Page 15 of Broken

I’ll let today play out, let him think I’m something I’m not, but when the sun goes down, so will everything about us.

When the shower is over and we’re both clean from the night before, we dry off and get dressed. I throw on an oversized ripped up shirt and he just slips his shorts back on. “So what’s the plan, West? We cuddle and talk about our feelings?” I bounce onto my bed, looking around the mess I made, my shit is everywhere and I have today to get it cleaned up before my mother gets back.

“I want to take you somewhere.” He says, “put pants on, sneakers and grab a backpack for snacks. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“You want to leave the house?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes.” He leans over grabbing the rest of his clothes and shoes, then steps towards me, dropping them right next to my leg. Before I realize what’s happening, his lips are on mine. Kissing me deeply I breathe him in, letting it happen as I try not to overthink this. “Be ready.” He commands as he takes his shit and leaves through the door instead of the window.

Falling back onto the bed, I groan, staring up at the stupid pink stars my mom hung years ago. They hang down as if its some sort of fucking prom night decorating committee came in here and barfed all their ideas on my ceiling.

Be ready. What does that even mean? What happens if I’m not ready, hell, I’m half tempted to just lay here to see if he even shows back up.

Be ready, means fucking nothing. It's been a half hour and he hasn't come back. He got what he wanted. What all men want.

Connections my ass. They want pussy. I popped his ‘cherry’ and he'll move on. Possibly making my life a nightmare in the process, fucking boys. I should've known. Stupid girl. Sex equals self harm. But there was something about how he acted that made me think he actually changed. Like he actually cared.

I should have known better. Fool me once, shame on you. But there won’t be a fool me twice. Not this time, and never again. I just have to get through this week, then we graduate and I can get the fuck out of here.

Pushing up off my bed I make my way to the closet, letting my fingers dance across my black clothes. I strip the t-shirt off, tossing it to the little shelf under my hanging shirts. I grab a button down white shirt and put it on, the black sweater vest goes on over the shirt. The clothes are long enough to look like a dress, so I grab my Demonia Bear boots and put them on. The black leather harness goes over my vest and I’m dressed for the day.

It’s the Saturday before Graduation, and I officially have no plans. So, I think it’s time I head out to get myself some coffee and do some research on where I want to go exactly.

I go into my bathroom, brush my teeth, make-up on my face and my hair on point in the large space buns. Studying myself, I see her staring at me. Disappointment radiating off me, she’s fallen for the trap again. Letting out a long breath I nod and leave, grabbing my cross-body bag as I head out of my room. When I go down the stairs I like to do little bounces, mostly because I want to see if I fall. The masochist in me dares me to do things sometimes.

I’m a total black cat, vibing my way through until I can get where I want to be. I’m not sure what I was thinking, sleeping with West and his golden retriever self, although, I totally didn’t expect him to ghost me. I mean, I expected something especially after he told me I was his first and then him washing me in the shower. I definitely felt like there could have been something real. But it was just my insecurities latching on to the guy while he was nice to me. Letting me have what I wanted.

I open my front door to find him standing there. “I’m so sorry. Mom wouldn’t let me leave without breakfast. She had a hundred questions as to why I didn’t come back home last night.”

Studying him, I realize that he’s dressed up. A nice pink collared shirt, a pair of tan slack and black sneakers. He wears a lot of pink. His hair is braided again and pulled up into a bun at the back of his head. There’s a simple gold chain around his neck and an expensive watch on his wrist. Then I notice the black roses. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her I stayed over here. Crashed after you needed help with something.” He hands me the roses and when I take them, I can’t help but smile. “I figured you’d want the black ones.” Bringing them to my nose I smell them. A dozen black roses, where did he even find these?

“Where’d you get these?” I ask, pulling them away from my face.

“From my garden.” My eyes widen at his seriousness at having a garden.

“Why do you have black roses in your garden?” I ask curiously.

“They’re Black Baccara Roses to be specific, but I have them in case I ever needed them.” He’s so nonchalant in his answer that it only makes me more curious. “Okay, we’re already behind on schedule, so let’s go.”

“Can we stop for coffee? That’s where I was headed when I thought you weren’t coming.” I say, stepping out of the house, shutting and locking the door behind me. My roses are in my left hand as he holds a hand out for me to take.

“Of course.” He says, lacing his fingers in mine. He leads me to his car and opens the passenger side for me. I’m not sure how I feel about all of this, his niceness is off putting. Like, people don’t act like this. Chivalry is absolutely dead, yet here I am witnessing it. Strange.

When he gets into the car, we drive off as if everything has changed. Has it? Did I just accept his invitation to be his girlfriend? Guys don’t buy flowers anymore. They send them in emoji form via text with a lame attempt of hitting on you.

“Are you a Dunkin or Starbucks kind of girl?” He asks.

“Ew, neither. 7Brew for me please.”

“Did not see that coming.” He laughs, slowing down for the stoplight.

“If I’m just doing a drive through I go to 7Brew, a large iced blondie, three times sweet and easy ice. However, if I'm sitting down to use my laptop in peace, like I had planned when I thought you ditched me, I would go to the cafe down the road.”

“What do you get from there?” He asks, turning right at the red.

“I like just a basic french vanilla latte. It always tastes the same.”

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