he dips into the kitchen before she can press the matter, and she sighs, settling back into the couch in almost a defeated sense. she hates this ———— dancing around in anxieties and worried glances. she doesn’t let him touch her, either, because now even the simplest brush of fingers sends her spiraling back to that night, and then drowns her in previous experience. it’d be so easy, to get caught up in everything that julian was, but she can’t allow that ———— not when it serves as a reminder to her being the means to an end.
she smells the marijuana not long after he enters the kitchen, and she sighs once again. she knows this will only lead to conversation, and she doesn’t want his excuses ———— i’m sorry, you’re my best friend, i didn’t want to hurt you. it’s always the same with him, and she wonders if she should’ve listened, when she was urged to grow beyond him. but she could never leave julian behind ———— something in her is just TOO KIND, despite being used again and again.
he returns and head rises to glance his direction ———— he’s back, sans soda, and the expression on his face is determined. knees are pulled to chest and she listens to him confirm thoughts ———— yeah, it was linda alright. “ i think i would’ve been okay without confirmation that a movie character turns you on, ” she says, a little exasperated, before letting him continue. brows raise at words, and she wonders if she should LEAVE ———— let him wallow in whatever guilt he held, and walk away. but she doesn’t.
“ i ———— look, juls, it’s not … i’m sorry. it’s just … that meant more to me than it did you, and everything just reminds me of that and ———— ” she cuts herself off, burying head in her arms, embarrassment tinging cheeks. she wishes she were like PIPPA ———— committing to what she wants, unafraid to pursue it. instead she’s CHELSEA ———— sad, boring, uninteresting. a SECOND CHOICE.
“ and i know i wasn’t your first choice, and that you probably tried seeing pippa or someone else, but … ” she trails off, unsure what else she can say.
why julian had thought himself to have known the secret to mending what he’d broke, he couldn’t say. if the solution had ever been within his reach, he would’ve used it by now. but it wasn’t. because despite surges of courage and creativity, julian still didn’t know what to do. or what to say. he thinks he knows—and then somehow, magically, he makes it worse. even when you’d think rock bottom had been reached, he manages to dig himself down deeper, and deeper, and deeper…
❛ what, you think i planned it? that i chose to pass out in front of your house on the off chance that—christ, chelsea. i don’t like pippa. i never have, and i never will. ❜
there it was again : that sick concoction of offence and guilt, and it fills his bloodstream with a burning cold. he’s offended for what she thinks, he feels guilty that she does—creating a vicious circle of emotions indecipherable to a boy already struggling. HE DIDN’T WANT PIPPA. not beyond the platonic anyhow. and with a year and a half separating their last non platonic endeavour and now… it was safe to say repetition wasn’t on his agenda. or hers for that matter.
suppose he should give chelsea more time—to process and to be upset. after all, it might as well have been yesterday in her eyes, all while ancient history in everybody else’s. but he’s impatient, and with hurt trickling in, the waiting game becomes tedious. like old wounds picked at, places that ought to have been faded scars now raw scabs instead. he gets it. still he doesn’t. a distance kept (like she’d want it), julian heaves a sigh at inadequacy felt.
❛ … it did mean something. ❜
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