𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐋𝐈𝐈𝐈

• 43 •

Lauren Alexie might seem chill and fun, but if you choose to piss her off, make sure you've applied for a another country's Visa beforehand. "Okay, seriously," the woman put her hands on her hips, "Give me his number."

I lifted my eyes to her face, "What?"

Mom crossed her arms in front of her. The spatula in hand was a good prop, "I want to talk to him."

I sighed before I lowered my head on my folded arms on the table. My voice came muffled, "Mom, it's not his fault. It's mine."

I felt her walk, stopping behind the dining chair. Mom started stroking my hair, "Still, he could've been a bit more sensitive."

Keenan and sensitive don't go together. I closed my swollen eyes. Yes, swollen since I finally let it all out last night, "He's not the sensitive type."

My mother scoffed, "Not the sensitive type my ass."

Amusing as Mom was, I couldn't smile. I always thought that people were being corny dramatic when they talk about faking smiles and I don't smile, I'm sad main character like that, but now... now, with whatever I'm feeling, I get it. I can't smile. I don't want to. I'm not meant to. Not until I feel better. Not even for cookies.

"Okay, time for a cookie break." came a man's voice—Russell's.

I didn't even lift my head. But I have to admit, the smell of the treat was very tempting. I groaned, "Maybe later."

Mom's hand kept running through my hair. It felt nice. I missed this woman. I've told her that ten times already since I landed five days ago. It hasn't felt like five days though. More like five hours because fuck, the pain's still fresh.

As fresh as the cookies. Russell spoke again, "I added extra caramel."

My stomach rumbled. I forgot to eat lunch and my appetite was missing when I realized. I shook my head and continued my tale with misery. "And extra chocolate chips." Mom added.

My stomach rumbled again. I heard a plate meet the wooden table. "Okay, fine," I muttered, hand darting out to reach blindly for the circular little sugary fuckers.

"Eat as much as you want," I heard my mom tell me as her lips met my head.

So I did. In total, I ate more than I care to admit. And you know what's sad? that the unhealthful choice somehow led me to think about fast food and burgers in particular which eventually led to Keenan The Cheeseburger Master. Like dominos, the thoughts came stumbling after the other: Keenan and cheeseburger moments, Keenan and churro moments, Keenan and pizza moments, Keenan moments, Keenan. Keenan, Keenan, Keenan, I was growing sick of the fucking name and still, I get butterflies when I hear it.

My room was exactly how I left it. Mom never goes inside, not that there are remembrances of me. I took pretty much all my belongings to the city. It's just an empty room with a single bed on one side, a wooden desk made by Russell, the matching chair, and a TV bracket. The TV's been sold. The cabinets were earning dust but the curtains are changed regularly. The room's simple and small, just like me, unfortunately—me who's like every other girl—me who ended up wasting Keenan's time.

My phone lit up. I changed the wallpaper. But did I delete the photo? No, not yet. I keep telling myself that it's because I can use it for blackmail, jokingly, but no. I kept it because I love him.