Chapter 7

Arrick’s POV

~ Sophies love confession ~

I wander across the street towards the Huntsbergers, that knot of anxiety that has been plaguing me since Sophie and I fought a couple days ago, and I’ve been unable to leave to go home without fixing this. I hate fighting with her, hate when we’re mad and brooding apart, but sometimes we need time apart to simmer. Sophie can be hard work at the best of times, especially when she is closed up in her usual defensive, keeping everyone at arm’s length, manner. I was tired, lack of sleep had me short with her and I acted like an asshole who should have known better than to bite when she is pushing me away. This is what she does when she needs people the most and I’m a complete ass for not recognizing classic ‘Sophie in pain’ mode.

I guess because it’s been a long while since she pushed me away so viciously. The last couple of days I have pulled her name up in my cell a million times, but my gut told me I owed her a face to face. She’s all I have thought about. Guilt eating away at my stubborn mood and a longing to make things right with us. I can never stay mad or distant with her, ever; the overriding need to reach out and feel her presence always consumes me. The truth is, I can’t ever have her mad at me, because I love her, and I hate fighting with her. Life sucks when Sophs is hating on me.

The Huntsbergers new housekeeper Olivia lets me in, and she motions upstairs when I ask for Soph’s whereabouts. The house seems eerily quiet and I’m glad. If we are about to have an all-out Sophie rage, then I would rather not have an audience. The girl knows how to throw a tantrum and a half, and she can be pretty verbal when she’s pissed at me. I know I deserve it. I dumped her back home, got snide with her and fucked off for an entire day while I simmered.

I don’t even know why I was so mad at her, but I was. A stupid reaction, and it took twenty-four hours minimum, to stop being that pissed. Lately I seem to get so easily mad at her and I don’t know why. It’s not me, it’s not how I have ever been with her, but these past few months she ignites it somehow. It’s almost like the harder she gets to handle, and the wilder her lifestyle, the more she gets inside my head and I react emotionally instead of facing what she needs from me to be okay again. It fucks me up that I can’t fix her.

She needs my help, not my moods and I know I am letting her down by acting like a prize idiot and avoiding her the last couple of days, instead of facing this head on like I used to. I pulled her through worse, handled things more calmly. I need to get back to that, it’s what she always needs.

I woke up this morning and it was clear as the sky. Stop fucking around and go be the best friend she needs. Stop dismissing her when you don’t know how to deal with her; you used to be her everything and now you’re never there for her. Sophie isn’t the problem here, I am. I stopped being her rock and this is my karma.

I scale the stairs at speed and come level with her bedroom door, surprised to see it’s wide open, which is unusual for her. She values her space and privacy a little obsessively sometimes, and I wonder if this is just another sign that she is desperately reaching out for her family to guide her. Welcoming people in easily, without hindrance, and I feel shittier that all the signs are there, and I have been missing them for god knows how long.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, pull on my most appealing expression to grovel for forgiveness I stride into her room with a confidence I definitely do not feel. Sophs mad at me is the same as being scalded by my Mom. It matters a hell of a lot more than it should.

Sophie is curled up on her bed, looking small and cute, her favorite fluffy Unicorn she named something crazily stupid, like ‘Princess Sparkly’, or some shit, is over her face with her arms wrapped around it tightly, blocking out the world. The Sophie pose of self-soothing, and I feel worse that she has needed a hug and I wasn’t around to supply her with one. My stomach sinks with the sight of her; back in kid mode, sweats and ponytails, and cuddly companions. Vulnerable and tiny, not doing so well in her battle against the big bad world and I fucking left her here. My stomach hits the floor with the weight of douchebagness, heart sinking and emotions heavy. This is the girl I’m powerless against. The girl who needs a protector.

“You could replace the bear with me. I hug back.” I say out loud, impulsively, to catch her attention and alert her to my presence. Meaning every single word as I stand here, desperate to go over and squeeze her half to death. I hate how broken she seems lying there alone. Sophie yanks the teddy down and glares at me with half shock, half outrage, and I have to suppress the urge to smile at that adorable little face she pulls. Even after all these years, that angry little rabid kitten face does crazy things to my insides. Powerless to ever feel anything but infatuation when she looks at me like that. No makeup, hair on top of her head messily, and she suddenly looks so young and innocent with those big blue eyes, blinking my way mistrustfully.

The tropical blue eyes of a perfect exotic sea, the first thing I ever fell in love with on her and even now they still hold a crazy amount of power over me. She looks away from me, sits up and starts toying with the fluffy beast moodily, turning away and I can tell she’s probably still sulking. Avoiding my gaze. I sigh heavily.

My moody little Madame.

I push down the swell of nerves building up inside of me, relax a little that at least she isn’t yelling and telling me to fuck off, and stand by the door waiting to see if I should come in. I’m hesitant and wary, knowing she can be unpredictable and the last thing I want is another fight and scope her bedside for missile launchable implements she may feel a need to send my way with that psycho aim of hers, and see nothing that will hurt much.

“Why would I want to do that?” She answers quietly, huffily, without glancing my way and I hear her sigh. I do too, powerless to resist her and suddenly overwhelmed with the need to wrap her up and squeeze her to death. I hate when she’s upset, I hate when we are not okay even more. It makes me feel like crap too and the ache in my gut reminds me what a shithead I’ve been with her lately. Sophie deserves a lot better from me. I’ve been neglecting her and letting her down far too much these past two years.

“Because I could do with a forgiveness hug after being an asshole yesterday. Saying things I didn’t mean. Tell me what you need to forgive me, Sophs.” I smile her way and catch her eye for a second before she looks away again, crazily evasive for her and wounding my soul. I wonder if she is still mad or if this is awkwardness because she thinks I might be; after all, I did storm off and hurt her.

I’m not mad at you, Mimmo.

“Maybe, I don’t forgive you.” She whispers, looking down as she pulls the Unicorn into her stomach and squeezes tighter. Childlike and irresistible, she knows how to make every part of me feel the full brunt of regret at hurting my girl. And boy, does she? I swear she can psychically kick me in the stomach any time she pleases.

I can’t resist it any longer, moving from the doorway and crossing to get on the bed beside her. Every part of me needs to console her and fix this weirdness between us. We never go long periods without making up, we rarely fight to the point that one of us walks away and I hate this distance, hate how little and hurt she looks like this. It has the same effect as gripping my heart in my chest and squeezing it until it stops beating.

“Looking like a kid again, Sophs. Are you back to sulking like one, and making me suffer for being a shithead?” I flop down beside her, trying to ensnare her with my arm into a much-needed hug, but she resists and dodges me. A tiny flicker of wariness on that dainty face and a hint of a glare. Still pissed then. “Don’t stay mad at me.” I implore her, moving in closer to try and angle around to catch her eye. Face to face I can usually read her a little better, win her around a little easier when she has to look me in the eye. Sophie is a tough nut to crack, but I have insider knowledge from years of doing so.

“I’m not mad at you anymore.” She rushes her words, still avoids me, and then slides off the bed fast, leaving Princess Squishy, or whatever its name discarded on the bed between us. Getting the hell away from me is not a good sign. She’s way madder than even I gave her credit for.

Shit.

I sigh and my heart sinks that this may prove to be harder than I thought. Even for sulky Sophie, she is acting out of sorts and evasive maneuvers usually mean she is in lock down inside her own head over more than just a fight. Locking me outside her wall is never a good sign.

“What’s wrong then? You’re acting weird as hell if you’re not sulking. Did you not sleep?” I watch her walk around her room in bare feet, baggy t-shirt, doing nothing for her figure, yet she looks exactly how I always think of her. In casual clothes, young and clean faced, crazily beautiful. This is the Sophie I love the most, the real her who doesn’t have to dress up and layer on the make up to be gorgeous.

She is usually grumpy as hell when she hasn’t slept enough though, and she looks exhausted right now. Again, guilt eats at me that maybe this is down to me and directly related to our fight. The past has taught me that our tiffs affect both of us equally, so it’s not crazy to assume this is why she is off. Making me an even bigger shithead than I previously thought.

“Yeah, I’m tired.” She answers me flatly and I frown, concern rising as I watch her move to the window and gaze out forlornly. She seems so distant and closed off and I don’t like it at all. I hate not knowing what she’s thinking, hate when she won’t talk things out with me and get up to close the gap between us. Inner gut tense and nerves a little on edge with how she is. I walk up behind her and slide my arms around her slight figure, fitting against her like a second skin. It’s so easy to cuddle Sophs, she’s always felt natural within my arms and I gravitate to touch her anytime we are close by, almost instinctively. I want so badly for us to be okay again as I rest my jaw against her hair and breathe in her unique, addictive, Sophie scent. She always smells like flowers, candy and warm happy days, a smell that calms me and brings me to a happy place. She reminds me of summer nights at the beach for some reason, maybe because I’ve taken her there a million times, and she smells like tropical getaways, fruity cocktails, and a warm sea breeze with all the warm happy memories to go with it.

“Sophs, I’m sorry. I know I walked out after saying I would be here for you, but I’m trying to make things right. I hate when we fight. We we’re both tired and emotional and being shitty and impulsive and letting nonsense fall out of our mouths. Can we just start over?” I hold her a little tighter, content in being with her, but I sense her tension suddenly. Her body turning rigid within my hold and she shrugs me off fast. Abhorring my touch is rare, almost non-existent since she was around fifteen, and I get that kick low down in my stomach that knocks me for six. Like a physical rejection from her and it cuts me to the core.

“Stop ... I can’t. It’s fucking with my head.” She blurts out, turning clumsily so she bangs into the wall behind her and gawps at me like she is about to burst into tears. Terrified deer in the headlights comes to mind and completely confuses my already shell-shocked state. My heart constricts, and stomach tightens achingly at her reaction. She has never weirded out from me touching her before, well not in a long, long time. The way she spun out disrupted the small vanity to the side of her and sent a million cosmetic jars spilling crazily all over. A perfume bottle rolls towards me and I scoop to pick it up as I try to get my head out of my ass. Scalded by Sophs of way back, before she trusted me, abhorring my touch.

“Sophs, what the hell has gotten into you?” I pick it up automatically and stand up to look at her, catching a shadow of fear and sheer panic on her face that instantly halts me in my tracks. I have no idea what the hell has gotten into her, she knows I would never hurt her. Never any sort of threat. She knows she can trust me, always. I would never do anything to make her afraid.

“Nothing. I think you should go... I don’t feel well, and I need to lay down.” She’s stammering, emotional, and I have the horrid stomach-churning sensation in my gut that we are not anywhere near okay or will be if I go. Panic rising inside of me and knocking me off kilter. I scan her face and there’s tell-tale signs of dishonesty that wound me. She’s being evasive, hiding, closing me out. Breaking me in the worst ways.

“Why are you lying to me? You never lie to me.” Stabbing pain shoots through my chest at the thought Sophie is being this way towards me; she’s my best friend. We’ve always been honest with one another, and now she’s hiding from me emotionally and trying to make me leave. Wounding my soul by trying to separate us and I wonder how much truth was in her parting words when we fought, that she doesn’t need me anymore. I almost can’t breathe with the thought of it. She’s the Robin to my Batman, the ying to my yang…. She can’t not need me anymore.

I step forward to pull her back to me needily, wanting to keep my hold on my girl impulsively, but she raises a palm to my chest, stopping me mid movement and seems to inhale harshly.

“I can’t, please don’t make me.” She’s visibly upset, and it only deepens the pangs of fear in my stomach, churning me up. I know I was a douchebag of epic proportions, but she is overreacting crazily to our fight. I’m all churned up, caught between panic and fear, yet disbelief. Maybe she’s really trying to punish me for being a dumbass.

“Sophs, you’re worrying the shit out of me, what’s wrong with you? Don’t make you what? Forgive me? That makes no sense; I can’t force you to not be mad at me?” I try to smile, even though every one of my alarm bells is ringing crazily. Anxiety peeking at why she is being so weird with me when I want to fix us back to how we always are. I want to hug her better and make us okay again. I need us to be okay. “Stop being weird and come here.” I shake my head at her, trying to dismiss this, hoping it’s just stubbornness and upset, and a whole lot of tiredness that has her being so hormonal. Trying to stay cool, even though I am seriously not. I manage to snag my finger in her belt loop and tug her to me, to get hold of her for a hug again as I don’t know how else to calm her down, or me. Her body collides with me clumsily as I get her closer and panic sweeps her face in a nanosecond as she recoils crazily.

“You can’t touch me like that anymore...It’s not right... we shouldn’t… I mean, it’s not proper … Because, it isn’t, in anyway … because … you just have to not, okay … just don’t… I mean, it’s not cool … when ...I … I … love you!” She bursts out, twisting free of my attempt at an embrace and I really am shocked at how insane she is being. We always touch or hug, it’s never been an issue, in years, not since the first time she let me hug her. Her normal ‘love you’ sentiment cools my jets a little though, knowing she at least still does, and this is not about that, about not needing me anymore. Relaxing a little, knowing that maybe all this is, is exhaustion.

“What are you talking about? I love you too, Sophs. Touching you in what way?” I try to dismiss it, reaching again, only this time she ducks and moves further away as tears fill those perfect tropical blue eyes and I’m hit in the chest with another thud of guilt. Crying she does from time to time, for various reasons, but not often. I hate it, hate how useless it makes me feel, how inadequate at making her feel better when it’s clear I caused them.

Sophie baby, don’t.

“Sophs, what the hell?” Reacting impulsively to her, I turn to watch her, where she is standing and realize that she looks, how I feel. Panicking, confused; and it’s only making me even more so. My palms getting clammy and my throat drying with anxiety at her obvious distress and lack of verbal explanation. “What is it, Mimmo?” I really have no clue and can’t help the impulse that moves me closer to her again.

She needs to talk to me, to explain what’s going on in that pretty little blonde head if I am to help her. She knows that’s what I’ll always do if she just tells me what’s going on with her today. She holds up a shaky palm and looks at me with utter devastation on her angelic face, that cuts my heart like a knife. Breath catching in my throat as I stare at her with scrutiny. That openly scared expression, the tiny tremble of her lips and the slight furrow of brow over those endless eyes.

“I. LOVE. You.” She says it slowly and emphasizes it this time, and I just blink at her, completely confused and slow on the uptake.