The sound of water running filled the bathroom.
Persha stood in front of the sink, head down, fingers tightly gripping the sink.
He wasn’t going to let Marcel ruin his night.
They were in a vacant room on the top floor of the guest house.
Zabi had brought him here to wash the remaining alcohol out of his system.
He still felt the buzz in his system, but now he could think more clearly.
He washed his face and hands, staring at his reflection in the mirror before stepping out of the bathroom.
Having the opportunity to fully look at the room, he sat on the bed, laying back, letting the cool night breeze blowing from the opened window flow into the room.
He laid there for some minutes before he smelt cigarettes.
Turning his head to the side, seeing the silhouette of a person, he gets up and walks to the opened veranda, where he sees her, in all her glory, Zabi Foss.
Cigarettes at the tip of her fingers, she was bent over the railing staring into the night.
He doesn’t know how long he stood and stared, it had to be a long time.
She turns, catching him like a deer in headlights, lips agape, eyes wide.
He collects himself, clearing his throat.
“Thank you,” he rasps out, voice hoarse from being silent for too long.
As usual she said nothing, turning back to resting on the railings.
“I brought your shirt with me,” he breaks the silence.
“It’s in my friend’s car.
Maybe before I leave I could hand it over to you,” he says, avoiding looking at her.
“I feel like I’m in your space a lot,” he says, laughter leaving his lips.
That seems to catch her attention, so did the words that came out of her mouth.
“He’s your ex?” she says, finally starting a conversation.
It made Persha happy.
It might not be much, but he felt like he conquered something.
“Yeah…
yeah he was.”
“A shitty one, from what you might have noticed,” he adds, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers.
Then his heart did it again, skipping a beat then beating incredibly fast.
It wasn’t meant to be so.
He is gay for crying out loud.
Women are not meant to be appealing to him.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Zabi was facing him now, back resting on the railing, hands neatly tucked in her pockets as she takes in every expression he makes.
“So you’re gay,” she says it like a statement rather than a question. Get faster updates on g.com.
Persha lets out a loud sigh, his head thumping against the wall behind him.
“Yes, I am gay,” he says.
It’s something he’d known since he was old enough to understand, so why does it sound like a doubt?
She raises her brow in question.
She must have caught the doubt in his tone.
“You’re also captain of the school’s basketball team.”
That tone, like she’s reading him, letting him know she knows him.
“And the school’s pretty boy,” she adds.
That gets his interest again.
This time he smiles wide, dimples prominent as his eyes squint.
Again, Zabi just stares at him.
“You think I’m pretty?” he says, laughing.
Zabi doesn’t laugh with him, instead she lights her cigarette, takes a puff.
“You are,” she says, turning back to stare at the rising moon.
Persha had never been shut up quite like that before.
He decides to take it further.
“Is that a compliment?”
He doesn’t wait for her to reply.
“I’d take it,” he says, turning and walking out of the room.
Unfortunately for him, he didn’t see.
He didn’t see the smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched him leave.
Persha goes back to the party downstairs.
He sees Baylee speaking to someone he doesn’t recognize.
He walks up to them.
“Where the hell were you?” Baylee says.
“I told you to stay put,” he adds, watching Persha fidget nervously.
“I had to use the bathroom.
Can we leave?” he says.
Baylee is shocked by his sudden request.
“Why?
Are you okay?
Did something happen?” he asks, worry evident in his tone.
“No, I’m fine.
The alcohol…
“I should have drove here.
I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely sad he has to drag his friend out of the party.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Baylee says, quickly bidding goodbye to the person he was speaking to.
They head to the car, Baylee getting into the front seat.
Persha opens the back seat door, seeing the bag containing Zabi’s shirt.
He picks it up.
“Oh, Baylee, I’d be right back,” he calls out, already running back into the guest house, bag in his hands.
He wanders around looking for her.
He goes back to the room they were in before, asking Art students if they’ve seen their council president, all leading to dead ends.
He was about to give up when he realizes he hasn’t checked the poolside.
He walks over there, seeing her speaking with someone.
He remembers her from the assembly, Tiffany Haydes, Zabi’s vice council president.
He walks closer to them.
“Zabi,” he calls, catching both their attention.
He makes eye contact with Tiffany.
Zabi was sat on one of the chairs lined beside the pool, Tiffany seated comfortably in her lap, hands around her neck.
“Oh, hey,” Tiffany says, not making an attempt to give them space.
Zabi bends her head backward to take a look at the boy behind her.
Persha steps forward, going to stand by her side.
He stretches his hand out, the small bag dangling from his fingers.
“Your shirt,” he says, not breaking eye contact.
“Your shirt?” Tiffany asks.
“Ouuu, why is pretty boy over here with your shirt, Zabi?” she teases.
Zabi doesn’t reply.
She collects it before muttering a quiet, “Thanks.”
Persha doesn’t say anything else.
He just walks away, heading back to the car.
His heart does it again, beating rapidly.
This time it’s accompanied by his stomach churning, a very familiar feeling.
Something he’s felt once.
Jealousy.
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