After the last few bars, Warren opens his eyes, and I watch him notice that I’m still here. Then, all the fun energy blows out of the room like dust in the wind—which is coincidentally the song that begins playing. With an exasperated sigh, he lowers one hand to the remote, quieting the music a few notches. “You need something?” Warren asks flatly.
“Oh, uh. No.”Just watching, like a weirdo. A lonely creep.
“Thought you were out for the night…” He looks me up and down with a raised brow, eyes focusing on his second pass. I think he’s trying to decide where I’ve been in my purple jean skirt and polka-dot blouse that don’t give much away.
“Have fun?” he asks. His eyes give up trying to make sense of my clothes and look up to me, his expression bored.
I can’t help but wonder what he thinks of my outfit. Since university, my style could be defined asoversized toddler. And, truthfully—it’s the most me I’ve ever felt. I like colour and patterns. Sue me.
“Yeah.” I shrug.
“Not too much fun, I suppose,” he continues as I narrow my eyes. “If you’re home before midnight.”
“Well, the hospital visiting hours end at ten.”
“Ah.” I swear I see a small smile form before he looks back at the TV.
I walk around the couch and gesture to the cushion where his feet are. “May I?”
Warren shifts up to a sitting position, his legs bent and between us. I’m content to listen to the music playing from the TV, but he doesn’t turn the volume back up. I look towards him and watch him stiffen, his energy no longer relaxed or comfortable. His eyes glaring and fixed on me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly aware of every inch of space I occupy.
“We aren’t going to be friends, Chloe.” His voice is deep and full of unadulterated arrogance as he tilts his head in confusion.
I huff, making an effort to form a look of bemused shock that is totally unreflective of the rejection I’m feeling. “Well, damn. Okay.”
“I don’t mean to be an asshole… but I think that there isn’t any reason to try and force it for only five months.”
I don’t know what to say at first, so I wistfully look back towards the TV as the song ends and another ballad begins.
“We might have different definitions of friends, Warren. Usually, sitting on a couch next to someone doesn’t mean they’re looking for a BFF… unless you want to make friendship bracelets? I did that at summer camp once.”
His jaw flexes. “I want to make sure we’re on the same page. I don’t expect anything from you, for Luke or me.”
“Nor do I,” I retort. He rolls his eyes in response.
“What?” I sharply ask.
“I doubt that.”
I laugh without joy, my jaw working. “Why?”
“Because girls like you have had help your entire life.” Warren gestures around the apartment with an amused sort of annoyance. His eyes widen as if to say,look around you!
“Girls like me?" I scoff. “Please, do tell me more about myself, Warren.”
He drapes his arms over his knees. “You got the adopted, two parents, nice house, university, fancy-ass apartment experience. We don’t have anything in common.”
I actually feel stunned. When did he even learn these things about me? It isn’t even me, really—no one can be condensed into list form. “I’m sorry. I must be hallucinating. Are you seriously—”
“You disagree?” he interrupts. “You think you didn’t have it easier?”
“Well, no… but…” I stop myself as Warren leans back to rest his arm along the back of the couch.
“I’ll stay out of your way; you stay out of mine. That’s all I ask.” He looks at me, and his blue eyes look more grey than they have before. Clouded by judgement, apparently.
I try to think of a clever comeback, something that will convince him I’m not some stuck-up, privileged debutante. Then it hits me. Why? Why do I feel the need to explain myself to this near perfect stranger? He doesn’t know anything about me. He’s askingnotto know more.
