I decide I'm going to walk to a store nearby- not a Walmart, a Save-a-Lot, but it works, and I'm going to make cookies for Timotheé and Adam.
I'm not really great at cooking... or baking, but I can figure things out. How hard can it be to bake cookies?
I grab my wallet and walk out of the apartment, leaving the door unlocked because I don't have a key.
As I walk down the cracked sidewalk, I relish the sun on me which makes my skin tingle.
Once I get to the store, I throw all the things I think I need into my cart and head to check out.
Without looking up, I place everything on the belt and pull out my debit card. I look up at the cashier, and he's already looking at me. Whoa.
"Hi." I smile. He smiles back. He's so cute! He proceeds to put my things into bags.
"What are you making?" He chuckles.
"Cookies for my roommate." I laugh.
"You have a roommate? How old are you?"
"Eighteen. How old are you?" I ask.
"Nineteen."
"Sweet." My heart jumps. Wow.
Once he finishes bagging my things, I pay for them, and am about to pick the two bags up when he looks at me.
"Hey, wait. What's your name?" He asks.
"Anya, and yours?"
"Noah. Can I have your number?"
I stare at him, trying not to look stupid. I slowly reach in my back pocket for my phone, unlock it, and hand it to him.
He puts his number and contact in my phone and hands it back to me.
"I'll text you after I get off." He winks, and my stomach tightens.
"Okay." I mutter but I don't think he can hear me. When I exit the store, I try not to do a hop.
———————-
Making cookies is fucking hard.
Timotheé has no measuring cups, except a large glass one and I can barely see the little lines. Why would a teenage boy have measuring cups?
I'm practically breaking my arm off stirring things, because no way would a teenage boy have an automatic mixer, either. I roll my eyes.
I'm able to get the cookies in the oven in a decent shape, and collapse on the couch.
——————
I'm putting the cookies on a plate and am in the middle of drizzling chocolate syrup and caramel over them when the door opens, and in comes a loud ruckus. I blush. Oh, God.
When I see Timotheé, I smile and wave him over.
"I made you cookies." I say to him quietly. He looks at the cookies, which actually look great, and smiles, taking one off the plate. He takes a bite, than taps it on my nose.
"You're great." He says, and then walks in the living room to join his friends. Among them is Adam, but I don't know the rest. I dust the front of my shirt off and begin washing the dishes, trying not to look at the boys in the living room. I feel like a mother.
After I finish the dishes, I wipe off the counter and sweep the floor.
"Hey," A shout directed at me. I push my glasses up onto my nose and look at the source.
"Yes?" I ask him.
He chuckles. "Are you the personal maid?" He doesn't sound like an asshole. I stand up, holding the broom in one hand and putting the other on my hip.
"No," I reply mockingly. "It was just a mess in here." I say more to myself than to him.
"Hey, she's cute man." I hear him say quietly to Timotheé.
"Yeah, I fucked her." He says in a cocky tone. He did not!
"Timotheé!" I snap.
"Yes, mom?" He sneers. I feel my throat tighten up and my eyes start to water. Don't be a bitch, Anya. I put the broom away and shuffle off to my room, wiping my eyes. Thank God that I don't wear makeup.
When I get to my room, I slam the door. Is this how it's always going to be?
I get a text from Noah.
Noah: hey
Me: hi
Noah: can i ft you?
Me: sure
If I FaceTime him I will be less inclined to cry. Within two minutes, my phone rings.
"Hi." I try my best to smile.
"What's wrong?" He asks, looking concerned.
"My roommates an asshole." I try not to sound aggressive, but I fail. He chuckles.
"Do you want to hang out?" He asks. He's cute, but he can't distract me from the anger and sadness and embarrassment I feel inside. The last thing I want to do is go out.
"I'm not really feeling it too much right now," I say. "But after school tomorrow I would like to."
He smiles. "Okay."
"Alright, see you then." I hang up. Lame FaceTime, but I'm not feeling it at all.
I put in my earbuds and play music. I start to cry as a I listen to the songs, thinking about how rude Timotheé was. I baked him fucking cookies! I cleaned his kitchen! I also gave myself up to him when he wanted nothing more from me...
I sob into my pillow, and start hiccuping. I'm crying that hard?
I don't hear the door open, but see dim blue light pour into my room and rip my earbuds out, pausing my music. Timotheé turns the light on, and I squint. Oh God, I must look awful.
He's smiling when he walks in, but his smile disappears once he see's my face. He steps in and closes the door behind him.
"No," I snap. "Don't do that."
"Why?" He slurs. Great. He's drunk again. And I can smell weed as he sits on my bed.
"Get away from me." I try not to raise my voice.
"Why are you freaking out? And why are you crying?" He reaches out to touch me and I grab his wrist and shove it away.
"Don't worry about it. Please get out." I cough and swallow to stop the tears that are making my throat tight.
"What kind of guy would I be if I left you hear like this?" His tone is gentle. I glare at him.
"The exact guy that you are." I try to put as much hate into my voice as I can.
"What did I do?" He throws his arms up.
"Why would you tell that guy that you and I fucked?" I shoot back. "And why would you embarrass me like that? Why did you dismiss me like that after we had sex? Why are you such an asshole overall?" I am crying now, and inwardly chastising myself for doing so. Damn it.
"I didn't know it bothered you that much." He bites the inside of his cheek and looks off to the side.
"Don't worry about me. Go away." I take my glasses off, toss them on the floor, and turn away from him, laying down.
"Anya, please just come out there with me." He begs.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's not as fun without you." He pouts. Stop it.
"Timotheé-"
"I won't force anything on you. It just a few friends." He holds his hands out.
I sigh. "Fine."
"Really?" He chirps.
I roll my eyes and get out of bed, grabbing my glasses. I remain in my sweats and t shirt and pull some new socks on. Then, I pull my hair into a ponytail. I look like a clown going out there without him apologizing, but we will talk later. We pad out to the living room together, and immediately my heart rate spikes. There are more people out here. A couple of girls, dressed in skinny jeans and striped crop tops. They're pretty. I take a deep breathe and try not to make it noticeable. Timotheé grabs my hand and we sit down on the couch together, him hugging me to his side. I pull my legs up onto the couch and tuck them under me. Pretty comfortable.
"Who are you?" A brunette asks. She's trying to sound nice, but I know girls too well.
"Anya." I say absentmindedly.
"Why are you wearing sweatpants girl?!" She chirps.
"Because I live here." I look at her stupidly. She seems taken aback, and gets up, walking to the kitchen. The smell of weed is so strong, and I bite my bottom lip in an effort not to cough.
"What happens if a neighbor smells the weed?" I whisper to Timotheé.
He shrugs. "Who knows?"
I frown at him, but he's not watching me, he's focused on the brunette in the kitchen making herself a drink. I shrug out from under his arm and lean against the arm of the couch. He looks at me sideways but says nothing. I notice a blonde girl and remember her name.
"Hi, Saoirse." I smile at her.
"Hi, Anya." She greets in a thick Irish accent. I like her. She's respectable. Once the brunette comes back to the living room, I stand up.
"You can take my spot." I offer and motion towards the spot next to Timotheé, and resolve to get a drink.
I walk over the kitchen, and with my back facing the rest of the people, I pour a drink, my hands shaking. I set the bottle down, close it, and squeeze my hands shut until my nails are digging into my palm to stop them from shaking. I take a gulp of my drink and pull my phone out of my sweatpants pocket and dial Noah. Before he picks up, I hang up. Don't call him. I can already feel the warmth spreading throughout my body. I lean back against the counter, the cup on my left and scrolling through my phone with my right. I keep drinking in sips until the cup is gone, and I set it on the counter. I decide to go outside and get some air, which I know would feel good on my warm skin. I walk past the group of people slung across each other on the floor and couches and step outside, closing the door behind me.
I'm only outside for five minutes before I hear the door open behind me. I feel hands on my waist and I turn my head around, and see Timotheé.
"Gets your hands off me." I bark and twist myself out of his grasp.
"Anya, why do you keep doing this?" He groans.
"Leave me alone and go fuck that supermodel inside." I don't look at him.
"You're jealous." He laughs. I turn around abruptly and look at him.
"Fuck no. But don't act all nice towards me and than try to fuck the brunette with nice legs right in front of me, you fucking asshole." I shove him to the side and storm inside, heading for my room.
When I get to my room, I slam the door shut. I don't even have the urge to cry, I just have the refrain from punching the wall and severely hurting my hand. In a frenzy, I pick up my phone and dial Noah.
"Hey/"
"Do you want to hang out?"
"What's your address?"
"I'm in Rudolph Point apartments, Apartment number 23." I inhale deeply.
"I'll text you when I'm out front." He says and than hangs out. I like that. No bullshit.
I hang out in my room, nurturing my anger until Iget the text that Noah is here. I decide not to change, because I don't care. I grab my phone and open my door, walking briskly out to leave the apartment. Right as I reach the door, I hear a voice.
"Where are you going?" Timotheé asks.
"None of your fucking business." I walk out of the door without looking at him and slam it shut.
Timotheé's POV
"None of your fucking business." She snaps and sashays out of the apartment.
What the fuck is her problem?
Everybody looks at me. "Yo you not gonna get your girl?"
"That's not my girl." I try to hide the anger in my voice and take a sip of my drink. Someone snickers, but I ignore it.
At this point everybody is wasted. Even though I am pretty much there, I can't stop thinking about how fucking mad Anya made me. It makes my skin hot, and I move my feet to try and alleviate some of the pent up anger. It doesn't work. Being fucked up and angry at the same time is a horrible fucking feeling.
"Tim, you good?" Adam asks, looking worried. I glare at him. Don't get on to Adam, he's just looking out for you.
"I think I'm going to turn in early. I'm not feeling it."
"No alcohol poisoning, right?" He holds his hands out.
I nod and dismiss him, walking down the hallway to my room. Once I get in, I close my door and turn the fan on. I feel half dead. My limbs all feel like jello and every step I take I forget about the one before. I pick up my phone to text Anya, but set it back down. Don't text her.
I lay down on my bed and the room starts spinning. I can't lay here and do nothing. I pull out my phone and check the snap map to see if her location is on.
It is.
I know exactly what I'm going to do.
