"Wylie, James is on the phone," said Bea, my mum, interrupting me halfway into a good book and drinking a glass of lime juice.

"Leave it, mum, tell him I'm out or something," I responded with a dismissive wave.

"Talk to him. He's your boyfriend, isn't he?"

I looked up at Bea with an exasperated look. I would say she was more invested in my relationship than I was.

Him being my boyfriend didn't mean I wished to spend every second in his presence. We hung out less than three hours ago at school and if he had desired to talk to me, he could have done so then, but he had evidently been much too busy trying to feel me up.

I grunted without bothering to argue and put down my book. When I left my room to pick up the receiver, James was on the other end of the line, waiting.

"Hey, James. What's up?" I spoke into the receiver, hardly expecting an excited response. James loathed it when I failed to pick up his calls on time.

On the other hand, he didn't really call me that often.

"Where were you? I called your phone like five times and I had to call your landline. You know how I hate talking to your mum. I have to be nice and all and that's a whole pain in the ass. Are you ignoring me?" James's irritated self prattled from the other end of the line. I usually had that effect on him, however, so I wasn't the least bit disturbed.

"What do you want, James?"

"Okay, chill, no need to snap at me. I was just worried about you, baby. Do you wanna come over?" he was whispering now and his voice had knocked down a few octaves. Talk about bipolar, albeit that sort of behaviour wasn't a surprise either.

He was probably accustomed to using that tone once in a while when he wanted something from a girl.

"I'm kind of busy right now." Not that it was entirely a lie.

"Well, if you're really busy, I don't want to bother you. I've been having this headache this whole day and I feel a little woozy. It's okay, though, if you aren't able to come over. You must be doing something really important, right?"

I was starting to wonder if he was even sober at that moment. I was betting on not.

"Wylie, please? Don't you care about me, baby?" he begged like the child he was. I could imagine the pout on his pretty face; a look that I had seen one too many times for how regularly it was used against me.

"Give me five minutes."

I placed the receiver back on the cradle and groaned at my inability to say no. I should have said no. I wanted to say no. I had only been with him for around three weeks and I was already getting into the habit of answering his every beck and call.

Some things I just never learned.

I walked back to my room with my glass of lime juice, not in the mood to finish up the last few drops. My mum came out of the bathroom and into the hallway just in time, a towel wrapped around her head.

"What is he calling for?" she asked, beaming expectantly. "Not about another assignment, is it?"

"Yeah, he needs help with an assignment again. You know how stupid he is, mum," I replied.

"Okay... Take care, then. Be back in one hour max. Take your sister with you."

"No, mum. I don't need to take my sister. I'll be fine. Trust me," I assured, looking at her with a steady gaze and raising my eyebrows at the last two words.

She turned her head and squinted at me from the corner of her eye as if she was calculating whether or not to trust me.

Eventually, she gave in. "Fine, but please be back in an hour. Less, even. You're going out too much these past few weeks."

I rolled my eyes and gave her a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into my room to get dressed.

I opened my closet and stared at its contents - something I found myself doing more and more often. There were skirts piled on one end, skinny jeans of which only two pairs next to it, besides that was a stack of blouses and what-not, and finally, there were a few T-shirts and trousers hidden way at the back in the darkness where only I cared to look.

I sighed at the sight of it, wondering how much longer I could go on like that; hiding myself.

Dismissing the thought, I picked out a random skirt and the topmost blouse on the pile, pulling them on unceremoniously. I didn't bother sending more than a second's worth of a glance at the mirror (just to make sure I looked human) before slipping into a pair of slippers and making my way out.

I took my phone off of the dressing table and, sure enough, there were five missed calls from James. I sent him a text saying that I'm on my way, then grabbed my keys and left.

It already felt like my hundredth time driving over to his place at a time when I really didn't feel like it.

***

A/N: Thoughts on first chapter?