You’re Mine

Chapter 169

Harper

He's acting weirder than normal. NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.

My eyes narrow as Easton stares into his spaghetti then looks up at me like he's trying to figure something out.

I frown.

"So, Harper his dad says, "what are your plans next year?" Easton shifts in his seat while I reach across and put my hand on his thigh.

“Honestly, I'm not sure.

I got accepted into San Jose State, so I'll probably go there.” "Ah, congrats"

His dad raises his wine glass.

"Might be hard being away from Easton, huh?" Talk about stating the obvious.

He drinks his red wine, tossing it back in two sips before setting his empty glass back down and looking between us.

"If it's supposed to work.

It will"

That's it.

That's all he says before getting up; even Easton's mom is grinning at us like her smile is either frozen, or she's trying to look encouraging.

Nothing about their expressions are helpful, nor do they make me feel better about my life right now.

"Easton.."

His mom stands and spreads her hands wide across her black designer skirt.

Even her makeup is perfect, her lipstick still somehow on after eating dinner, her smile white, and her dark hair pulled back into a low bun that just manages to look both pretty and classy at the same time.

"Why dont you and Harper watch a movie or something? Use the last few months you have together before school.” Her smile is genuine, but my gut still sinks to my feet as Easton stands and holds out his hand.

We walk toward the living room, and then he tugs me down the hall into the theater room, and we walk inside.

He says nothing as he grabs the remote and turns on Netflix.

He presses play on Red Notice and snatches a blanket from the little basket next to the wet bar, then curses under his breath and goes back, grabbing a bottle of expensive whiskey and slumping into a seat holding his arms out like he wants me to sit on his lap.

I do.

I sit there.

I feel how hard he is.

But more so, I feel how sad he is.

The whiskey bottle is handed to me.

I take a sip, then hand it back; we do this for at least five minutes, each of us getting buzzed as we watch the movie.

It's hilarious, but neither of us are laughing.

Because this world is one that exists without us together in it, at least that's how it feels as we both think about our futures.

He can't leave.

I cant leave.

I assume he'll probably fake a fight and break my heart in order to stop the pain from leaving my chest.

He would fix it by breaking it, and I would let him because of his love for me.

“Easton,” I whisper his name; I taste it on my tongue and wonder what it would be like years from now, remembering his name, saying it, worshipping it, without having him in front of me.

I dont want to imagine that sort of pain.

And yet, my heart tries to.

I try to imagine a world where our breaths aren't mixed, our hands aren't tangled, our bodies aren't pressed against one another, and where our heartbeats aren't synced.

It's like bleeding out—this pain.

It's like being shot and then told that there's nothing you can do to stop the wound; that's what it feels like sitting on his lap and imagining a world where we aren't together.

For a minute, I think I'm being dramatic, and then he rests his head against my back and sighs.

"I can't do it.” My eyes squeeze shut.

"What are we going to do?" He holds me tighter.

"I'll love you no matter what"

"My love for you-" I smile to myself "—isn't measured by distance.

But by the size of your heart"

"And my dick?" "Very funny.” For some reason, I want to burst into tears.

My phone buzzes next to me on the couch.

I grab it really quick.

My parents are checking in.

Typical.

For some reason.

I need a distraction from the pain and check my email, then nearly fall off the couch.

"SHIT!" I yell.

"Easton, SHIT!" I stumble away from him and start to jump in place.

"What? Are you okay? What's going on? What?" He's yelling.

I'm yelling and jumping.

"I got in!” I squeal.

"Right!" He laughs.

"To San Jose, you little badass—" "=TO UCLA!" I shout.

He freezes.

I keep jumping in circles.

And then I'm pulled into his arms.

His mouth is crashing against mine, and I'm once again wondering why I would ever want to be in a place where this boy didn't exist.

"This is—" he kisses me hard “—amazing!" Tears stream down my cheeks.

"My dream college"

“Your dream,’ he repeats, his eyes locked on mine in a way that says, follow them but know that I wish I was there with you as if my dream could ever include something he wasnt a part of.

But he was my dream too.

I still in his arms.

And of course, the moment is broken as my mom calls.

He kisses my cheek.

"I'll grab something to help us celebrate.” He's leaving the room as I answer.

"MOM!" “Are you okay?" she yells.

"I just wanted to check—in.

You never texted back and—" "—Mom, I got into UCLA!" I start crying for real.

And contemplate doing cartwheels around the room when she speaks, “Oh honey, that's incredible!" Her voice says otherwise.

I frown.

"Mom?" “Sweetheart,” she hisses.

"She got into UCLA"

"Good job!" Dad says with pride on the other end.

"That's wonderful"

"I'm so excited! I can't believe it! Can you imagine?" I start to do a little dance again when Easton comes back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses—clearly, his parents aren't paying attention to what he's doing, but I don't even care at this point.

I'm grinning from ear to ear when he pops the bottle and smiles.

I put the phone on speaker and keep dancing while Easton laughs and pours us champagne.

“We can talk about this later, Mom says in a calm voice.

"When you get back to the house.."

I pause.

"What do you mean talk about it?" Dad clears his throat.

"Honey, I want nothing more than for you to go to your dream school, but we'll have to make sure our finances work with it...

if not, we might have to discuss other options.

But we're so proud!" I deflate immediately.

Easton stops pouring and stares at me.

Embarrassed, I look away and say, "Y—yeah, okay good idea.

Love you guys! I'm going to go celebrate, okay?" "Sounds good!" Dad laughs.

"And good job, honey.’ "Thanks Dad"

My voice catches in my throat as I hang up and turn to Easton.

And burst into tears.