Genevieve
IT STARTS THREE DAYS LATER.
The rain let up by Tuesday morning, and both then and Wednesday morning my hot chocolates were delivered perfectly on my doorstep as per. Pink marshmallows—the standard, which Ford knows. Thursday morning gives me concern. The hot chocolate is there, perfectly placed in the centre of my doorstep—Ford can't tolerate disorganisation—as I go to leave for college.
But it has white marshmallows.
Initially, I suspect nothing of it. I assume that the coffee shop just ran out of pink marshmallows and Ford had to get white. I have nothing against white marshmallows in my hot chocolate, but I adore the soft pink hue of the gooey marshmallows. I don't know why. I always have.
But I don't drink it.
I decant it down the sink at college and buy myself another one from the cafeteria. This one has white marshmallows too but that's only because I don't have the option for pink.
Afterwards, I meet up with Talia and Quinn. They know nothing of my previous conversation I had with Ford on Monday morning. They aren't aware that he delivers hot chocolates to me every morning. As far as they're concerned, Ford and I aren't communicating at all—which we shouldn't be.
For the past few days I've toyed with the idea of messaging him, wanting to know if he can translate his feelings into a text message, but I stop myself before I can. I want him to speak the words to me. If he can say them, maybe I can piece together my befuddling feelings for him, and it'll all make sense in the end. Because right now, I'm at a complete fucking loss for how I feel. I know how I should feel, but my current feelings don't reflect that.
I like Ford. I miss Ford.
I know I have feelings for him.
Completely, irrevocably fucked-up feelings.
And they're devouring me.
"You're not listening to us," Quinn suddenly snaps, hastily amputating me from my invasive thoughts.
Guilty, I nod. "Sorry. I completely zoned out."
Talia's eyeing me curiously, but Quinn's level of subtlety mismatches hers. Quinn's question is less out of concern and stems more from her irritation. "What's up with you, Genevieve?"
I tell myself that they're my best friends and only ever have my best interests at heart. That's what drives me into admitting to them that Ford has taken up permanent residency in my mind, and it's not looking likely that I can modify that any time soon. Talia's sympathetic by my revelation, but Quinn struggles to disguise her jadedness.
"He drugged you."
"I know," I breathe shamefully.
"He's a fucking lowlife."
"Haven't you ever fallen for the wrong person?" I snap.
Quinn recoils from my vehemence while Talia remains wide-eyed and stunned. The silence that descends upon us is thick and tangible. I didn't mean to ask Quinn that. We all know the answer. We've all fallen for the wrong guy. Talia and Quinn both experienced that in high school, but mine is now.
"I'm sorry," I murmur. "I'm quick to snap now since..." I don't need to finish the sentence with the drugging. "I'm trying to work on it."
I want to elucidate more, clarify the entire situation with them. But they're clueless to my involvement with Red Alert and the murder investigations. They've spotted my bandages on my arm already and I had to lie that I burned myself while cooking. Even my parents noticed it. There seemed to be some hesitancy with them in buying my lie, but they eventually did.
