Clarity

||04|| Olinda

Chapter song: Can I Be Him by James Arthur

C H A P T E R  F O U R
Olias [oh•lie•us] POV

I quietly push the key into my apartment door, twist it, and push the grocery bags through the door first.

In a matter of two days, how in the fuck did I go from getting wasted in my room, to buying fucking Frosted Flakes for a girl I met not even twenty-four hours ago?

No clue.

I slowly shut the door, assuming Clarity's still asleep in my sister Vanessa's room.

It was around six in the morning when I woke to get dressed and take a trip to the supermarket. When I checked on her, she was sound asleep.

Walking towards my kitchen, I place the bags on the counter and drop my phone there as well, making my way to Clarity.

I eye the note I left her on the wall, still in the same place.

Stopping at the store, BRB. I wrote. She must still be sleeping then.

I halt when I get to my sister's room door, it's like a force field stops me from going any further.

It's been three fucking months. I shouldn't be this affected still.

It's just a room.

I twist the knob, entering. Only to find that it's empty.

My face drops as I scan every corner of the room. "Clarity?" I call out.

Did she leave? With no note? Nothing?

"Clare," I call out louder, towards the hallway. Maybe she's in the bathroom?

No, the bathroom is open.

Something foreign begins to twist at my chest as I thread my fingers through my hair, pulling slightly.

Why didn't she wait to say goodbye at least? She can't just save my life and then abandon me—

"Oh, Olias, you're back!"

I whip my gaze from the wall and towards the direction of the soft-spoken words.

And there she is, poking her body halfway out the door frame of my room, her smile showing between her long brunette strands of hair that hang in the air.

I sigh in relief, walking towards her, "Fucking hell, I thought you left."

She tilts her head, "Nope, still here. My shoes are right there on the ground, y'know."

She points to the floor at her white shoes. The shoes I completely overlooked.

I'm such a fucking idiot.

I look back down at her, "What are you doing in my room?" Subject change to save humiliation. Although, now I'm actually wondering what in the hell she's doing.

She shifts out of my room so that I can't see in, then closes the door. She's still wearing my sleeping pants and her tight shirt. Every curve on her is carved out, besides her full thighs that I know she has. They're buried in my pants that are too large for her on the waist.

And oddly enough, the sight of her in my clothes stirs a weird feeling inside of me. Like she's a magnet that my eyes can't help but be attracted to.

Her pinky goes up, "Okay, first, you have to pinky promise not to get mad."

My eyebrow raises in suspicion, "What did you do?" Did she kill my cat? I just got the damn thing.

She pushes her hand higher, "Swear that you won't be mad."