Page 14 of Two days, One Pucking Night
Gritting my teeth, I close the chat, inhaling large gulps of air. I rush into the adjoining bathroom, quickly shower, and dress, ready to bury myself in Aria’s wet mouth and warm body.
Something, anything, is better than sitting here with these thoughts. These emotions.
4
SOFIA,
My head is pressed against the bedroom door. I’m trying to listen for any indication that Xavier might still be awake. The large clock above my bed tells me it is just after one in the morning, but I’m not ready to go out there and face him yet.
You’re an adult, and dick-swinging is part of the adult experience. I chastise myself as an image of Xavier’s tightly ripped body, third long leg, and thick girth flashes in my mind. I bite back the moan that threatens to claw its way up my throat.
My phone chimes on the bedside table, drawing my attention away from the dark pits my thoughts were headed down.
I go through the messages from my grandma, my best friend Sloane, and my cousin Harper, desperate for all the details. I sent them the images I took of the London Eye and the little quaint restaurant.
Turning to the messages from my family, I reach out to my Dad first since he is the most agreeable and understanding. He responds quickly, agreeing to butter up Mom before I return. He and I both know that is not possible, but I pretend since she’s his blind spot.
I move on to Zayn, whose apologies and calls are longer than an Excel spreadsheet. I’m glad he’s trying to fix this, but I’m still pissed and disappointed to even respond.
My hands hover over the last person on the list, the one I’ve been antsy about speaking to since I decided to board that flight. As I do so, a series of messages pop up from her:
I’m going to pretend you didn’t pull this stunt. When you get here on Monday, we will talk about this.
*Attachment - College acceptance letter*
I open the attachment, and my heart drops into my stomach. I read the acceptance letter from MIT for their architecture course. One I intentionally remember not applying to because I wanted to present an alternative to the course.
Another message immediately follows:
And we will also talk about this. Which you, fortunately, didn’t get into.
*Attachment *
I open the attachment and skim through the Fashion Institute of Technology’s letter. My eyes fall on the introductory, “unfortunately” line, and time seemingly slows. I fall on the bed, overcome with defeat.
I don’t bother responding. Shutting my phone off, I curl into a ball, unable to stomach it anymore.
I’m overcome with emotion, and tears threaten to suffocate me, but I push it deep down, refusing to let it dampen my time in London over the next few days. Especially for something I clearly no longer have control or say over.
I jump from the bed and head for the door. Pulling back the double mahogany doors, I peek through them and scan the passageway for any signs of Xavier.
My stomach grumbles, the sound long and drawn, reminding me I’ve been holed up in my room, hiding from facing him for too long. I’m not sure If I can continue hiding. The last meal I had was the truffles on the London Eye, the one before that was airplane food which barely satisfied my appetite, and that was over eight hours ago.
I put on my big girl panties and step out, tiptoeing, just in case he’s a light sleeper.
When I reach the farthest end of the passageway, the clanging of pots and pans catches my attention.
I contemplate turning back for a moment but my stomach protests. Hesitantly, I step into the large open kitchen area.
Xavier is standing in the center between the island and the counter, with a distant look on his face. The space is turned upside down. Plates, spoons, and dustings of flour and egg litter every single corner.
“If you plan to burn down the place, I think you’ll do a decent job of it.” I slowly make my way to the island.
Xavier raises his head from whatever holds his attention in the sink and tilts it in my direction. The light in his eyes from earlier has dimmed to a tiny ember, barely recognizable.
“What?” I point to the stove and the small batch of what looks like pancakes on the burning pan.
“Shit.” Xavier fans the pan with a cloth which only makes things worse. Smoke bellows into the air, and the surrounding flame intensifies.
