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When it comes to George Banner, I’m totally screwed. Because every time his mouth forms a word or puckers, a tiny sigh escapes my lips.
CHAPTER FOUR
Being away from my parents’ overbearing and constant snide remarks has already made a difference in my life.
When Mark and Levi got back from holiday a week ago, I spent the first couple of days walking around on eggshells, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But they never made me feel like I was in the way, an inconvenience, or yelled at me once for getting up for a drink in the middle of the night and waking them up. The night in question, Levi actually stayed and had a cup of tea with me and chatted. He didn’t scream at me for being selfish for waking him up; he didn’t wish I was dead before storming off.
I think it took that moment for me to realise I wasn’t going to be subject to my parents’ verbal abuse again.
It felt freeing.
“Lover boy’s here,” Mark yells through the flat.
I groan, knowing Banner had to have heard that through the door. I hear the front door open and deep mumbling sounds start up in the living room. I dread to think what Mark is saying to him.
Not wanting Mark to embarrass me any further, I grab my coat and school bag before heading out of my room.
My room, which Mark has turned into my new favourite place. I went to my first night class last Wednesday and came back to my room having been redecorated with brand new furniture.
My grandparents had much to play in it, but it was Mark, Levi and Banner who did all the grunt work.
I have a large round chair that is so snuggly when you sink into it, I never want to leave. They know how much I hate writing at a desk. A desk makes me feel like my writing is a job, or a chore, and not the release and hobby it’s become. Knowing that, they went out and got me a chair I could lie back in. It’s so huge my legs can straighten in front of me and only my feet will dangle over the edge.
It’s brilliant.
Dangling from the ceiling above my bed, they’ve fitted different sized and coloured dreamcatchers, knowing how bad my nightmares can be. I love them and often fall asleep watching them sway.
I have a new dresser, new sheets, and other little gadgets they thought I’d love, and I do. What they did was amazing and so thoughtful I cried for a solid twenty minutes. Mark didn’t know what to do, but luckily Levi and Banner had already seen it coming and got out a tub of Ben and Jerry’s.
I snap back to the present when I walk into the living area, surprised to see all three ready to go out and waiting for me.
I glance between them, puzzled. “Are you going out?” I ask Mark, catching the time. They said they were staying in and watching their soaps tonight.
“No. We’re coming to dinner with you guys before you head to class.”
My gaze locks on Banner, silently questioning him if it’s okay. He smiles. “I asked if they wanted to tag along. Hope that’s okay?”
“No, he didn’t,” Levi grunts. “Mark wanted to spend time with you and accused Banner of occupying all of your time.”
I repress the smile tugging at my lips and turn to Mark, raising my eyebrow. “That true?”
He shifts on his feet, glaring at Levi. “Yes,” he whispers harshly. “But in my defence, I feel like he’s taking too much of your time. It’s only fair he shares.”
“Sharing is caring,” Banner adds, pressing his lips together, like he’s trying not to laugh.
I duck my head before addressing Mark. “Did you cause bodily harm?” I ask, even though I don’t see any bruises on Banner, but you never know what’s hidden under the clothes.
Banner laughs, turning to Mark. “Dude, she knows you well,” he tells him, not intimidated by Mark’s glare, before turning back to me. “And no, he didn’t touch me. But he did threaten to feed me my balls if I hurt you.”
I roll my eyes, pulling my bag over my shoulder. “Well, when you’re done being boys, can we go eat? I’m starving.”
I try not to blush at Mark treating us like we’re a couple. Call me crazy, but it’s nice knowing someone can see us together. Whenever Banner and I have been in public before, I don’t even get a second glance, like I’m not good enough to be with him.
“Yeah, but before we go, this got forwarded to here,” Levi tells me, handing me a stack of post tied in a bow.
“My parents probably forwarded them here, I’m sure,” I tell them, not looking anyone in the eye.
I let my bag fall off my shoulder and dump them inside. I’ll deal with them later. I’m surprised my parents even bothered to send them. They’re most likely junk mail. Or?it could be their way of getting in a dig. Send the girl her mail, remind her we don’t care she’s gone.
