Fletcher.
I told the girls I talked to him, and things are better. It even seemed realistic because he was the one who told me that Zeke wasn’t throwing a party for his birthday this year. Truthfully, though, I think I’ve just gotten really good at putting on a façade.
The rest of the guys were oblivious when we were all together that anything was wrong; I just needed to perfect that and make sure everyone felt that way.
So, we’ve talked, we’ve hung out, typically with other people, but things feel normal… to them, anyway.
I use the excuse of writing new music and posting on social media as the reason why I don’t attend as many events or hang out every time I’m invited over here.
Honestly, the more I fake everything being okay, the more I start to believe it myself.
Then I start thinking about Fletcher with Casey, and I get a burning sensation in my chest. I begin to feel sick to my stomach, and I hate it.
I hate that no guy will ever compare to Fletch.
I hate that no matter how many guys flirt with me at parties, my eyes always find his.
I hate that I’m constantly wondering what he’s up to and who he’s with.
I hate that no kiss has ever compared to the one I shared with him.
And most of all—
I hate him.
For not feeling the same way.
Which I know isn’t fair to him; he has every right not to be in love with me. I just hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t fall out of love with him.
Which is why I’m on my third movie of the night.The Broken Hearts Galleryhas become a staple repeat on my romance movie-watching nights since I watched it with the girls a few months ago.
And even though I’ve seen it a dozen times, it still gets to me.
Every. Single. Time.
I shove my spoon into my pint of Ben and Jerry’sPhish Food, scraping the ice cream so it remains in an even layer, and then I pop it into my mouth.
As I do, I hear keys jingle in the door and the lock turn.
My heart sinks into my stomach because I have no idea who’s standing on the other side of that door.
Fletcher pushes through the front door, and my spoon falls out of my mouth.
Just my fucking luck.
“Hey.” Fletcher’s eyes widen as he sees me on the couch, the door sitting open behind him. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Yeah, well, the water isn’t working at the apartments, so Jere told me I could come shower here and hang out for the time being.”
I grab my spoon from my lap and set it on the coffee table, along with my ice cream.
“You messaged Jere over me?”
“I knew he was with his family; I didn’t know where you were. Didn’t want to bother you.”
It’s not completely a lie. I just didn’t want to find out what Fletcher was doing; that’s why I didn’t message him. Maybe the awkwardness between us is on me because it’s over the whole Casey situation. Still, he hasn’t done anything to try to fix it.
“You sure that’s the only reason?”
