Just the Beginning [Complete ✓]

Chapter 14

After supper, Adrian disappears to his room, but Sawyer still lingers around the kitchen after he and Carmela have dismissed themselves to their rooms (after I eventually convinced her to allow me to clean up. She looked far too exhausted to be worrying about the dishes.)

"Is something the matter?" I query, glancing over as the water runs in the sink. 

He looks as though he's been caught in the midst of something and honestly, the expression on his face is the closest to any of the expressions Cooper ever showed. With his wide eyes and mouth slightly ajar, he half appears ready to say something and half surprised that he's been caught at all. 

"I thought we could work on the assignment," he says, composing himself within seconds flat. His gaze wavers, but I don't acknowledge it as I start washing up the dishes. 

"Sure," I murmur. "But then when are you going to go home?"

He pauses, and when I look over, I can tell he's already got a reply with the way his lips part, ready to speak. He takes a moment before eventually, the words roll off his tongue so smoothly, I forget he paused at all. "I'm staying over," he says simply. "Carmela said it was okay," he adds quickly, most likely catching the look on my face. I think it's obvious, even to Adrian, that while I may be the daughter of the owner of the house, I still had respect for anyone older than me. Carmela is older, so of course, if she says its okay, I'll accept it as is. 

"I'll meet you in the living room."

"Okay."

It's moments like this. Moments like this, when he responds in a way so out of character, that makes me think he is Cooper. Moments like this where there's a tug at my heart because I know for a fact that he is not Cooper. He's Sawyer. Sawyer who only resembles Cooper; Sawyer with his manlier looks, solid green eyes and ever present scowl. He's not Cooper. He's nothing like Cooper.

Whether there was that linkage between them, he could never be Cooper.

I pass him on the way up to my room to get my things and he spares a glance, but then he looks away and hurries down the stairs and it's odd. It's odd.

The television is on, an episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine playing. He's seated at the coffee table and it's a little unusual seeing him there in something that isn't his uniform. He's in a sweater and pants and it looks so weird considering I've only really seen him in school clothes and he's hair is somehow all mussed up compared to earlier. When his gaze flickers to me, I pretend to be looking at the tv as I take a seat across from him. 

For the most part, were seated in silence. 

Sawyer sighs, disrupting the silence and the momentum they managed to create. Looking up, I don't miss the way his forehead creases and how his lips pull at the corners, morphing his expression into something resembling distaste. Though there's another word for it, I think, when the words pass his lips.

"Callan," he says, an involuntary shiver running through my spine. "Tell me why."

"It's Cal," I correct immediately, though soon my expression mirrors is. "And tell you why what?"

"Tell me why you don't like me."

"Tell me why it bothers you."

"Because you look like someone who likes everyone. Never upset and not one to hold grudges—"

You don't hold grudges, I can tell. You've got that look to you—

It's moments like these too. Where he says something that Cooper has said before and I think there must be something. There must be something connecting them because it's freaky that their words come off as almost one hundred per cent matching. It messes with my mind more often than  I would ever admit to anyone. It's like having him right here, despite knowing that he's not and it hurts. More than anything else, it hurts and all I want is to make the pain go away. To blink and open my eyes to Sawyer looking nothing like Cooper. I want it to be nothing but an illusion and I do that. I try every time.  To close my eyes and hope he'll look like someone else. He never does, and it tears at my heart and—

"Callan?"

I'm pulled from my thoughts to find him looking at me strangely. I swear for a moment, there's concern in his eyes, but then that moment passes and we're back to sitting in silence. Or, at least I thought we would be.

"Callan," he says, earning a heavy sigh from my part though I choose not to correct him. Not this time at least. Lifting my head, I lean onto my hand, elbow propping up against the table. If I could glare at him while talking, I would, but I don't.

"You realize the mere idea of that is preposterous," I say, eyeing him.

"What idea?"

"For a person to like everyone. There is not a soul who likes everybody, I can assure you."

"Fine," he mutters. He doesn't seem to believe me because his eyes stay on me, never once wavering. I don't blink and somehow, we've turned this into an unspoken staring contest. When his next question comes, I'm not surprised. "Who do you not like then?"

"My dad," I reply albeit a little too easily. I pretend that it's not, but it's a lie. I really don't like my dad. I wanted to, but the way he speaks and the way he treats Carmela and Adrian have diminished the respect I once held for him. Of course I don't tell Sawyer this. No; instead, I flick my pen between my fingers as I look at him, watching him as the question begins to formulate in his eyes. He looks so unsure. And then he stops, not knowing what to say, much less how to respond to the sudden confession. His hand is midair, the pencil still tightly held in his hand.

I quirk a brow. "Do you have anyone you don't like?"

After an extensive moment of silence, he's looking me in the eye again. "A lot of people, actually." 

With that, our conversation comes to an end; I don't ask any further questions and he doesn't pry further with regards to the reasoning behind my not liking him. The silence that follows is surprisingly comfortable and it's not until I look at the clock that I almost lose it. It's just after midnight, somehow. I can't even recall the time we started working.

"We should head to bed," I say as I pull myself up to a stand. Collecting my things, I don't make eye contact.  Not until I've gotten to the doorway to the living room where I pull to a stop and turn to take a peak at him. 

"For the record," I say and he's already looking up as I continue. "It's not your fault."