Once Timotheé calms down, I decide to talk to him.
"What the fuck happened?" I ask.
"Your ex was talking shit. He's the one who told the principle you had weed and stuff on you." He doesn't look at me. Of course he did, fucking loser.
"Okay, so how did you find out?"
He looks at me quickly. His eyebrows are knit together and he's chewing the inside of his cheek. He looks extremely worried. It's weird to see him like this. "Adam told me that he heard Lunden and one of his friends talking about it before weightlifting. So I confronted him about it and..." He trails off. I wait for him to answer, but he says nothing.
"And?"
He sighs. "He obviously isn't over you, Anya." He sounds resigned and frustrated. Well, I can't help that.
I chuckle. "I mean, you can see why, right? I'm obviously irresistible."
He tries to stifle the smile but fails and shakes his head. "We'll go with that."
I feel more at ease, but still worried. Not that Lunden would do anything, but I can't help the way I'm feeling.
We keep driving, and when we pull up to the apartment, my heart drops.
Sitting in the stairs is no one but my mother.
Timotheé's POV
My mood is only made worse when we park in our usual spot, and I see Anya's fucking mom sitting on the stairs leading up to the apartment. Anya looks at me, her cheeks red and her eyes wide. She looks terrified.
"What-" Her voice is hoarse, and she clears her throat. "What do I do?" She whispers.
"Anya, don't be scared. You're eighteen. She can't do anything," I inhale deeply. Why can't her mom just fucking leave her alone? She is a grown woman. Anya's mom can't stand that she has no control, and it's obvious. "Stay in here."
I get out of the car and close the door.
"I don't know how you found out where I live, but if you've come to start yet another fight, I will call the police." I tell her, leaning up against the car.
She looks at me, stupid. Than, her expression changes to one of determination and she stands up, walking towards me slowly.
"I told you what I would do, and I'm a man of my word." I warn her, completely not phased. She stops.
"Man?" She chuckles at me. "You're not a man, you're a boy, &-"
"Not a man, but I live and pay for my own apartment, right?" I motion at my apartment. "Did you think I had some rich mom and dad paying for this shit somewhere else? No. I don't. I work for this. Don't come near me or Anya trying to accuse me of being something I'm not," I take a deep breath.
"Anya has probably the worst anxiety I have ever seen in such a small girl. You have obviously not paid attention her whole life, and it's sad that it had to take eighteen years for another stupid ass teenager, nonetheless, to see that. Again, she's eighteen now, which seems to be something you don't understand. You can't do anything. You have no jurisdiction. So, I'm going to ask you to leave my property, before I either get mad or call the police. And I don't think you want either of those things, Mrs. Evans." I look at her smugly and squeeze the shits of my sleeves with my arms crossed to reign in my temper. What a controlling bitch. I hate parents like that. They exercise their control so negatively and they don't worry about how it will fuck up their kids. Next thing you know, their son is swinging in the closet or laying on his bed with a fucking bullet in his head.
She looks at me and her gaze softens. She looks at Anya in the car, and opens her mouth to say something, but dismisses herself. She walks away and gets into her car, pulling out of the parking lot. Anya gets out of the car, staring at me with shock. Don't thank me too much. I think bitterly. This whole situation has completely ruined my mood.
I walk up to the apartment, unlock the door, toss my keys on the couch and walk into the kitchen, where I take a drink straight from the bottle of tequila. When I recover from the rancid ass taste, I look at the doorway where Anya stands. She looks vulnerable from where I am. I stand and observe her, the bottle in my right hand. She stands with her hands behind her back, her glasses slid down her nose, looking at me like she's waiting for something. She really is a piece.
"Yes?" I wave my hand, than hold the bottle out. She looks at me timidly from the door way, than walks over to me confidently and takes the bottle from my hand, taking a big ass drink. Her forehead wrinkles as she cringes, and we both laugh.
"Thank you." She smirks, her previously pale cheeks turning pink.
"For what?" I roll my eyes.
"Getting rid of my mom." She scoffs.
"It's not too hard, she's submissive like you, Lilianya." I tease. She frowns.
"Don't call me that."
"Why not?"
"Because Anya sounds better." She sticks her nose in the air. I hold my hands up in defense.
"Okay." I say mockingly. She hops up on the counter. I take a glass and pour some of the tequila into it, than turn around and walk to stand in between Anya's legs. I put the glass to her lips and she gasps than giggles.
"Cold?" I ask quietly. She nods, than takes the cup from my hands and takes a drink while looking at me. After she swallows, she smiles. That's hot. I take the glass from her hand and set it on the counter behind me. I place my hands flat on her thighs and her cheeks turn even pinker. She smiles awkwardly.
I lean forward and kiss her neck.
"How was your day?" I whisper.
Her skin is so warm. "Good." Her voice is high pitched; She's trying to sound casual.
I suddenly step back and smile at her, tapping her thighs.
"Good." I chirp and walk over to the pantry to get a snack. I grab some Wheat Thins and when I turn to look at her, she's frowning.
"What?" I feign innocence.
"That's just rude." She jumps of the counter. I walk up to her and stand right in front of her.
"What is?" I say in a baby voice.
"What you just did."
"You said yourself," I shrug. "You're not that easy." I wink.
She gasps.
"Do you want to watch a movie?" I ask her. "We can get some food."
"Where's Adam?"
I laugh. "Hanging out with Avery tonight."
She looks confused. "She didn't tell me that."
"Text her than?" I put the Wheat Thins away.
"We should get hot wings." She chirps. I turn around and point at her.
"Fucking A. Hot wings." I kiss her forehead. I feel better now that I'm a little buzzed, and I know she does too. She's growing on me, honestly. She's got such an attitude on her, and despite her raging anxiety, she's strong.
"I'm going to go get changed." She informs me and walks briskly out of the kitchen. I take another cup out and I pour tequila into both, than I call B-Dubs to order wings.
Anya's POV
Timotheé has been different today. He usually is so angry and bitter and mean, but after last night he's been sweet, and caring. I know it's fleeting, so I'm not immersing myself completely into it.
Timotheé stands in the kitchen, almost done with his phone call ordering our wings. When he's done, he walks over to me, and runs his fingers through his hair.
"I got fries." He smiles. He looks so sweet when he smiles. I would have never guessed that his personality is the way it is.
"Cool." I say and tap the spot next to me on the couch.
He sits down and leans back.
"What do you want to watch?"
"No movies with inappropriate parts," I grimace. "I hate watching sex scenes with other people."
He clicks his tongue and looks at me which his eyebrows knit together. "But it's me."
"Doesn't make a difference." I wave him off. He chuckles. Prisoners comes across the screen.
"Oh!" I explain. "Let's watch that! That is such a good movie."
He starts playing it. "Okay."
He watch the movie in comfortable silence. I lay down at the other end of the couch and rest my feet on his lap. He randomly pauses the movie.
"What are you doing?" I look at him.
"We have to go get the wings," He smacks my thigh. "Let's go."
"I don't want to go." I whine. He looks down at me.
"Get up."
I groan and get up, and feel lightheaded. Whoa. He grabs his keys off the counter, and we leave.
When we get in the car, I feel dizzy but in the best way.
"Hey," I grab the auxiliary cord. "Can I play something?"
"Sure." He hands me his phone.
"Don't make fun of me." I laugh. He crosses his heart.
"I won't."
I open up Music and play "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus. This song always makes me happy whenever I'm in a bad mood. Even if I can't listen to it, I'll always hum it and it makes me feel better. It reminds me of when I was younger. When I'm happy, I get even happier. I start to sing along to the song, and move my feet.
"You're joking right?" Timotheé looks at me. I give him my biggest smile.
"This is my happy song." I laugh. He laughs too and shrugs. I roll my window down and feel the wind on my face. It makes my eyes water, but it feels good on my warm skin.
Once the song ends, Timotheé plays his own music, which I like equally, even though I don't know some of it.
We get the wings and than head home. When we get home, I kick my shoes off into the corner and lay on the couch.
"Give me wings." I reach out with my hands, and Timotheé hands me a bag.
