wanderlust (edited)

BONUS - Chapter Twelve (Part 1.5): Just a Little Air

                  

BONUS: Chapter Twelve (Part 1.5)
Just a Little Air
(If desired, listen to Air by Tyson Ritter while reading; also this is around the time period of Chapter Twelve)

            She was gone.

            Oh, nononononononono.

            James ran a sweaty hand through his hair as he paced back and forth the bathroom. Mickey was slumped over in the bathtub, her shirt stained with puke, his mouth reeking. He'd brushed his teeth, his tongue, his cheeks, blew his nose three dozen times, and still just could not get the taste, the smell, the texture – he shivered – out of his mouth.

            He could not leave Mickey unconscious. That was a given.

            An attractive girl could obviously not be left alone – let alone out cold – at a New York Party.

            So why was he stupid enough to leave Tara's side?

            He felt his heart beating, beating, thump-thump thump-thump. No. No. No. Nononono. He had to calm himself down. He knew what happened when he got anxious.

            Big breath in? Bad idea. Another session of teeth brushing.

            He was sober, now that was for sure. He vaguely recollected someone walking in on him and Mickey but who?

            James Braxton sat down on the floor and put his head between his knees. Another attempt to calm himself before he got bad again.

            He glanced back at Mickey and his heart got a little soft again. Like it had when he'd seen her play volleyball. Like she had on the beach three summers ago. In the same bikini, for crying out loud! Overcome by nostalgia and desire for excitement, he'd stolen her away – just like old times.

            If he looked over the drying vomit on the shirt – whose shirt was she wearing? – and tangled in her silky blonde curls, if he looked instead at her soft face, roses for cheeks, petals for lips...it was freshman year of college all over again.

            Freshman year of college. Tara would be a freshman soon. Tara. Tara Williams.

            Now suddenly the girl with freckles dancing, twirling, spotting her like something else entirely – the girl ever-changing eyes (blue? grey?), the girl who listened to him devotedly, the girl with the burnt almond hair that reminded him of life before things got bad—

            Knock Knock. Rapping at the door.

            "Hullo? James?"

            Thank God. Just Caesar.

            James stood up, knocking his head against the towel rack in the process and gladly swung the door open for his best friend.

            "Caes—"

            "Jay, Tare just ran out? Crying? Did you guys get into—"

            Caesar's eyes widened when he caught sight of Mickey in the tub. James waved him arms around in defense – "No, this isn't what it looks like!"

            "You didn't." It was like James could hear, he could see, there was Caesar and there was the dam, a dam of trust and benefit of doubt, there was the dam, cracking, splintering, crashing down, and out of that dam came roaring waters, tumbling, folding, a tsunami of disappointment rushed out of his best friend and it was then that James Braxton remembered the grey eyes that met his just minutes before.