MIÉRCOLES
5:16 PM

Reid Harlow

"You got detention? It's barely been two weeks!"

Presley drops his keys onto a hook, walking around us as he jumps onto the couch, extending his limbs to take as much space as possible. My eyes follow him for a second, before Nini snaps her fingers in front of my face and brings me back to reality.

"Harlow," she commands sternly, causing my eyes to shift focus. I clench down my jaw. "What did you do?"

I exhale, "I told a teacher to stay out of my shit and swore a couple of times in his classroom. He didn't like it and I got a slip," I take the paper back from her hands, the one that reads a warning to whoever is the guardian to Reid Harlow. "Happy now?"

"No, absolutely not," she said, her brows pulled together as she wears the disappointed motherly look. I've never gotten that before. "Look. I don't mind you swearing at home, or anywhere—but I don't want you to get in trouble for swearing. It's a stupid thing that could go on your record and affect your future."

My face drops, and my eyes soften comparably. I don't know why hearing Nini lecturing me about my future made me go soft—since she doesn't do it in a condescending way. A way that screams, or shouts, or makes me feel terrible about myself. It was caring, and filled with concern.

And I hate it.

I turn away from her, looking at the TV Presley has since turned on. It was tuned to some random channel, playing a movie mid-day. It looks stupid as hell, with cheap props and action sequences, but it was better than showing Nini that she somehow got to me.

"Harlow," Nini calls for me, which I refuse to acknowledge. I continue to stare down at the pictures moving, taking the time to regain my composure in holding up my front. The one that screams I don't need you. "Reid Harlow."

"What?" I snap gruffly, turning back to my foster mother. She stood a couple of inches shorter than me, probably around five-foot-nine.

"Try not to get into detention again," Nini pleads, her brown eyes warm with maternal glow, "and try not to swear in class. Please."

"There's no promises," I said choppily, "I do what I want and sometimes shit happens. What can you say?"

"That you need to take responsibility for your actions," she said with a scowl, not liking the attitude I'm projecting. "Sometimes things may be out of our control, but the way we take it is always in our control."

I press my lips together in a thin line, but say nothing else. She takes off that note, turning to Presley as he leans against the couch comfortably with his arm stretching out and the remote in hand.

"Presley," Nini calls, causing the guy to jump from spot, looking straight at our foster mother. He doesn't meet my eyes. "Don't you have some studying to do?"

"I just took Harlow home from detention. I'm taking a small break," he said with a cheeky grin. He has one dimple. "TV lets the mind relax. I have scientific research."

"Hmm," Nini said, unconvinced, but nonetheless, she nods her head. "I'm going back to work. The kids are taking a nap right now, could you watch them a little bit while I finish my project?"

Presley nods solemnly, "yes, ma'am!" He salutes her like an army sergeant, causing Nini to let out a couple of laughs. With that being said, she walks away from the living room and back to her office.

Presley drops his hand, finally turning his head to meet my gaze. For a second, I thought he was going to make a comment or say something condensing after that public fight we had during school.

Instead, he extends his arm, "do you want to watch?"

Do I? No. I don't want to watch some stupid action movie. I could make better use of my time, doing something else. Probably catch up on the homework I need to finish and get over with, or go out and smoke. Yet, for some reason, I remain rooted in the same spot and did nothing.

"What's the rating?" I ask, nodding my head to the TV. He looks behind him, squinting one eye in thought.

"I don't know, probably a two out of five."

"Alright," I nod, coming around the couch as I settle into an empty spot. Presley looks genuinely surprised, but catches himself pretty quickly as he drops into a seat, right beside me.

The movie continues to play, and I could make a couple of guesses on how the ending could turn out. The man dies, but comes back to life because you didn't check the pulse, or an enemy switches sides at the last moment in a dramatic reveal.

"What does Nini do?" I ask, just as the main character jumps onto a movie training, fighting some bad guys.

"She's an interior designer," Presley tells simply, his eyes focused on the movie. "She works at home a lot, but sometimes she goes to the office to meet with her coworkers and clients."

"I didn't need to know all that," I declare. "I just wanted to know what project she was doing."

"I'm just giving you the details for interior designing," Presley holds both his hands out defensively. "Can't be too sure if you know the definition."

I give him a glare, to which he responds with a grin. I take the nearest object—which was a pillow—and throw it at Presley, hitting him square in the chest.

"I know what interior designing is,"

"You had to throw a pillow to make your knowledge clear?"

"Can't be sure if you needed a hit to understand," I quip, causing him to almost let out a laugh. I settle back into my seat, leaning into the backrest. I cross my arms, continuing to watch the movie as if it excites me.

It was quiet. The only thing heard was the sound of the movie making action sounds and the light hums of the air conditioner. I don't turn to Presley, not wanting to pick at what he's thinking, but curiosity is sweeping through me at his uncharacteristically silence.

"I didn't like how you picked a fight with me in front of your class," Presley starts, his voice drops from playfulness to a serious tone. "It makes our relationship public when things like that should be in private."

I clench down my jaw. "I just thought it was bullshit—"

"I know that's what you thought," Presley declares. "But you have to understand social cues. When I'm trying to tell the class about a program, especially for seniors like you, you should have the decency to allow people to hear it. We could've talked at home."

My lips pulled together in a thin line, and I am beginning to question why I wanted to sit here. Why I wanted to watch a movie with him. I could've been at the bench, smoking a cigarette, and not have to listen to his lecture. "The girl ran after you."

"Who?"

"The girl that sat beside me." I said monotonic, "I think her name was Dahlia. Like the flower."

"Oh, yeah," Presley nods, "why'd you care? You know her?"

"We sit at the same bench," I said simply. "She—"

"'Wasn't she the girl that called you out that morning I drove you to school?" Presley cuts me off, bringing back that memory. I grimace at the thought. "I thought that was kinda funny."

"She never fulfill her threat," I proclaim, "she said she'll talk to me again. She never did that."

"Do you want her to talk to you again?"

It took me a second. "What? No. No," I shake my head, "I don't care. I don't. Don't look at me like that—I don't."

Presley grins like an idiot, like he knows something I don't. "I don't know her. At all." I declare stubbornly, "I don't intend on knowing her. Get that through your head."

"I am, I am," he said, unconvinced. "You don't like her. Period."

"I don't."

━━━━━

AVA'S NOTES

PSA: dahlia's faceclaim is changed and i made the public announcement on instagram. i'm currently working on creating new aesthetics for this story that would follow the theory. dahlia's features from this point on is described with black hair and freckles.

another note: i understand that this story pacing is slow, but it builds more than just romance. we'll get to her driving lessons soon, but you have to understand the dynamics of her home life and see the difference between a healthy household and a toxic household. sometimes toxic aspects in parents are normalised in our society.

i need you to understand that romance is apart of this story but it's merely a subplot, a second to what i'm trying to express. i need to show how emotional abuse is incredibly damaging and sometimes words can hurt you.

we're building right now, and the arc will be hit soon. in this story, if you expect him to come into her life and change her and fairytale endings are going to happen and she escapes her home life because of him—you are mistaken. we will never romanticise trauma and how people react to trauma.

thank you.

please vote and comment!!

i recently learn that wattpad looks at the data of votes to reads in order to publish a story. :)