.Chapter 3.

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"I can help you bring him back."

My eyes widened in disbelief, and I looked at Bradon as though he had sprouted a second head. "Right," I scoffed. "Like I actually want that."

You know you do . . .

"You should have seen both of your lovestruck faces."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, you've been observing us all this while? That's creepy."

"Just get my point," he snapped.

"I can't, okay?" I said almost whispered, and his features softened. "I-I just can't get your point. I mean, why do you want to help me in the first place? I don't even know you!"

"I don't know why I want to help you!" he said, waving his hands to his sides.

'That's rubbish," I said coldly.

"Okay, I-I know why I want to help you, but I can't tell you."

"And why is that?" I asked impatiently, tapping my fingers on the counter.

"It's-it's kinda personal," he stuttered, and actually blushed after that. "God, it's so embarrassing. I feel like a girl."

My lips twisted into a smile as I watched him getting flustered for no reason. "Fine, but how are you going to-"

"Here, I got it." Julian burst through the door, carrying a box. "Sorry," he grinned sheepishly. "The party was in full blast, and it was hard to weed my way through the kitchen."

"Yeah-"

"It's fine," Bradon cut my sentence off. "But she was waiting for you, bro. Should've hurried up."

What? Was this his technique? Real smart Bradon, I thought, trying not to shoot daggers at him in front of Julian, or he might think that something was up.

Julian looked at my cut, and then tenderly at me. "I'm so sorry, prin-Chris."

Here comes the 'princess' word, and the squiggly feeling in my stomach.

"It's fine, really," I smiled as he lifted my dangling leg up and placed it against the cold bathroom counter.

"This might sting a bit," he said, his cute little eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

I winced as the cold medicine came in contact with my skin.

"How come you are here, Bradon?" I asked. The question had been bugging me since the beginning. "I mean, at a high school party?"

He smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I hadn't been to a high school party or a frat party since ages," he said. "For obvious reasons," he added. "So I have this friend of mine, Alec Herrington, who also happened to be a friend of Jace, the host of this party. By the way, how do you know Jace?"

I rolled my eyes. "We go to the same school. He's a senior like us."

"Right," he said. "We planned to create a distraction, so that the people's attention would get diverted, I would be able to slip in quickly from behind, which I did. That's why I was in the remotest corner of the house, where apparently you wanted to be too," he chuckled.

I grinned at him.

After a few minutes of jabbing the ball of cotton here and there, Julian was done, and gave me a satisfied look. "There. Now you'll be back on your feet in no time."

"Why, thank you, Dr. Sommers," I said, giving him a flirty smile.

"Not at all, Ms. Hawkins," he said, playing along. He bowed down like a gentleman, and took my hand, gently kissing it. I applied some pressure on his hand, and jumped down from the bathroom counter, my leg feeling decidedly better.

His arm subconsciously went behind my back to guide me, and I looked up slightly at Bradon. He mouthed a big 'NO!' and I had no choice, but to let Julian's hand touch the skin of my stomach, wanting me to scream at him to stop all these touchy-feely things: they were starting to give me a headache.

I shivered, and unfortunately, Bradon saw it. "You cold?" he smirked.

Stupid ass. He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Nope," I said.

"I would have given you my jacket, if I had one with me," he continued ruthlessly.

Just stop already!

I could feel Julian's grip tightening on my waist, and I gritted my teeth. "Thanks, but I'm not cold."

There . . . I solved the situation, I thought, as Julian's grip visibly loosened on my waist. "I can walk on my own, Julian," I said impassively, and slapped his hand away from me. "C'mon, let's join the party."

"I can't, remember?" Bradon said, annoyed.

"Then why are you even here?"

"I have my own drinks," he said.

I rolled my eyes, still not understanding his logic, but whatever. I was here to have fun.

"Do you have anything that will cover my identity?" he asked.

"Sunglasses?" Julian suggested halfheartedly.

"No, I have the perfect accessory," I said as Bradon opened his mouth to speak, and took the black fedora off my head, putting it on his head and giving it a little pat down.

"Thanks," he grinned.

"As much as it suits you, it looks better on me," I commented with a hint of arrogance.

"Sure," he muttered, observing himself in a mirror, and adjusting his hair and the hat.

But he actually looked hot. He was wearing a white t-shirt which was roughly cut at the sleeves and the bottom, and black skinny jeans. He was wearing a silver rectangular chain in his neck, and he had inserted his sunglasses in the upper edge of his t-shirt. All in all, every accessory gave him the badass and smoking hot look.

Julian cleared his throat, gaining our attention, and motioned us to leave the room.

"Are you gonna dance?" Julian asked me.

"I think I'll pass," I said, looking down at my foot, which wasn't that even painful now. But somehow, I didn't have the guts to dance with him.

"Okay." He nodded at Bradon, and left, dissolving in the crowd.

"Why didn't you go with him?" Bradon questioned, pouring himself a generous cup. I shrugged, and took the cup from his hands, ignoring his protests. After hearing him grumbling about how mean I was, he poured himself another drink, keeping it well out of my reach.

"How old are you?" he asked me. "We must get to know each other if I want to help you."

"18," I replied with a nod.

"Favourite colour?"

"I don't have one. And you have to answer the questions you ask me, too."

"Fair enough. 20, and black. Sometimes blue."

"Um, favourite character from Two and a Half Men?" he asked.

"Alan, obviously," I said in a 'duh' tone.

"Mine too, but sometimes Chelsea. She's hot."

"What else can be expected from you?" I snorted. "I like her because she's cool."

"Cool," he repeated. "Favourite parent? I mean, are you daddy's princess or mama's caked-up doll?"

I tensed up at that question and said, "I'd like to pass that one."

"Oh no, you can't," he said feigning dismay. "Or is there . . . is there a problem?" he asked, disconcerted. "I didn't mean to call you a caked-up doll. You aren't one. I've seen many big layers of makeup to tell you that. Ugh, why do even girls apply that much makeup? I mean . . ." he continued rambling, and I smiled to myself. He was telling me how annoying all of that was. I mean, I know, right? Annoying.

". . . are you even listening to me?" he said.

"Huh?" I said distractedly. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Nevermind," he said, and rolled eyes, averting his gaze somewhere else. "Ah . . . I see someone staring at you," he said biting his bottom lip, his eyes flicking continuously at a corner.

I glanced at him, surprised at myself for finding the lip-biting extremely sexy.

"Who?" I said, masking my thoughts by using a bored tone. I just wanted to go and dance. This night wasn't turning out the way I wanted it to, at all.

"Juliet," he said, and then laughed at his own joke.

"Haha. Very funny," I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the smile forming on my face. "Is he really looking in this direction?" I asked nevertheless.

"Yes, Ms. Desperate."

"Shut up, Bradon."

"Care for a dance?"

"Go away."

"Aw, come on!"

"No, I'm not dancing with y-"

But before I could finish my sentence, he had pulled me up from the sofa we were sitting on and started dancing. I finished the rest of my drink in a go, and joined him.

"Hmm . . . not bad," he smirked, as I moved my hips.

"I'm a cheerleader. What do you expect?" I said, deadpanned. "And you're not a bad dancer yourself," I added. "Or not." He started flapping his hands like a penguin, and almost tripped over a carpet in the spur of the moment. I laughed out loud, and he joined me.

"I'm never ever dancing again," he panted, as he pulled me out of the crowd. I was still laughing and said, "That was hilarious! I like it when you're embarrassed."

That was definitely the drunk me talking.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, grinning sardonically. "I'm glad that you find it amusing. Oh, look," he tapped my shoulder. "Pretty boy's coming this way." And sure enough, Julian was walking towards us. He forced a smile in Bradon's direction, and turned to me.

"I need to talk to you."

"Sureee . . ." I slurred. He took my hand and dragged me to a room. "Talk."

"You're drunk. I need you to be sober."

"I'm not drunk," I defended, raising my voice. What was his problem?

"You are," he rolled his eyes, and I felt a wave of anger surge inside me.

"You're not my father!" I yelled at him, and he looked surprised. "No, no . . . Carry on, actually. Be my father. At least I'll have assurance that I have a father who cares about me."

Julian looked lost. "Chris, you know he loves you. He just doesn't get time for you because of his work. Shit, that came out wrong . . ."

Work, right.

"NO! That came out absolutely right. Cause that's the way it is! Tell me Julian. How would you feel if your father only kept supplying you with money? A large house? Servants? Would you fucking want that, or would you want him to give you some fucking time?

"Would you want him to shower you with money for tickets of a football game? Would you like to go out with your friends every single time, or would you like to go with him to watch the match?

"Would you want to know that he is not at home when you come back from the match? Or would you want him to be there sitting patiently in the living room, waiting for you to come home, and then asking you about how the match was, and whether you had fun?!" I cried, emotion reeking through every single syllable.

"Chris, I-"

"Would you want your girlfriend's parents to be there at a competition in which you are participating in, or would you like to see your father cheering for you in the stands?!" I almost yelled. Tears were streaming down my face, and my chest was heaving due to heavy breathing.

For once, Julian was silent: his face bearing nothing but a shocked expression.

"You don't know what it's like," I whispered, and dropped down on my knees. "You don't know what it's like," I repeated, covering my face with my palms, as I felt him crouch down in front of me. I looked up at him, and he extended his hand towards my face to wipe the tears off, but I turned away.

"Do you know how much it hurts when there is no one but your best friends to appreciate your work?" I said softly, my voice cracking due to crying and shouting. "No siblings to share your happiness with, to share your troubles and problems with. No parents to guide you when you are going through your teenage phase. No one to scold you when you come home drunk, from a party. No one to nurse your hangover. Absolutely no one to hold your hand after you wake up from a nightmare. I would give anything . . . anything, just to be grounded by my dad; at least I would receive that bit of attention. And how much ever you love your Nanny, no one can take your parent's place."

"I understand Chris," Julian said, rubbing my back soothingly, his touch burning every single cell in my body.

"You don't," I choked out, flinching at his touch. "That's the problem. You don't understand. And it's not your fault."

No one would ever fucking understand, except the masterminds I call parents.

Fuck my life.

"It doesn't have to be like this," Julian whispered, sliding his finger under my chin, and gently lifted my face up. "You don't have to be like this."

He was close. Dangerously close, and the proximity was unnerving.

And the next thing I knew, was that Julian was kissing me. His lips moved gently over mine, and I kissed him back, fully aware of what I was doing. There was still a small part of me wanting to pull back, but a major part of me wanted to keep kissing him just like this. The intensity of the kiss was the same throughout. Slow, and deep, and gentle.

I could taste my salty tears entering my mouth, and I felt him smile in between the kiss. My hands automatically flew to his hair, ruffling and tugging at them, feeling their softness. He deepened the kiss and bit my lower lip, saying something which made me move away from him.

"I love you."

I stood up with a jerk, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my t-shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Julian. I never should have done that!" I said.

"But . . . but, why?" he said, confusion and frustration written all over his face.

"Don't you see? Every person close to me, every person I love, goes away in the end! Mom, dad, my nanny, everyone! Even you!"

Even myself . . .

"Which means you still love me?" he said, his eyes widening.

"Yes!" I yelled. "Yes, I still love you! Even after what you did! Now go ahead and rub it in my face."

"Chris, you know that's not how I meant-"

"You asked for sex, I denied it. Fine! Now walk away from me, too! As it is, I'm used to people walking away from me. So even if it'll hurt, I'll manage," I spat.

But before he could say anything, I was out of the room, keeping my head low, trying not to draw attention towards me.

I need to get out of here, I thought. This night was a total disaster.

My eyes scanned the room, searching for Alicia, and fortunately for me, I found her sooner than I thought. "I'm going home."

"Have you been . . ." she started in confusion, and then she gasped. "Have you been crying?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow," I said emotionlessly. "I'm tired."

I knew from her expression that she wanted to push the topic further, but she just nodded and let it pass. After a quick "Take care," I was out of the house. I searched for the car keys in my purse, but then remembered that I had received a ride. There was no point in searching for Dan or Seth-both were probably in seperate rooms by now.

I wanted to scream with frustration, but my throat felt parched. I had no energy left to go home walking. I sank down on the cobbled driveway, unable to think of one reasonable solution to my problem.

"You okay, Chris?"

It was Bradon.

My head whipped around, seeing Bradon standing behind me. I quickly got up and brushed down my shorts.

"You've been crying." It was a statement, not a question. He took a step closer to me. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I said, trying to sound impassive, but not quite succeeding.

"Something has happened," he said slowly. "But you don't want to tell me."

Way to go, Sherlock.

"Can you give me a ride home?" I said, as though I hadn't heard him.

"Yeah. I'll tell Alec that I've left, or he'll be worried."

He called up his friend. "Alec, man."

Boys and their words.

"Listen man," What did I tell you? "I need to go . . . Sure, yeah, had a great time tonight dude, met some new people," Bradon caught my eye and smiled at me; I returned it with a weak on of my own. "Yeah. Bye."

"C'mon, let's go," he said, digging his hands in his pocket for his car keys. "Where do you live?"

I gave him the address, and sat in the car, making myself comfortable in the front seat.

"If you want, you can lie down in the back, I don't mind."

I blinked with surprise. Why so kind tonight? What happened to the sarcastic comments and teasing each other?

"No, it's okay," I said, rubbing my hands up and down my arms.

"You cold?" he asked, but before I could answer, he leaned forward and turned on the heater of the car.

"Thanks," I muttered, still not used to the nice and non-jerk Bradon Evans.

All of this was very weird, wasn't it?

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