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It’s annoying as fuck.
But then, I guess that’s what best friends are for. Annoying the shit out of you.
“You want to say that like you actually mean it?” Reese suggests.
“I do mean it. The weather fucking sucks here. And I’ve spent all day cleaning up after you messy fuckers.”
“That’s on you, man. We made sure everything was presentable when we left. No our fault it’s not up to your exacting standards.”
My teeth grind at his words.
“Sounds like you’re living your best life right now, mate. Well done.”
“Fuck off. Did you actually want anything?” I mutter. “Or did you just call to brag?”
“If I wanted to brag, I’d be telling you all about the view I’ve got right now. Clear blue skies and girls in itty-bitty bikinis.”
“Careful, Liv or Oak will have your balls if they hear you mentioning girls in bikinis.”
“Bro, it’s my girl I’m staring at right now. She bought this little red?—”
“Spare me,” I grunt, not wanting him to paint me a picture of his girl—one of my closest friends—in a bikini. I’ve already seen enough since they got together. Pretty sure Oak has too.
“Jesus, Elliot. You really should pull that stick out of your arse every now and then, mate.”
“What did you want?” I mutter, really not in the mood for a dressing down from him.
Especially when I’m sitting in the middle of the bathroom like a loser.
It really isn't necessary.
“Promised the girls I would check in to make sure you’re holding up your end of the bargain.”
“I’m not a glorified babysitter or a stalker,” I sneer.
“I don’t know, I think you could totally pull off the stalker thing. You’re pretty good at moving around in the dark unnoticed.”
“Whatever.”
“But she’s okay, yeah?”
Shuffling back across the spotless tiles beneath me, I rest back against the wall and tip my head to the vaulted ceiling above me.
“Yes, Abigail is fine.”
“Did you want to say that in a way that actually makes me believe that you’ve seen her?” Reese suggests.
“I have seen her. And she’s…” Drowning. Not coping in any sense of the word. Torturing herself. “Fine.”
“Fine? That’s not exactly— Babe, what are you?—”
“Tell me she’s better than fine,” Liv demands down the line, having stolen it from Reese.
“She’s okay.”
“That’s not any fucking better, Elliot. She still isn’t answering our calls, and all her replies to our messages barely contain more than one or two words.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Liv. She’s struggling, but she’s fighting it.”
