Imperfect | est. 2015

11. Different Levels

Let's just say I wasn't surprised when Connor would stall day after day in order to decide when he would finally face his fear and how.
I came up with an idea first, that upcoming Saturday, "Sit." I tell him, and shove him into the bean bag chair of my bedroom.
He scoffed and fell back, effortlessly.
Addison was groggily untangling her hair in the bathroom down the hall. She hadn't left my house since the night of the carnival. Connor did. He would leave, check in with his family for an hour or two, then come back.

I sit with my legs folded on the floor in front of him and he watched with sarcastic fascination.
He latched my own fingers and sat with posture so I would stereotypically look more mature, "My plan is, you have to survive an elevator,"

His eyes nearly popped out of his head... but I wasn't done, "To the top floor and back of the tallest building in town."

He was quick to rapidly shake his head, "I can't even imagine that... no."

I lifted my hands, giving a white flag, "You can't call it quits. It was your idea."

"But that sounds so horrifying."

"Exactly." I snapped my wrist at him.

He stuttered, nervously, "Can we ease up on it a bit?"

I almost bursted into laughter, "Do you understand what you're going to put me through? We'd be equal."

I didn't sound very serious although I was meaning to.

He takes a second and lowered his head while he thought about it.

There was a decently long pause before either of us said a thing after that.
He was trying his best to build some pre-courage, for my sake. And for his own sake.

He nods slowly, then looks up at me. I thought he would say something stubborn, but he looked me in the eye, smiles and agrees to it with sudden confidence.

That's when Addison walked in with a toothbrush in her mouth and her hair in a messy bun, "Am I interrupting something?" She jokes with a mouthful of toothpaste.

She had on a tye-dye colorful shirt with a flowered headband and hardly any makeup on. She wore roughly, ripped up shorts and some in-style sandals. She was stylish, but extremely colorful. She nearly looked like a hippie.

Connor chuckles at her, "Thought about what you wanna face yet?"

She didn't get what he meant, "What?"

"Your fear. Have you thought about what fear you want to try and get over?"

She stops the movement of her toothbrush and looks at the two of us, solemnly. She seemed almost disappointed with what she was going to say, "Yes..."

Connor smiled, widely and stands up, "Well, what is it?"

She scratched the end of her nose and sighs, "I--...," She stuttered, "I want t--... or at least try to... stand up to Anthony."

Connor and I glance at eachother in awe. Her choice took just as much bravery as our's did.
We lowered the corners of our mouths to show the "impressed" look, and then peered back at her, "That's a great choice."

Connor opened one arm to set it on her shoulders and pulled her closer. He tilts his head at some angle so he could see her face clearly, "And we'll be with you for the whole thing,"

She smiles with rosy cheeks and looked up at him, sweetly.

And he continued, "that'll be the fun part."