got it off Em's phone," I should have guessed, typical Connor. "So, I'll see you later?" he said, his words sounding more like a question.
"Fine but I swe -"
I can picture the smirk appearing on his face as he hears my reply. "Great, bye," he replies before ending the call.
What on earth could he possibly want to speak to me about?
I don't contemplate on it, mostly because I can't find a suitable answer to the question I have asked myself. I get dressed, deciding to wear an Sleeping With Sirens t-shirt and black skinny jeans and I attempt to tame my hair.
As I wait, I hum along to the songs playing out my speakers whilst I sat on the sofa, my eyes focused on what was on tv as I flicked through the numerous channels.
My stomach growled then and realisation struck me that I hadn't yet ate and by this point, I was extremely hungry. I make my way to the near empty fridge which fortunetly, had butter, milk and eggs in it as well as some basic essentials. I still can't get used to this new living enviroment so it takes me a stressful ten minutes to find where the saucepans are kept.
Shane comes bouncing into the kitchen, carrying a plate of sandwiches. He was surprised that I was awake already but he just set the plate down on the counter beside me. "I made them," he says proudly, noticing me looking at them. "Do you want one?"
"Sure," I say, simply because it will save me the trouble of attempting to make my own food. I'd probably burn the house down in the process, I'll take this as the safe route.
I bite into one, aprreciating the sweet taste. "These are really good, Shane."
"Thanks Caitlin," he whispers my name, almost as if he is uncertain about it, like it was a new word stuck on his tongue.
