.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
—𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍, 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀

—𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲

"I'm scared." Arabella admitted from the passenger seat. "I won't know anyone there."

Ivy rolled her eyes, her focus shifting briefly from the road. "First off, you don't even know who's coming," she remarked. "Who knows, you might see someone you know. Also, if it makes you feel any better, I don't know who's going either. Orlando said it's a surprise." She glanced at Arabella, a reassuring smile playing on her lips.

"Should I trust Orlando?"

"Probably not, but hey—new friends," Ivy chuckled, her eyes flicking to Arabella's before returning to the road ahead.

As Ivy drove towards Orlando's house, Arabella's stomach churned with uneasiness. High school memories always felt like a battlefield to her. Orlando being in their old friend group added an extra layer of discomfort. Even though Ivy was still friends with Orlando, Arabella had always tried to keep her distance.

"How many people did you say were going to be there?" Arabella asked, her leg bouncing up and down in anticipation.

"I don't know, honestly," Ivy replied, her brow furrowing in thought. "But all I know is that it won't be like a party, just a couple of people—however you want to imagine a couple."

"That helps."

Ivy took a sharp turn and they entered a neighborhood, the sunlight filtering through the palm trees. Arabella looked out the window, taking in the unique architecture of each house.

The sun was close to searing as Ivy pulled into Orlando's driveway. A few cars were already parked, indicating they weren't the first to arrive. Stepping out of the car, Arabella took a deep breath.

They made their way to the front door, Ivy unlocking it with a spare key to save them from an awkward doorbell entrance.

As they entered, the sound of faint chattering could be heard from somewhere in the house.

"Here!" Ivy's voice echoed through the house, cutting through the voices, announcing their arrival.

"Living room!" a voice yelled back, presumably Orlando's. Arabella followed Ivy as they walked through the house, their steps echoing softly in the hallway. Entering the living room, Arabella's eyes landed on Orlando and another figure sitting on the couch.

The living room was dimly lit, with only a single lamp, hiding the other person in shadows. Arabella and Ivy exchanged a puzzled glance, unable to recognize the figure at first. As they moved closer, the features of the person became clearer, and realization dawned on them.

You know that feeling when something seems more than just a coincidence, like it's fate?

But right now she really hoped that it was a coincidence that Drew Starkey was seated on the couch.

The past few weeks and she really just couldn't get rid of him.

Arabella immediately recognized the gathering as a reunion—one she didn't want. Ivy and Orlandos presence was bearable but Drew's crossed the line.

Arabella's head snapped towards Ivy as soon as she noticed Drew sitting on the couch. Ivy met her gaze, her eyes filled with perplexity, clearly sensing Arabella's discomfort. Without a word, Ivy turned to Orlando and shot him an annoyed look, silently questioning his decision to invite Drew.

"Surprise?" Orlando squeaked. He looked visibly anxious, clearly wanting this reunion to go well. "Look, this was the only way... I just wanted one get-together. Remember how fun those were? I wanted to get Lance and Layla out here as well, but it was too last minute."

Drew stood up abruptly from the couch and without so much as a glance at Arabella, he muttered, "I need to go to the bathroom," and briskly walked past her, his jaw clenched.

"Real mature," Arabella muttered under her breath. As she watched Drew finally walk out of view, she turned to Orlando with a look of irritation. "What were you thinking?"

"Look, I'm sorry. I thought you two would be over it. It's been seven years," Orlando tried to reason. "I wasn't planning on it to be just you two. Lance and Layla were planning to come as well."

"That's just great," Ivy said sarcastically to Orlando, her tone sharp with frustration. "Why don't you bring Noah here as well? Make it a party."

The tension in the room was intense. Drew's presence was the last thing Arabella expected. She could hear Ivy's voice as she told off Orlando, who sat silently, absorbing every word thrown at him.

Suddenly, Arabella's phone started ringing. She took it out of her pocket to see that it was her father calling.

"Can this get any worse?" Arabella muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. Ivy, who had been in the midst of arguing with Orlando, turned to Arabella, concern etched her face.

"Is everything okay?" Ivy questioned, her tone laced with concern.

"Hope so," Arabella breathed out, showing Ivy the contact card of her dad, making Ivy grimace. "I'm going to take this outside, I'll be back."

Ivy gave Arabella a sympathetic smile before Arabella turned around, walking towards the front door.

Arabella picked up the call. "Hey dad,"

"Belly!" The girls father exclaimed through the phone. "Hey sweetie, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing good, dad." She smiled to herself on the phone. Maybe it wasn't what she was expecting.

"That's great hun. Everything is still okay in Charleston, right? If not you know what I can do—"

"Dad, seriously, I'm fine," Arabella assured as she stepped outside into the cool summer night heat. "I'm really enjoying myself here."

"That's great, Belly," Warren said, pausing for a moment. "By any chance, did you think of your decision for the business yet?"

There it was. That was the one thing Arabella didn't want to hear. She sighed softly and began to pace around anxiously in the driveway.

Back in high school, this situation would have been much worse. Over the years, Warren Whitmore had learned to ease up on pressuring Arabella.

It wasn't that Warren hated Arabella; in fact, it was quite the opposite. He loved her more than anything. He just didn't realize that his actions, driven by his desire for her to follow in his footsteps, had been taking a toll on her.

"Dad," Arabella spoke softly, trying not to come off as annoyed. "I told you I'm enjoying myself in Charleston."

"Honey, I know. But you can't blame me for thinking you would be better off at the company,"

"What?" Arabella's voice was tinged with disbelief. Even though she had heard this countless times before, it never failed to catch her off guard. This was Warren Whitmore's way—he wouldn't come at you directly; instead, he would take subtle jabs in places you didn't even know.

"I'm just saying," Arabella could hear his disappointment through the phone. "I mean, how is your writing for the magazine going anyway?"

"It's been going good."

"Are you sure?"

"Okay, fine, Dad!" Arabella finally broke, her voice barely cracking. "It hasn't been going well. I've had writer's block for the past couple of weeks, I've gotten no sleep, and I don't know how to even start the section of my topic yet?"

It was silent on the other end. Arabella didn't mean to lash out, but she had all this built-up anger that she needed to release somehow.

"Are you sure that isn't a sign to switch?" Warren finally spoke, his voice firm.

Arabella couldn't believe it. Her father never seemed to get the hint. He didn't seem to get that Arabella was doing fine in her job right now. Being a star writer for Harper's Bazaar at 25 is amazing. But with all the stress that Arabella's been showing, Warren Whitmore liked to think otherwise.

"I'll call you later." Arabella scoffed before hanging up the phone and throwing it onto the grass. She ran her hands through her hair. Letting out a loud groan, she tried to release some of the pent-up tension that had been building inside her.

Realizing she was overreacting, Arabella walked over to retrieve her phone from the grass, but to her surprise, someone had already beaten her to it.

"Dropped this," Drew said, bending down to pick up the phone with his free hand, the other holding a cigarette. He looked up at Arabella with a concerned expression.

"Did you hear any of that?" Arabella mumbled, hoping he hadn't heard the conversation she just had with her father.

"If I lie would you feel better?"

Arabella took a deep breath before taking the phone out of Drew's hands. It was dark outside at this point, the only light coming from the lamps surrounding Orlando's house. Arabella couldn't lie; this lighting was flattering towards Drew.

"This might help," Drew finally spoke. Arabella looked at him to see him handing his cigarette towards her.

"Cigarettes are disgusting."

Drew gave Arabella a blank look before reaching into his pocket to grab a bag of greens and paper.

"Do you just carry weed and cigarettes with you everywhere?" Arabella questioned, her face twisted in confusion. "Are your lungs doing okay?"

"And is your liver doing okay?" Drew asserted, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

Arabella pressed her lips into a thin line, nodding her head. She walked into that one.

"I only have this on me since I was going to do some with Orlando," Drew then tried to reason, handing the bag to Arabella. "Wait, I need to roll it—"

"I know," Arabella whispered, cutting Drew off. "I know how to roll a joint."

Drew and Arabella stared at each other for a moment before a tiny smile came to Drew's face, remembering that he was the reason. That night.

Graduation night.

Arabella noticed his smile and lightly bit her lip to suppress the grin that was coming onto her face. She quickly turned to the large rock next to them and placed the bag on it.

Drew took a puff out of his cigarette then threw it on the ground as he watched Arabella attentively. She was rolling the joint the same way Drew taught her.

"You do this a lot?" Drew asked, slightly looking at her face as he noticed how her eyebrows still furrowed when she was concentrating on a task.

"No," she responded. Arabella was done with rolling the joint, and Drew handed her a lighter.

She put the it to her lips, the flame illuminating her face in the darkness. She took a long, deep drag, feeling the smoke fill her lungs. As she exhaled, a wave of coughing overtook her.

"Damn, you're going at it." Drew chuckled.

"I'm finally letting loose," Arabella absentmindedly said as she finally got a handle on what she was doing.

Drew and Arabella didn't try to fight the smiles that came onto their faces. A sense of severe deja vu was arriving, and as much as Arabella wanted to stop it, she didn't.

Arabella handed the joint to Drew. "Was that your dad?" Drew asked cautiously, taking the joint between his fingers and playing with it nervously.

"Uh, yeah, it was," Arabella said hesitantly. She watched Drew carefully, unsure of how he would react to the mention of her father.

"Oh..." Drew trailed off, pinching his eyebrows together, not knowing if he should continue. But he did. "What was he saying?"

"Shit about my job," Arabella hummed, her voice laced with frustration, as she continued to take long drags of the joint. She lifted it to her lips, inhaling deeply, before exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air.

For some reason, the space around them wasn't awkward; it was comfortable. The same type of comfortable they had back in high school.

Drew grimaced for a second, processing Arabella's words. "Aren't you a writer for Harper's Bazaar? That shit is fancy as fuck,"

Arabella chuckled at Drew's words, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was clear that the weed had finally gotten to him.

"You're doing great, Ara," Drew said, his words slightly slurred, his eyes soft as he looked at her with a hazy smile on his lips.

Arabella gave Drew a quick, uncomfortable smile, not knowing how to respond to his words. She stayed quiet, her mind racing as she tried to process what was going on between them.

"You know what's funny, Ara?" Drew started again, making Arabella look at him. His eyes were turning a faint shade of red. "You became a writer and I became an actor. Just like we said we would."

Arabella gulped, the memory of the past coming back in her mind as she looked at Drew with uncertainty. She passed the joint to him, her gaze flickering to the chain around his neck as she did so.

The chain that she gave him.

Suddenly, Arabella sobered up. Realizing what she was doing. She was hanging out with the boy who broke her heart, he can't just walk back into her life like nothing happened.

Drew was finished taking a hit and was about to pass it back to Arabella but to his surprise she was getting up.

Drew furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, quickly getting up after her. "What happened?"

Arabella didn't say anything, instead she quickly walked towards the house.

"Ara?"

Arabella stopped and took a deep breath before turning to face Drew. "Don't act like you don't know," she spoke sharply, her tone changing from the soft one earlier.

Drew looked taken aback for a moment before he scoffed, a menacing smile taking over his face. "Alright," he said, licking his lips and nodding his head. "Do what you're good at. Do what you're good at and leave again."

Arabella almost laughed at the hypocritical reply. "Gladly," she responded, but not before giving him a piece of her own mind, "Learned from the best."

Arabella and Drew stared eyes, the air around them intense. Neither dared to break the silence, each of them worrying about the potential repercussions of their next words.

"Tell Orlando that I appreciate the invite." Drew scoffed, breaking the silence as he ran a hand through his buzzed hair, turning around and heading to his car.

©𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞