Wicked Love | √

Sixteen

"I did it," I whisper to myself in the warmth of my bedroom.

My eyes remain frozen on the computer screen in front of me in disbelief that I didn't just do well on my midterm. I fucking kicked it's ass and got an A+.

I let out an exhilarated squeal before slamming my hands over my mouth. A mix of relief and heartwarming satisfaction of what I accomplished strikes me, making me surge with a wave of happiness. I go to grab my phone and pull up Preston's number without a second thought.

My fingers move at the speed of light as I type out my giddy text.

A big part of me, the part of me that has been burned and twisted and rejected from my father, doesn't want to let anyone in and wants to dismiss his help and pretend I did this independently. Because I'm used to working all by myself and having no one to lean on when I'm succeeding on exams or when I'm struggling on papers. I worked through those tough moments. I put the extra hours in, and I worked and studied and pushed myself to get to this point. And no one else did that but me.

But the practical side of me knows he helped me, and that's okay I am slowly beginning to realize. It doesn't make me pathetic to need and seek out help like my father likes to make it sound. Because it doesn't take away from what I did and accomplished at the end of the day.

So I press send on the text.

I don't know why I think he'll respond right away. Maybe it's because he always does. He's always there when I send him a snarky reply or a question about my class.

But this time he doesn't, and something about that makes my heart sink into the pit of my stomach.

I hate expectations. Because as a woman I've always had them held against me, and they were always stupid and trivial so I broke every single one and developed my own expectations on my set of standards.

But without even knowing it I started creating expectations about Preston Rothwell. And now he's not meeting them and it's making me want to spiral as the heaviness in my stomach spreads into my veins.

So I decide to do something to take my mind away from those pesky expectations.

I toss my phone to the side and whip open my bedroom door. I walk into the living room with determination blowing through my brown hair as I make my way to the kitchen to spot my roommate and her cousin picking at a sushi roll between them.

"Let's go out," I declare boldly.

Two pairs of wide eyes land on me in stunned silence.

"And do what?" Annabelle questions slowly with a questioning gaze.

"Drink. Dance. Mingle," I reply like it's obvious. "Let's go to bars and make mistakes."

"Why?" my roommate asks, tucking loose strands of her short brown hair behind her ears.

"Do I need a reason?" I push not wanting the agitation of Preston ignoring my text to sink into my words.

"I mean kind of..." Elizabeth trails with a tilted head.

"Fine," I relent, understanding my friend's confusion on my sudden impatience to go out and break free from our apartment. Not so long ago I was reluctant to even want to go to Everett's party in the city. But this is different. I need the escape, and I need it with my best friends by my side. "I aced my pre-law midterm and I need to let out all this pent up studying energy I have," I confess with a sigh. I keep out the Preston bit not wanting to open that can of worms any further for the night.

My friends are still obsessing over the kiss between us that I am striving to forget all about.

Elizabeth's face brightens at my words. "Congrats James! I'm so in," she instantly agrees, popping up from her seat at the kitchen counter.