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Mya
The last fewweeks have been amazing. A little deceitful, kind of scary, but also hot as hell.
We've almost been caught three or four times by Julian. Thankfully, he seems to be living in a world of his own at the moment. I heard him in his room with a woman the other night. I asked Brady who it was, but he refused to tell me.
I admire his ability to keep the secrets of his friends.
It says a lot about his character. The kind of person he is. And the value he places on his friendships.
That doesn't mean I'm not curious. Or that I wouldn't like to know which one of my sisters Max is screwing around with. Not that I've seen him at the house lately. Or ever heard someone mention his name.
I didn't give it much thought until I heard Cleo crying in her room the other night as I snuck back into the house. It was two in the morning, and you could have heard a pin drop as I tip-toed down the hall. I felt like a high school kid trying not to wake her parents after being out all night.
There was a smile on my face. My body was still buzzing from the naughty things Brady and I had done. And I felt like I was floating.
Then I heard Cleo's sniffles and the distinct sound of muffled sobs.
"Cleo,"I whisper as I knock softly. "Can I come in?"
She sniffles twice before she answers. When I open her door, I'm shocked at what I find.
Cleo is the epitome of tidy. Everything has a place. There's a method to her madness. Her room is as organized as an office supply store. So are our kitchen cabinets, thanks to her.
She's the girl who makes her bed every morning. She has decorative pillows that she carefully arranges. Even though she sleeps on only one side of the bed, her sheets are pulled back.
Tonight, clothes are strewn across the floor, her closet door is hanging open, showing me that most of what is usually hung up is now on the ground in a pile. Shoe boxes are tipped over, with the shoes spilling out, lids nowhere in sight. The trash can by her desk is overflowing, and sheets of balled-up paper litter the floor near it.
But what really has me worried is the fact it looks like a tornado lifted her bed and dropped it in a new location. The frame itself has been moved. The mattress is crooked, and so are the covers.
And in the center of the mess is Cleo. With a blanket pulled up to her chin, she's curled in the fetal position.
"What's wrong?" I ask, rushing over to her, almost tripping over the mess on the floor.
"Nothing." Her voice is pinched, the pain evident in the two syllables she mumbled.
There's a lot I've come to know about Cleo since we met our freshman year during rush.
One, she’s organized, almost to the point it could be considered obsessive-compulsive. The mess surrounding us right now is a clear sign she's lying.
Even if it wasn't...
Two, she's a horrible liar. Cleo's known for making eye contact. She stares you down until you bend to her will. It's kind of like a superpower. So when she averts her eyes, you know she's lying.
And finally, three... Cleo wears her heart on her sleeve. She doesn't show it, but when you hurt her, whether it's intentional or not, she feels it deeply. She takes it personal. She has a hard time moving on from it.
Right now, it's clear my best friend is hurting. Worse than I've ever seen her. And I have no idea why.
What I do know is that she needs me. And sometimes the best way to be there for someone is to just be present. No words need to be spoken. When she's ready to let me in, to talk about what happened, she will.
Crawling in bed next to Cleo, I lay facing her as tears continue to fall from her eyes. She's looking at me, but I doubt she sees me. Her eyes are vacant. She looks like she's lost. Even if her room wasn't destroyed, the devastation on her face would tell me how bad this is.
We lay in silence, staring at each other for a while. It could be minutes or hours.
"You smell like sex," she finally whispers, blinking twice as if realizing for the first time I'm here.
I have to press my lips together to suppress the giggle that wants to escape.
"I'm sorry?" My statement comes out sounding like a question. Cleo rolls her eyes and then turns her back to me. "Please talk to me. I just want to help."
