When I look up at the screen in my hazy state and see that it’s blank, my stomach immediately drops because my mind goes straight to the idea that Drew brought some chick like Brianna over to get his rocks off.
After five minutes of stewing and coming to my senses, I realize I am losing my sanity in this house. Drew couldn’t have invited anyone over because no one else could get here, and as I pay more attention to the grunts, I start to hear the slamming of weights straight after.
He’s in the gym, and even though I know this, my mind can’t stop thinking about the thumps of aggression filling the room.
Drew’s in there…working out, and all I can think about is what Drew might be wearing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen guys working out in the gym before. Hell, I’ve even seen Drew a couple of times, but yesterday, when I saw him in that tight white shirt, and those gray sweatpants, it all hit differently.
I shove a pillow over my face, hoping the lack of oxygen might mean my brain has to prioritize something other than the subtle hints of Drew’s abs under his thin white shirt, or that bulge in his pants that I most definitely saw too much of last night.
After nearly suffocating, I throw the pillow off my face, knocking over my glass on the table. It doesn’t break, but the noise is loud enough to stop Drew’s grunting.
I freeze, clamping my hand across my mouth because I’m worried I’ll make enough noise that he’ll come out here and check on me.
When the familiar rhythm of grunts and bangs returns, I relax my shoulders and lie back on the sofa, thankful that I haven’t been caught yet.
Get it together, Bella. You hate Drew. You’ve always hated him. Just because he says a few nice things about liking you in high school, doesn’t change the fact that you’re sworn enemies. Always have been. Always will be.
I bite down on my bottom lip because his lips against my skin come to mind, and well, all that hate slips away like it’s nothing.
Scrunching my eyes closed, I try to remember the list of reasons why Drew and I can never be friends.
He hit me in the face with a football when we were thirteen. – but thatwas an accident.
He took my dad away – but that was because he didn’t have his own.
He mocked me at the end of senior prom with the rest of our class – although that didn’t happen according to him, so I’ll need to remove that.
He continues to mock me about Jimmy Johnson – but is that because he was angry at him for asking me out? Is that why they stopped talking?
He flaunts how perfect he is by dating the most beautiful girl at St. Michael’s.
I frown because that long list of reasons has been dwindling with every passing day, and the staple reasons on it are prettylackluster. Drew isn’tthatbad, and I’m starting to think that my teenage hormones exaggerated his effect on my relationship with my dad. I guess, in some ways, it’s easier to blame Drew than take accountability for my own feelings of worthlessness.
I open my eyes because no amount of scrunching will get Drew out of my mind. He’s built himself a comfy little house in there with enough food and water that I’m starting to fear that I’ll never get him out.
After another loud, aggressive thump, I decide that is the last straw. I’m all for exercise, but a four-a.m. workout routine isn’t going to cut it on Christmas morning. I need some sleep.
Grabbing my crutches, I grumble under my breath with every hobbled step. After five minutes, I lay my hand against the wall and take a breath. I know I’m a little out of shape, but walking around with crutches shouldn’t be this hard.