𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬┊✓

t w e n t y f i v e | p h i l o p h o b i a

«not edited»

philophobia (n) fear of falling in love or being in love
[origin : latin, greek]

"Adrianna, pack a bag for a few days, you're coming with me on a business trip," Phoenix said out of nowhere. And I barely manage to catch onto what he said.

I was in the living room of the Worthington's mansion, reading Shakespeare, when he walks in god knows when and states it. And if I had been anymore lost in reading sonnets, I probably wouldn't have heard him at all.

I turned around to look at him standing in the hall that led to his bedroom and he stood with a solemn look on his face. So he's not taking shit today is he?

"When do we leave," I ask in the same somber tone.

"Tonight actually," he replies in the same fucking tone. This conversation has got to be one of the most irritating I've had. And though he was pissing me off with his flat and cryptic tone, my eyes widened.

"Tonight," I asked, flabbergasted.

"Yes, Adrianna," he says through gritted teeth, "I don't like repeating myself." What the fuck is his goddamn problem?

"And you decide to tell me this only now," I ask in a condescending tone, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, goddamnit woman," and I realize that Phoenix Worthington is in fact angry and wearing very thin on patience. His eyes were cold and empty and he was tense.

"Okay," I answer quietly, "How should I pack?" My voice was barely audible and I was nervous.

His eyes softened for just about a split second before hardening once again, "We're going to New York City for the weekend, our flight is at midnight, so check in is around ten, I'm picking you up from your house at nine thirty," is all he said before turning around and walking toward the direction of his bedroom. Yes, because that totally answers my fucking question.

§

I'm back in my own room, a small suitcase opened on my floor and my closet a wreck. It was five now, leaving me with four and a half hours to pack my suitcase and get myself ready. I had my carry on packed already - my Vans watercolor pink and blue backpack - with my Macbook, writing notebook, BuJo, makeup bag, Canon, wallet, earphones, and all my chargers. It was zipped up and sitting by my door with my Eddie Bauer windbreaker laying on top for me to grab when I leave.

I had absolutely no idea why the hell Phoenix was making go on this business trip with him. Isn't a business trip solely for business, clearly I wasn't needed. It irked me, it pissed me off royally, and it bothered me to the nth degree that he had such a high power over me. I was never one to listen to what others had to say, I was never one to do as others asked. So why was it when Phoenix said something, asked me something, I was ready to give into him. He simply states that we're going to New York City and instead of giving him shit and refusing, I ask when we're leaving.

Looking around at what has become a mess of my room, my thoughts began to consume me wholly. I thought about him, I thought of him, he took over my mind completely. After that night spent at his bachelor pad, we returned back to the mansion the next day and he completely ignored me and shut me out, since then he's barely talked with me. And you'd be damned if you really thought he was ever gonna bring up any of the events that took place in his bachelor pad. It was as if it never happened, and even now, it's becoming a distant memory to me for I was in and out of conscious that night.