Living With The Player

**CAMILLA RENÉE**

RENEE’S MANSION

FRIDAY.

*Day Nine.*

I spat the paste in my mouth, gobbling a little water down my throat to rinse what it eft of it.

It’s been nine days in here and with each that passes by, the knot in my chest grows tighter. On one hand, the bond with my family seems to have gotten better.

Mother and Father are making plans to return to work. I may have forgotten to mention they’re both real estate agents, hence the sweet deal for a house we could bag. Four rooms. A ridiculously enormous master bedroom, a large living room, a spacious kitchen, the perfect house.

*In hindsight*

That’s what it remains to me, a house. I still couldn’t stomach what happened over the last week.

After Dylan’s abrupt switch, followed by ignoring my very existence during class, I came to your conclusion that Kyle’s words might be correct. I’ve passed denial, can’t recall the other crappy stages, now I just need to accept it.

*Dylan isn’t dead, you’re not grieving.*Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

My annoying inner self reminds me. I grunt and toss the toothbrush aside.

After all, it’s his reputation. A part of me has been expecting a school blog article revealing the bet Dylan made. It’s in the books I read, the only explanation for his behaviour. Maybe it was all a bet between friends.

I lived with the player. It was his time to have some fun right under his roof.

Ugh.

Grumbling, I sprinkle some water on my face, concluding that Dylan will remain at the back of my head for the rest of the day.

Not.

My subconscious has been even crankier. Just like I am.

****

After showering, I checked out the list of alternatives from what I could wear to school. Mother took me *shopping*, which was more or less buying the entire section.

I shake my head, shuddering, remembering how she shoved me into the changing room to try on every one of them.

Might as well use it.

Yanking blue jeans off the hanger, I tossed them over the bed and twirled my finger over the choices of shirts I had.

Let’s go black.

I picked a simple back shirt, gulping down as images of Dylan flooded my mind.

No!

Fuck no. I can’t spend the rest of high school fantasizing about a guy who doesn’t give a shit about me.

No.

On day one, he ignored me and hooked up with Paula. Well, I didn’t see them sucking their faces off one another, but she was fucking him with her eyes.

I cringe at the not so distant memory.

On day two, our paths crossed at the cafeteria and he walked by me with his friends. Without a fucking word.

I curl my fists harshly.

Day three to four was the weekend. Mr Emerton gave my dad a call to check on us.

Day five was Monday. I may or may not have spied on him during practice and he may or may not have caught me. I curled my fists in anger.

I spent day six and seven with me avoiding the hell out of him. I wanted to walk over them, plop my weight up since he’d nearly twice my height, yank his shirt and yell those words I’ve been dying to scream out. “Why the fuck are you ignoring me?”

I don’t. I know better than to kiss his fucking feet.

I don’t see him on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Day eight was yesterday. A crease forms between my brows and I wince. Day eight was fucking pathetic. We had the same class together. I walked in on Paula and Dylan seated together, flirting as their lives depended on it.

Ever since Miranda stood up for herself, Paula shifted her bully spirit to me. She didn’t smack me. No. She used other methods. Other effective methods.

Name-calling and the best, flirting with Dylan.

It riled me up so badly, I nearly crushed her skull with my bare hands. In my mind, of course.

The fucker kept giving her his best smirk. You know, the one that has all the girl’s knees shaking.

I strode past them and Paula had never to call me out.

I grip my dressing table harshly.

She did. Dylan didn’t turn.

I wince at the memory. She called me a bitch, and he didn’t flinch. For a guy who threatens to hurt her if she does anything, he was sure as hell just fine sitting there, watching me get insulted.

My nails are gouging into the wood, threatening to break.

I recall hoisting my head and going to my seat without another word. I could’ve retaliated, but Dylan’s reaction or the lack of one left me utterly speechless.

Today is Day Nine. I wonder what fate has in store.

Hold that thought. My phone ringtone sounded over the room. I tilt my head and move towards the dressing table, Miranda’s name flashing up on the screen.

At least not everything’s bad. I still have Miranda. Although she’s been probing for details about Dylan and me, she’s also been a great distraction from my own thoughts.

“Hey.”

I chirp, bringing the phone to my ear.

“Did you get my text last night?”

She answers.

“No, I was studying for the midterms, had little time to go through them. What’s wrong?”

“Really Camilla, such a nerd.”

She retorts and I can picture her rolling those big blue eyes. I chuckle lightly.

“In the spirit of celebrating my freedom from Paula, I was thinking I could attend a party tonight. It’ll be my first without them and I was hoping… no telling my best friend to accompany me”

She finishes, I almost choke.

“A-A party?”

I ask, breathing out loud.

“Yes. You need it too so you can stop thinking about…”

“I’m in.”

I cut her before his name comes up. She’s right. A party will get my mind off Dylan when I’m fucking drunk, that is.

*Or you’ll just see him there…*

My subconscious reminds me. I snap at her internally, reminding me that Dylan isn’t dictating how I spend my weekends.

“That was easier than I expected. I’ll leave you to get dressed. See you soon.”

She makes a kissing sound before the line goes dead. I drop the cell back over the table and consider my reply for a split second.

Parties aren’t usually for me. Assaults, impromptu kisses, a terrible drunk puking, vomit, lots of that.

I sigh involuntarily. I’m doing this. I am getting Dylan Emerton out of my head, going to this party and having as much fun as I can.

Without that thought, I get dressed and ready for school.

******

“Taylor Swift is the music industry.”

Miranda purrs at some girl. I think Kelly. It’s no surprise Miranda makes more friends than I can count in less than two weeks. She’s friendly like that. Paula was holding her back. Now she’s free to flap her wings.

“She’s had her moments, but I don’t think she’s quite on top.”

The other girls’ retorts, earning a hard stare from my best friend. I chuckle and reach for a French fry, ignoring their bickering.

My life is going well currently. If not for the other thing. Good house. A few friends. Great grades, yet I’m not quite satisfied.

It’s lunch break and we’re all sitting at the table, talking about well Taylor swift, yet my mind keeps drifting off too…

“Camilla.”

Dylan. I finish with a sigh. My head snaps up at the same time and the girls grow silent. Did I imagine that?

Oh, hell no.

“Camilla…”

He repeats a little louder this time. Everyone else seems engrossed in lunch to care, but my entire world just stopped. The girls are on edge as well. Kelly is shifting in her chair, reaching for my leg as though I’m not aware Dylan Emerton is hovering over my table, calling my name not once but twice.

Then, his face breaks out in a small smile, tugging at the corner of his lips. I swallow a lump in my throat, clinging to the edge of the table.

Day Nine did the unexpected. Dylan walked up and spoke to me.

“What do you want?”

I croak, surprising myself by sounding firm when all my insides were turning to mush. Dylan’s here. Standing in front of me. After over a week, I got to hear his hard voice. I’ve missed him up close. I’ve missed him entirely.

But why now? What could he possibly want?

****

*Author’s Note”

*I took a few days off because ideas kept swarming in. Crazy right! Anyway, I had to pen all of them and decide which is the best. It’s going to be a crazy ride!*