Status: Active
I'm Gonna Get Through to You
Chapter Thirteen.
I kept the note Shaant left me in my pocket, and I never mentioned it to anyone. Not Cassie, not Andy. It was a small reminder to the Shaant I liked. The shy, insecure, talented Shaant. I took it with me wherever I went.
After another week, I was informed that the Hacikyans were coming to dinner, and I was to get dressed nicely. I just did what I was told, and that night I kept that note in my bra, as strange as that was. The dress didn’t have pockets, alright?
When I finally came downstairs, I found Andy, Shaant, Mr.Hacikyan and my dad in a little circle, talking. When Shaant saw me, I swear I saw a tiny smile flash across his face before he glared at me.
“Hello gentlemen,” I greeted, smiling a little.
“Hi, Annabelle,” Andy said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a brotherly way. Shaant’s dad nudged him.
“Hi,” Shaant said in a strained voice. I waved. Andy sighed a little, looking at Shaant and me in turn. It was like he could see through the fancy bravados we could only see of each other. He gave me a small smile before walking away, following after the dads; leaving me and Shaant alone.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled quietly, feeling the note press against my chest. He raised his eyebrows at me.
“Excuse me?” he asked. I rolled my eyes.
“You heard me,” I said. “I mean it. For everything. I’m not usually such a bitch. I’m just so sick of my parents trying to control me. It’s unfortunate for you that you’re kinda the last straw. I have a feeling we would have been pretty good friends.”
“Why can’t we?” Shaant asked, giving me a look.
“What?” I asked stupidly.
“Why can’t we be friends?” he asked. “Let’s just forget about this whole marriage thing. Let’s just start over,” he suggested.
“Can we even do that?” I asked, kitting my brows together. He shrugged.
“I don’t see why not,” he answered. I bit my lip, thinking about it.
“We can,” I said, nodding. Shaant smiled and he held his hand out.
“Hi, I’m Shaant and I’m a musician,” he said, giving me a look. I smiled a little, taking his hand.
“Hi, I’m Annabelle and I’m sick of controlling parents,” I answered, shaking his hand.
“Maybe we should hang out sometime,” he offered.
“Maybe we should,” I repeated. I have a good feeling about this. Maybe Shaant and I could actually be friends.
After another week, I was informed that the Hacikyans were coming to dinner, and I was to get dressed nicely. I just did what I was told, and that night I kept that note in my bra, as strange as that was. The dress didn’t have pockets, alright?
When I finally came downstairs, I found Andy, Shaant, Mr.Hacikyan and my dad in a little circle, talking. When Shaant saw me, I swear I saw a tiny smile flash across his face before he glared at me.
“Hello gentlemen,” I greeted, smiling a little.
“Hi, Annabelle,” Andy said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a brotherly way. Shaant’s dad nudged him.
“Hi,” Shaant said in a strained voice. I waved. Andy sighed a little, looking at Shaant and me in turn. It was like he could see through the fancy bravados we could only see of each other. He gave me a small smile before walking away, following after the dads; leaving me and Shaant alone.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled quietly, feeling the note press against my chest. He raised his eyebrows at me.
“Excuse me?” he asked. I rolled my eyes.
“You heard me,” I said. “I mean it. For everything. I’m not usually such a bitch. I’m just so sick of my parents trying to control me. It’s unfortunate for you that you’re kinda the last straw. I have a feeling we would have been pretty good friends.”
“Why can’t we?” Shaant asked, giving me a look.
“What?” I asked stupidly.
“Why can’t we be friends?” he asked. “Let’s just forget about this whole marriage thing. Let’s just start over,” he suggested.
“Can we even do that?” I asked, kitting my brows together. He shrugged.
“I don’t see why not,” he answered. I bit my lip, thinking about it.
“We can,” I said, nodding. Shaant smiled and he held his hand out.
“Hi, I’m Shaant and I’m a musician,” he said, giving me a look. I smiled a little, taking his hand.
“Hi, I’m Annabelle and I’m sick of controlling parents,” I answered, shaking his hand.
“Maybe we should hang out sometime,” he offered.
“Maybe we should,” I repeated. I have a good feeling about this. Maybe Shaant and I could actually be friends.