Timothee.

chapter sixteen. adele. 3 days later.

Living with Timothée was... well it was interesting. He had his things, and I had mine; but for the most part it was smooth sailing. After we kissed things had been kind of quiet between us. That night we had a few drinks, but then I went to sleep.

I'd never slept on feathered pillows before, but that was just amazing. Every night I felt like I was sleeping on a cloud. A cloud that smelled like bergamot and orange. Come to think of it, his whole apartment smelled like bergamot and orange. He was always lighting candles. My mother was always lighting candles too, until she left.

To be honest, every anxiety I was feeling a few days before had disappeared. I made it a point to not even glance at social media, and so did Timothée. Friends that had dropped me months ago were texting me, and people I didn't even like were DM'ing me on instagram. It was hell, but it was interesting to see how the people in my life were fairly shitty. Except for Timothée.

I had woken up, my face halfway buried into the beautiful feathered pillow, and my heart racing from the dream I just had. I didn't remember it, but it happens to the best of us. I rubbed my eyes, taking a moment to rest before I got up and stressed through the day. Especially that day. Carter was coming. I didn't even know what he looked like, but I had an idea. Maybe he wouldn't look like what I thought... maybe he was different. Maybe he could help me fully forgive Timothée.

I unfolded the duvet from on top of me, and saw my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. Usually I would've just wet my hair and threw it into a bun, threw on a pair of sweatpants and a jumper, and called it a day. But since we were having company, my mother always taught me to look my best or else it was just disrespectful. So today, I thoroughly washed my hair and used my best hair products. I diffused my hair, put on makeup which really consisted of foundation, concealer and mascara. I always wanted to get better at makeup. Finally, out of my newly extensive morning routine, I put on a dress.

It was just a normal white spaghetti strapped dress that fell below my knees, and was sort of a canvas texture. I slid on some white socks, and walked out of the room to serve myself breakfast. It didn't sound like Timothée was home.

Every morning I usually went down to a bodega with a deli, and bought myself a delicious breakfast sandwich. They always had the best. But, I was short on money now and I wasn't going to ask Timothée for any. I couldn't ask my dad, and I was too pissed at my mother to ask her for any. So at some point, I had to get a job.

I decided to just make myself some instant oatmeal. I poured the oats in a bowl, milk, and put it in the microwave, typing in the numbers.

"Mm oatmeal?" I heard the door close, and some shuffling. The man had an English accent, and I nearly froze in place. I hadn't even hit start yet, but they probably knew because of the box of instant oats sitting on the counter. "You must be Adele?"
I turned on my heels, looking him up and down. He had to be about 6'2", he had dreads that went down past his shoulders, and his skin was a lovely dark brown but also freshly tanned at the same time. He was basically just glowing. He put down his Louis Vuitton suitcase next to the couch and walked closer to me. "Or are you a completely different person, and I'm just an idiot."
"Sorry... yeah I'm Adele. Where's Timothée?"
"Oh don't worry, your lover just stopped by the market to pick up some coffee he said you were fresh out."
I awkwardly turned around to finish typing the timer into the microwave, and I pressed start waiting for it to be finished.
He walked closer to me, pretending to examine the box of instant oats which really weren't all that interesting. "You dont talk much do you? Timmy told me you'd be a bit shy." He smirked.
"Oh... Uh I don't know?"

The door opened again, Timothée walked in with a paper bag and immediately shut the door behind him with his foot. "My scarf fell off and well... You can probably guess what happened after," He chuckled, exasperated, "Oh so you two have met?"
"You could say that," Carter laughed.
Timothée trudged over to me, setting the paper bag down and gave me a look of reassurance. I hate to say that it worked.

*

I poured all three of us a glass of wine as we gathered into the living room. Carters blow up mattress had been carefully placed against the wall and out of the way, Timothée's blankets and pillows we folded on the side of the couch.
"I feel kind of bad taking up the bedroom," I mumbled, taking a sip of my wine. Timothée rolled his eyes playfully, and shook his head in response, "I don't care about that."
Carter was too busy examining us, his glass had been half gone already. Timothée huffs, looking at Carter, "Okay you've been staring at us for about 10 minutes now. Why don't you just talk?"

"Are you guys together or not? The way you guys interact is awkward, but loving. I don't get it. When do you break the ice between you two?"
I don't know, maybe I was just being a bitch but it rubbed me the wrong way. Why was it any of his business whether or not we were together, and why was he so worried about how we interacted. Maybe I just didn't understand friendship as well as the normal person would, but I felt as if that would've been our business.
It was about time I defended myself in front of somebody anyways.

"Why are you so bothered by the way we interact. If Timothée and I are anything besides friends, that's our business. I don't care who you are Carter, but the second you stepped foot in here you've been nothing but condescending. Why don't you just relax for a minute." I drank my wine straight after, my heart was pounding. Don't think for a second I didn't feel like a bad bitch in my head, but hey... If Timothée wasn't going to defend "us," somebody had to.