Looking for trouble | Vol. 2 | Jamie Bower fanfiction

21 | Movies lie

Jamie

I have been at shore for about 2 hours. Patrick and I got out of the water as late as tree pm, it's now past five and I am in a comatose at the back of the car, almost past out with exhaustion. We had an early dinner (I paid the damn bill...) after surfing and after that I became so drowsy I was about to pass out right then and there. So Godfray and Patrick got me out in car some huge silver truck-like thing Godfray had rented, they were sitting on the front seats talking quietly. My head hits the seatbelt and everything goes black.

When I wake up again the car it's cold and the sun has gone down. The world is pale blue colour. They have just left me here to fend for myself? God they could have woken me up!

I sit up, my body feel broken after sleeping in the car, yet I feel refreshed. I see a note on the seat next to me. I pick it up

Remember to lock after you. Keys at your feet.

I look down and surely enough there it is. I take it and open the door. I take my time to stretch my sore limb each at a time, rebooting my circulation.

When I am all unfolded I smack the door shut, click the loch button and begin to trot up the stairs to the flat with heave steps, it's on the fucking 5th floor and the trainer - or senpai, whatever - had forbidden us to use the elevator. I am about to go past Skye's flat, but I stop as I remember what Patrick told me out on the water. The break up sex loop... Wonder if? No, it's ridiculous. I take out my phone from my pocket. And click it.

09.16 pm

Okay, so it isn't that late. I play with the thought of going in Skye's flat - I should say Jorge, Evelyn and Skye's flat but whatever. Would she be there? Would she be alone? Would it work? NO, of course it wouldn't. It's stupid. I shake my head at my own ill-advised curiosity and start forward towards the door of my own shared flat. But I can't help but wonder just IF it would work, if she would go along with it. It's not like Skye isn't one to take chances and get lost in a moment of young naivety. My own curiosity gets the better of me and the fact that images from last Skye and I fucked, definitely didn't help. Screw it. I turn on my feet changing directions in the splits of a second. I go to their door, opening it slowly. Then I realise that's even more suspicious and swing the door open casually stepping in, as if I am invited. There is no one in the kitchen, but I hear a faint clatter in what must be the living room. The TV is on and I hear a masculine and feminine voice talking. I stand still listening, trying to make out whom. If Skye is in the living room with the others I might as well leave. I need her alone. Otherwise it would never work.

No it would never work... Why am I doing this? God, I shouldn't let Patrick get in my head like that, with all his 'bro code - how I met your mother' - nonsense. I dwell in a pit of indecisiveness, shifting for one foot to the other in their little surprisingly clean kitchen. Stainless steel, white cabinets, the simple black table and chairs with geometric patterned pillow neatly ordered. 'Okay, Jamie you moron', I tell myself, 'it comes down to this: should your cock win or your dignity?' This decision honestly is harder than one should think. Unable to make the decision whether to go charging into Skye's room, testing Patricks theory or if I should just go to bed and sleep of this insanity, I just stand there almost asking to be caught.

"Jamie?" A hoarse groggy voice mutter behind be, I whirl around faced with a tied-eyed Skye, rubbing her red eyes in disbelieve. She looks as if she had been crying hard, "what are you doing out here?" she asks.

"Aaahhhh..." is my intelligent answer.

She huffs at me - seemingly suddenly uninterested - and walk past me over to the kettle, she clicks the button on top coursing the kettle to start boiling slowly. Then she in quick precise movements places a cup on the table, goes to another cupboard with tea sorts in it, picks some tea I didn't catch the name of and lowers a teabag into her cup, making sure the end hangs on the edge of the cup.