The Golden Boy

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"Hey." He smiled. His lips stretching a little and an elongated dimple appeared on his cheek. "You didn't sit with us today. Were you trying to avoid me?"

I swallowed. "No. I wasn't. I just had some last minute homework to do." I provided and tried to get my elbow out of his grasp. "Well, I'm getting late. So..."

"I promise, I won't take long." He said leaning in. I covered his mouth with my palm.

"Listen," I took a self- motivating breath. "Whatever happened at that party, forget it. We were drunk. It isn't happening again."

The shine in his eyes dimmed a bit." We can do it again sober, right?" He mumbled under my palm. "I mean, I wasn't drunk. A little tipsy, maybe." He shrugged.

"No. It won't happen again. Not drunk. Not sober. Never. Now, excuse me." I was about to reach the door when his hand held mine again and turned me around gently.

"Hey, Fiona. Tell me this, okay? Do you... Do you regret it?" He asked. His eyes searching something desperately on my face. And I realized that he wanted me to say no. That he wanted to do it again and maybe this time with intentions more than just of some drunk make out.

But I didn't want to tell him what I really felt. That I too, wanted to kiss him again and this time without any influence of alcohol so, I could remember exactly how fine his lips would feel against mine and how my body would hum. I didn't want to tell him because I was Fiona.

The girl who punched boys when they entered my personal space.

The girl who hated boys.

That's why I said what I said next.

"I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings or ego or whatever but that night, was a mistake. I don't want unnecessary drama in my life so please, forget it. And don't talk about it with anyone please. Now, seriously, I'm getting late."

I didn't wait to see his pinched eyebrows and thinned lips because damn. I, myself, felt my stomach drop when I said the word mistake.

××××××

"You did what?" The nib of my pencil broke because of the sudden force I put on it, unintentionally.

"At the party... I... I—kisse—"

"For f**k's sake, Bree. I heard you the first tim—"

"Miss Marriott, I would advise you to continue your important discussion after school ends. Students are trying here to learn something."

I offered the stuck-up professor an overly sweet smile and ducked my head to scowl.

"We are continuing this right here, right now," I murmured in a considerably low voice. "And why'd it have to be him? An i***t, fuckboy. Even his name is ass-ton." I heard her wince when I said the word Fuckboy.

"But Fy…" her eyes swept up to check if the professor was still on our asses. "He hasn't been with anyone since he asked me to be his date on homecoming. And you should've seen his face when he—" I snorted at her excuse.

"That's bullshit, my friend, and you should know it, too." After that, we stayed silent. Even when the period ended, she went to some after school meeting for a club she'd joined, barely mumbling a bye to me. Like I had somehow hurt her feelings.

And maybe I did.

I drove my car home. The whole ride, The chainsmokers' 'Paris'—The Chainsmokers are my Bree's favorite—kept my mind away from the shitty pile of hypocrisy that was currently possessing me.

But, as soon as I parked under my usual spot under the tree on the right and turned the ignition off, the world bacame silently loud. My forehead made contact with the steering wheel with a thud.

What was I doing?

I kissed Chase the same night that Bree did Ashton. I'd been drinking alcohol and so did she then why did I have to be an asshole to her about the whole f*****g thing.

At least she was handling it way better than I was.

And to make me feel worse, I didn't even try to tell when she basically gave me a two minute monologue of her thought processing.

I feel so horrible.

Once again, my personal grudges against had caused uncalled problems between my and my bst friend. Once again, I let my problems affect the people around me.

But hell if I won't try to correct that.

I picked up my phone from the dashboard and dialed the number from my favorites. It rung before going to voicemail. I tried and and tried again before accepting defeat and leaving her a voicemail to call me back later.

The empty home welcomed me and the temperature felt colder than the other days. I don't know if it was just the AC or the cold void inside me trying to creep out.

Eh. That was too dramatic.

God, I missed the sound of TV running shows in background and the messy couch I would find in the living room.

I missed pops.

It's getting close to a month since he went to his other son's home. Hasn't he had enough? Maybe not.

Uncle Jace was his favorite from the way pops would tease dad, at times. Aunt Cindy was the opposite of my mom, too. And she has three maids for housekeeping so, she doesn't have to scold him for the mess he is expert in making.

But they can be a handful to handle at times, too. That's why I think he prefers to stay with us.

I could've stopped him from leaving but I didn't. I couldn't.

I couldn't tell them that being in this huge ass home, my own damn home, is what I'm afraid of. Slightly.

That's why, when in my room, I blasted the room with deafening music and went to bathroom.

I went to kitchen to put the leftover food in the microwave when my phone pinged with a notification from i********:.

Caly_J13 started following you

Her profile photo was of her face angled sidewards, eyes shut. The sunlight—or maybe it was just the filter—fell on her face in a way, she looked no less than a model for a beauty product.

I scrolled on her profile and noticed that almost every photo was taken like a professional photoshoot was done.

Soon after, another ping sounded and this time it was a follow from f*****g Jayden.

A message request accompanied it that said, 'Yo, bestie?'