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C3 Three

Zoey's POV

I munch on the brownies happily as I scribble down the last sentence to my essay.

The essay I've been working my butt off for, is finally done. It's a research paper that requires us to find out more about the different, contemporary Sociological Theories.

I love writing. Even though I prefer writing narratives over research and exposition papers, I do enjoy writing the latter to a certain extent.

I love the sense of achievement and happiness whenever I can apply a new writing technique or some new phrases into my own essays. It makes me extremely proud of myself and my work. And I guess my ardor for reading amd writing kind of just stemmed from there.

Also, I find myself feeling very comfortable whenever I write. The process of thinking about which words to be put together to create a more stirring, impactive story, makes me feel cognitive, introspective even. And that feeling is like another dimension, that makes you think of abstracts, instead of the often morally bankrupted cosmos.

I am extremely happy with this particular research that I have done. I chose to focus and elaborate more on Phenomenological Sociology instead of Feminism and Dramaturgy that most people in my class have chose to work on. I guess the topic of social relations interest me more.

I stretch out my stiff limbs, begging for them to wake up from their sleeping state. I strut lazily to my refrigerator for my fruit juice.

My mind drifts. It has been two days since the date with Chris and I haven't seen him anywhere yet. My body instantly wakes from its tiredness. Oh did something happened again? The last time he went missing for quite a while, Emma was in the hospital.

A soft smile reaches my face. I miss Emma. She's too adorable, just like her brother.

With a glass of beetroot juice in my hand, I make my way to my bed to call on Chris. As I dial his number, I peek through the window.

The lights in his room are out. Wait, actually, all the lights are out. Shit, did something really happened?

The moon glimmers innocently in the sky while darkness surrounds his house. A chill runs down my back.

"Martinez. Just leave your message. I'll deal with it later."

Once again, I'm greeted by his deep voice through his voicemail. Deciding that it will be just a waste of time after all to continue to try calling him, I resort to texting him. At least I can get a message across to him.

*Chris? Did something happen? Are you okay?*

Then I wait. 15 minutes. Then 30 minutes. Then, on the 57th minute mark, my phone buzzes.

*Fuck off. Stop calling.*

Ouch?

-

I can't sleep.

Chris' dashing face keeps on popping into my mind.

I must say, the text that he sent was pretty hurtful, especially after the damn fabulous date that we went on. If it was during the first few days that we met that I texted him, it's understandable if he replied me this way, but no, it's been almost half a year since we knew each other. Does that mean something? Is he trying to tell me something?

Or maybe the person that sent that message wasn't him! Maybe he's being kidnapped. Maybe he dropped his phone and someone else is using it. There's many possibilities to the text, I shouldn't jump to conclusions.

-

I wake up the next day, almost late for school. I was too restless to concentrate in lessons. The more I have Chris and his text message appearing on my mind, the more I find the text message out of Chris' character. He wouldn't be that mean. This makes my curiosity pique.

"Psssst."

Jacob glances at me weirdly, over his shoulder. Before I can speak, he turns his head back to face the board.

"Pssssssssssssssst."

Jacob regards me, glaring.

"What?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Uh huh? Talk."

"Where is Chris?"

I spot a flicker of hesitation in Jacob's eyes.

"I don't know?"

"What do you mean you don't know? You guys spend most of your time together."

"Zoey, just because we are really good friends, doesn't mean that we don't give each other privacy and time to himself. Chris is probably busy with something. You're my good friend too, do you see me following you wherever you go?"

"Jacob, that's not what I'm trying to imply. I'm just asking where Chris has been."

"I know that. I wish I know where he is too."

"He hasn't contacted you?"

"I told you, I don't follow him around 24/7. If there isn't any problem, he wouldn't contact me."

"Sorry for asking, I was just worried."

Jacob's solemn demeanor shifts, his face softens.

"It's alright. I'm sure Chris will be back soon, and he'll be hotter than ever for you," Jacob snickers while smirking.

I blush, "Shhh, pay attention to the teacher."

-

It has been Day 4 since Chris went MIA on everyone. If I told you I wasn't worried as hell, I'd be lying like Pinocchio.

It makes feel even more suspicious of the boys, when they just roam around the school like one of their best friends is not missing. I tried to hoodwink Seth into talking to me, but he also gives me a whole talk about them being good friends, but they give one another privacy still. So, apparently, they have been discussing this amongst themselves and I'm positive that I'll be fed with all those privacy bullshit again if I approach any of them again.

It's beginning to piss me off. I hate them being so secretive to me. How can they do this! I mean, I'm a good friend to them, right? Good friends trust one another, right? They don't hide secrets, right?

But you're hiding your damn sob story from them. Looks like the pot's calling the kettle black.

I sink into my seat, sighing. My frustration with the boys dissipates. I'm in no position to meddle with Chris' life.

But my worry and anxiety for Chris' well-being continues to gnaw at me.

I change out of my shirt and jeans, slipping on a camisole and shorts. I always sleep well with these since I will have more of my skin in contact with the extremely soft comforter. I just love the feeling of the fabric against my body, as weird as that sounds.

I slip under the cover and sigh in contentment. My eyes shut and my mind drifts.

Suddenly, a loud screeching sound pierces through the air.

My eyes shoot open and I hop out of bed. Could it be Chris?

Sure enough, I see Chris stumbling off his bike. His movements are graceless, lacking coordination. He trudges to his door unsteadily, then fumbles around with his pockets and fishes out the keys. He unlocks the door and disappears into the house.

I frown as I put on a gray hoodie. I need to check on him.

I jog my way across the street and begin to knock on the door, but only to be met with silence. So, I try for the doorknob. Thankfully, Chris left it unlock. He is probably drunk and way too drowsy to care about his surroundings.

"Chris?"

"Chris? Are you dead now?" I call out as I make my way to his bedroom.

He is lying on the floor, out cold, his legs and arms sprawled out around him. I move closer to take a better look at him. His stubble is growing out and his hair is messy, not the usual kind of messy, but a bad kind of messy. The area under his eyes are dark and gray, seems like I'm not the only one not receiving enough sleep.

I undo his shoelaces, yanking the shoes and socks off. Chris shifts, I pause. He drops his right leg over his left one, but his upper body remains in the same position. His waist is twisted in a way that makes his back seem broader, more muscular. I stare at it for a moment, before snapping out of it to return to my task on hand.

I reach out to unbutton Chris' jeans, but instantly held back from doing so. I can't do that! It is wrong. But then again, I know that he always sleeps in his sweatpants and the skinny jeans he is wearing does not look comfortable to sleep in.

My hands reach out to his jeans again, but I still can't bring myself to do it. I draw my hands back. I decide against calling one of the guys since it's already pretty late and I shouldn't bother them with such a minor task.

"Okay, Zoey. You must do this. Imagine yourself sleeping in skinny jeans," I whisper to myself, almost cringing at the thought of sleeping in those god-awful fabric.

I squeeze my eyes close and reach forward to unbutton the jeans.

Before I can muster the courage to pull the jeans down, a warm hand envelopes mine.

Chris grins cheekily, "Oh Zoey. What are you trying to do to me?"

I freeze. This is so embarrassing. It probably looks as if I'm a creepy hormonal girl trying to... you know.

"Are you sober enough to undress yourself?"

"I'm too lazy. I want to sleep," Chris grunts as he pouts.

"Why don't you just change into your sweatpants and I'll do the rest for you? I can't bring myself to do it," I suggest shyly.

Chris smiles, "Okay."

-

I return to the room after three minutes to see Chris on his bed, unconscious already.

I rummage through his closet for a clean shirt and found one that actually smells very Chris-like. With all my strength, I pull him up so that his front is leaning against my left side of the body. I lift his heavy arms up and tug the shirt off him. He smells like some kind of really strong liquor.

Throughout the times I've spent with Chris, I don't see him ever drinking. Something must have happened to get him so boozed up.

Having his well-chiseled body pressed against mine is starting to make me feel uncomfortable. I am very well aware of the flexes of his muscles whenever Chris fidgets.

Trying my best to ignore the warm body that is innocently leaning against me, I put the clean shirt on him.

"Asshole... Don't you dare... I swear to god..."

My hands halt as Chris mumbles. What? I lean in closer, my ear near his lips.

"Zoey... Bastard..."

I gasp inaudibly, is he trying to say that I'm a bastard?

Before I could let that thought linger, I laugh it off. I'm being ridiculous. I finish putting the shirt onto him.

"Zoey," Chris breathes. He doesn't sound drunk.

"You're so close to me. I like that."

As if I was being told that I was going to fail my tests, I lean back immediately in disbelief. Is he sleep talking, or... what?

Chris smiles lazily, looking extremely tired, "Hi."

"Hi. Are you okay?"

He nods his head, his eyes closed.

"You're tired, go to sleep. I'll leave you alone." I stand up to leave for his kitchen to get him some tablets so that he can take them in the morning.

For a moment, he panics.

"Nononono. Stay, please."

In the darkness, I gaze at his beautiful, yet exhausted face. I can feel my insides melt.

"Okay. I'll sleep on the couch. Go to sleep."

"No, please." Chris shifts over to the other side of his bed, patting the empty area beside him.

I look at him hesitantly.

"Please."

I sigh. Why not? It's not like he would do anything.

"Okay, face the wall."

He looks at me quizzically, but does so. I turn my back to him and shrug off my hoodie, folding it neatly together with his jeans and shirt.

I jump into Chris' bed and pull the cover over myself before he can turn to face me.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing." I squirm under his gaze, sinking further into the sheets to cover my face.

He looks at me dubiously, "Okay? Good night, Zoey."

"Good night, Chris." I held back my questions for him, he can deal with them tomorrow for me.

I close my eyes as I become aware of a warm arm on my waist, pulling me into a chest.

I cover my mouth to stop a squeal from escaping.

Chris puts his leg over mine, while pulling me closer, completely securing me to him. I can't exactly move right now.

"Sleep."

"Mmhm," I murmur, already feeling my eyes shutting down on me.

Before I can let myself slip into a slumber, I hear a voice, "So this is why you wanted me to face the wall," and someone nuzzling his head into my neck.

-

I awake, feeling extra warm but warm in a comforting way. I flip over to lie on my other side. Chris is still sleeping.

His face is pressed against the pillow, making it seem like he is frowning. I take my time to study him. His jawline is very well-shaped, either it can chisel granite, or cut off my limbs.

All of a sudden, Chris' eyes sweep open, taking me by surprise.

He smiles lazily, but I note that there's a hint of amusement behind it. Damn, he caught me staring at him so brazenly.

"Hi." He pulls me closer to him. I flush.

"Hi," I murmur, embarrassed. He must be thinking that I'm some sort of crazy fangirl that stares.

"I slept well."

"Me too. How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly, my head isn't throbbing like mad. I feel pretty good. Maybe it's because of your presence."

My curiosity urges me to ignore the last part, "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" Chris turns to face the ceiling, obviously wanting to avoid talking to me.

I prop myself up with my elbows, "Why were you drinking? Why were you missing for the past few days?" I ignore the thought of asking him about the text message.

"I was busy."

"With what?"

"Something happened to my mother and Emma."

I gasp. Emma! "What happened?"

"Something."

"Can I please know about what is going on, as Emma's friend?"

"No."

"Why are you being so adamant about this?"

"Zoey, it's not something that you can handle."

"I just want to know what is going on!" What is this stupid secret? Why can't he tell me? Clearly, the adolescent in me is starting to make the scene. I admit that I am being childish on a certain level, pestering him on and on for an answer. Our conversations are going round in circles, everytime he mentions this, we would have the same type of conversation. There's no point arguing over this if he is acting so damn mysterious when all I want is to know what is happening.

Chris sighs, exasperated, "Will you stop being so damn persistent about this? It's starting to get fucking annoying."

Is he serious right now?

"Are you serious? I'm annoying? You are the one who is being so secretive! Is that why you sent me that text message? Because I'm starting to get annoying?" I fume. This is so pointless but I can't help myself, he is being irrational to a certain degree too.

"What text message?" Chris asks, confused but the irritation is still on his face.

"Actually, you know what? Never mind. I'm tired. I need to get ready for school. Please take some tablets before you leave."

I step out of his room, wow, all this talking is making me light-headed. I stop outside his kitchen to take a much needed deep breath, before reaching for his cupboard to find some tablets for him. He hasn't come out of his room, which, in a way, I am thankful for. I hear the shower in his room turning on, so I take the chance to escape into his room and place the tablets and water on his desk. I leave the place.

-

Shockingly, I wasn't late for school despite how slow I was moving to get ready. Although I had nice sleep, the unexpected argument had worn me out. My head is clouded and heavy. My eyelids are threatening to close. I sigh for the umpteenth time as I make my way to the last lesson for the day. Thank jesus that there wasn't any lessons with too much information to absorb. I would have combust into flames because of the mental fatigue.

"Are you alright?"

I lift my head from my arms, to see my table partner for the class staring at me. Ah yes, his name is Tristan.

"No, my head is pounding and I'm tired. I want to sleep."

"Then sleep. We're sitting at the back of the class. He won't see us."

"But I need to listen. This topic is heavily graded for this year."

"I'll lend you my notes afterwards. You can sleep."

This is so tempting. There is at least 35 minutes more till the end of the class. I give in.

"You better remember to lend me the notes or I'll castrate you."

The last thing I heard was Tristan's deep chuckle, and a hand on my head steadying me onto an arm.

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