Page 20 of This I Promise You
I grin at A. Looks like we’re causing trouble. He sucks his lips in trying not to laugh and nods.
“But maybe he’s notthatbad,” I keep going, just quieter.
Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s just not very social and comes off as a total dick until you get to know him. I know it’s a lot of imagining and theorizing, but hell, I’m also in a class on the planets right now, and that’s not me.
“We’re talking about the same guy, right?” Aidan squints.
“Yes.” I nod. “Paul.”
“Nah, he’s a total fuckboy.” Aidan shakes his head.
Ugh. He’s right.
Paul
The Invitation
I’ve been doing two-a-days at the gym lately to make up for all the pizza and aggression I consumed during the movie night I had with Huxley.
I did end up apologizing to her…after three days of not being able to calm myself down. That weekend was rough for me. We didn’t talk, but I eventually explained where my head was at without actually telling her why that nickname is a trigger for me. I’m just not ready yet. Maybe I never will be. Gah, I need therapy.
Huxley said there was nothing to apologize for, but I think she understands. She and I have hung out a lot since then. It’s been about a week and a half and she hasn’t really gone out like she normally did. Aside from her rehearsals, she’s always at the apartment. I try to finish up my homework in the library so she doesn’t distract me, but I’ve been finding myself rushing to get home to hang out and eat dinner with her.
Getting home after a busy-as-shit school/gym/homework day is by far one of the best feelings in the entire world. I just want a protein shake, some fruit, and to bingeSuperstoretonight. Anything to let my mind go numb.
I discard my shit in my room. Not messily. Everything has a place and every place has a thing. Even if it’s bland as hell. Yeah, I still haven’t asked Huxley to help with my room. I have a low platform bed and white desk—Huxley helped me pick them out from Amazon—my TV and some books. The bedding is all white. The walls are white. Could be considered an insane asylum or minimalistic. The jury is still out.
Huxley did buy me a palm tree to put in the corner and a small lightly stained wood nightstand. Well shit. Maybe she did help me without me having to ask. Typical of her. My closet is full of shit though. And it’s color coordinated because duh. Though a quarter of it is gym clothes. My shoes are organized on the floor. Guess I have more shit than I thought.
I go to the kitchen to make my protein shake when my phone buzzes. It’s Huxley.
HUXLEY: Whachya doooooin?
PAUL: just got home. u?
HUXLEY: I’m home. In my room.
PAUL: then whyyyyy r u texting me? u HEARD me come in. u couldn’t just come to my room?
HUXLEY: It’s late. I’m tired. Didn’t wanna move.
I feel. I finish making my shake, grab a banana, and go back to my room.
PAUL: fair. what can i do you for, m’lady?
HUXLEY: Gym?
PAUL: nah. homework. lost track of time.
HUXLEY: Cool.
HUXLEY: Sooooo, I saw Easton today.
Oh hell no. I jump off my bed and walk swiftly over to her room. I throw open the door without knocking.
“Fuck if I care,” I declare.
She smiles and sits up in her bed cross-legged.
