Status: Sorry to leave you hanging guys! The keyboard on my laptop is malfunctioning.
Stop Pretending That You're Sorry
24
“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” I don’t whether I was trying to convince him or myself of that, but I just kept repeating it.
Once again I was seated in the front seat of Mr. Harrington’s car, this time shaking uncontrollably. He kind of panicked when he found me, ushered me into his car and drove off.
“Regan, breathe,” He whispered, casting nervous glances at me.
“I’m fine,” That was bullshit, I was choking back tears.
“You don’t have to be fine. You’re allowed to be freaked out. I’m freaked out.”
And then I couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t hold the tears back. Everything I had been holding back unleashed in the form of loud, heavy sobs.
I didn’t even realize the car had stopped moving until a pair of strong arms wrapped around me. He smelt like old spice and mint gum. We sat like that for a while, him holding me while I cried, rubbing my back as he did so.
Crying in front of two hot guys within the same week, wow I sure was on a roll. Why did I have to be such a disgusting crier? I could feel my mascara running again, and the snot was building up in my nose, threatening to pour out. Fucking gross.
“Come on, Regan, let’s go inside.”
“Inside?” I sniffled, finally pulling away to set my green eyes on his blue.
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I took you back to my place. I don’t really know what else to do since you don’t want me calling the authorities.”
His little house was cute. A two bedroom apartment in one of those complexes where all of the units were on ground level and there was no lobby or anything, just doors into each apartment from the outside.
“My roommate should be home in a little bit,” Mr. Harrington said, flicking on a light and dropping his keys into a dish next to the door.
The inside was quaint too. There was the living room and kitchen in the same open space, and in the back were the bedrooms separated by a bathroom in between.
“His name is Max, he’s a cool guy, don’t worry. Do you wanna grab a shower and I’ll scrounge up something to eat?”
I let out a little cough and nodded. A shower sounded really fucking good.
“Alright, the bathroom’s right there,” He pointed straight ahead. “There are towels in the closet, help yourself to any soap, shampoo, or conditioner. I’ll grab you a change of clothes. I have some old sweats that are a little small on me, hopefully they’ll fit.”
It was nice being in a bathroom that wasn’t so claustrophobic for once. There was actually room to move around and breathe. The shower was also nice, with a single handle that operated both cold and hot water and a double shower head. The kind where you can change the water settings.
Though I couldn’t deny that it felt weird to be stripping down in my history teacher’s home, the temptation of a warm shower was too hard to resist.
I washed my hair, cleaned all the make up, tears, and snot off of my face and then just sat in there for a while, warm water beating down on my back. It felt so good, I didn’t want to get out, but the smell of food hitting my nostrils lured me out.
Searching around in the drawers under the sink and the cabinet behind the mirror, I managed to find a comb to brush out my hair. Then I dressed in Mr. H’s sweats. The sweatshirt fit alright, the sleeves came down a little past my hands, but that was fine with me. The pants however were rather big and baggy. I tried rolling up the waist but that didn’t do too much, they still slipped down a bit when I walked.
Screw it. I was hungry and frankly I didn’t give a damn if Mr. H saw the top of my panties.
“Ah, there you are. Perfect timing, dinner’s just about ready.”
He’d managed to cook up some rice and a stir fry in the time that I was in the shower. Granted I was in there for quite some time, but still that was impressive.
The only noise filling the room while we ate was the sound of forks scraping against our plates. It was really good, then again pretty much anything was good after eating the shit Anthony cooked up, when he actually did.
“You can spend the night in my room, I’ll sleep out on the couch.”
“I don’t want to take your bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re the guest, you get the bed.”
It was such a cliché argument and I was too lazy to continue, so I gave up and took the bed.
Once again I was seated in the front seat of Mr. Harrington’s car, this time shaking uncontrollably. He kind of panicked when he found me, ushered me into his car and drove off.
“Regan, breathe,” He whispered, casting nervous glances at me.
“I’m fine,” That was bullshit, I was choking back tears.
“You don’t have to be fine. You’re allowed to be freaked out. I’m freaked out.”
And then I couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t hold the tears back. Everything I had been holding back unleashed in the form of loud, heavy sobs.
I didn’t even realize the car had stopped moving until a pair of strong arms wrapped around me. He smelt like old spice and mint gum. We sat like that for a while, him holding me while I cried, rubbing my back as he did so.
Crying in front of two hot guys within the same week, wow I sure was on a roll. Why did I have to be such a disgusting crier? I could feel my mascara running again, and the snot was building up in my nose, threatening to pour out. Fucking gross.
“Come on, Regan, let’s go inside.”
“Inside?” I sniffled, finally pulling away to set my green eyes on his blue.
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I took you back to my place. I don’t really know what else to do since you don’t want me calling the authorities.”
His little house was cute. A two bedroom apartment in one of those complexes where all of the units were on ground level and there was no lobby or anything, just doors into each apartment from the outside.
“My roommate should be home in a little bit,” Mr. Harrington said, flicking on a light and dropping his keys into a dish next to the door.
The inside was quaint too. There was the living room and kitchen in the same open space, and in the back were the bedrooms separated by a bathroom in between.
“His name is Max, he’s a cool guy, don’t worry. Do you wanna grab a shower and I’ll scrounge up something to eat?”
I let out a little cough and nodded. A shower sounded really fucking good.
“Alright, the bathroom’s right there,” He pointed straight ahead. “There are towels in the closet, help yourself to any soap, shampoo, or conditioner. I’ll grab you a change of clothes. I have some old sweats that are a little small on me, hopefully they’ll fit.”
It was nice being in a bathroom that wasn’t so claustrophobic for once. There was actually room to move around and breathe. The shower was also nice, with a single handle that operated both cold and hot water and a double shower head. The kind where you can change the water settings.
Though I couldn’t deny that it felt weird to be stripping down in my history teacher’s home, the temptation of a warm shower was too hard to resist.
I washed my hair, cleaned all the make up, tears, and snot off of my face and then just sat in there for a while, warm water beating down on my back. It felt so good, I didn’t want to get out, but the smell of food hitting my nostrils lured me out.
Searching around in the drawers under the sink and the cabinet behind the mirror, I managed to find a comb to brush out my hair. Then I dressed in Mr. H’s sweats. The sweatshirt fit alright, the sleeves came down a little past my hands, but that was fine with me. The pants however were rather big and baggy. I tried rolling up the waist but that didn’t do too much, they still slipped down a bit when I walked.
Screw it. I was hungry and frankly I didn’t give a damn if Mr. H saw the top of my panties.
“Ah, there you are. Perfect timing, dinner’s just about ready.”
He’d managed to cook up some rice and a stir fry in the time that I was in the shower. Granted I was in there for quite some time, but still that was impressive.
The only noise filling the room while we ate was the sound of forks scraping against our plates. It was really good, then again pretty much anything was good after eating the shit Anthony cooked up, when he actually did.
“You can spend the night in my room, I’ll sleep out on the couch.”
“I don’t want to take your bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re the guest, you get the bed.”
It was such a cliché argument and I was too lazy to continue, so I gave up and took the bed.