I slide my book off my lap and stand up, then walk to Bridgettes door. I knock, but she doesnt open it. I knock again, turn the knob, and push the door slightly open to peek inside.
Bridgette?
A pillow meets the back of the door with a thud. Get the hell out of my room!
I ignore her and open the door a little further until I can see her. Shes sitting on her bed, with her knees pulled up to her chest. When she sees me coming into her room, she quickly wipes her eyes, then turns the other way.
Shes crying, and now I really feel shitty. I walk to her bed and sit on the edge of it, as far out of her reach as possible. I may feel bad, but Im still scared to death of her.
Im sorry, I say.
She rolls her eyes and falls back onto the bed in a huff. You are not, she says. I dont blame you. I deserved it.
I tilt my head. Did she really just admit that she deserved it? Im not gonna lie, Bridgette. You are kind of a bitch.
She laughs softly, then folds her arm over her eyes. God, I know. I just get so annoyed with people, but I cant help it. Its not like its my goal in life to be a bitch.
I lie back on the bed with her. So dont be one, then. It takes way more effort to be a bitch than it does to not be one.
She shakes her head. You can say that because youre not a bitch.
I sigh. She may not think Im a bitch, but I sure have been feeling like one lately. For what its worth, Im more evil than you might think. I may not express my feelings in quite the same fashion as you, but I definitely have evil thoughts. And lately, evil intentions. Im beginning to think Im not as nice as I always thought I was.
Bridgette doesnt respond to my admission for a few quiet moments. She finally sighs heavily and sits up on the bed. Can I ask you something? Now that I know you can actually answer me?
I sit up, too, and nod.
Are you and Warren . . . She pauses. You guys seem to get along really well, and I was curious if . . .
I smile, because I know where shes going with this, and I interrupt her string of thought. Warren and I are friends, and we could never be more than friends. Hes sort of oddly infatuated with this bitchy Hooters waitress he knows.
Bridgette smiles, but then she quickly stops smiling and looks straight at me. How long has Warren known that I thought you were deaf?
I think back on the past few weeks. Since the morning after I moved in? I wince, knowing Warrens about to experience the side of Bridgette we all know too well. But please go easy on him, Bridgette. As strangely as you two show it, he really does like you. He might even love you, but he was drunk when he said that, so I dont know for sure.
If its possible to hear a heart stop, I just heard hers come to a screeching halt. He said that?
I nod. A couple of weeks ago. We were leaving the club, and he was wasted, but he said something about how hes pretty sure he might love you. I probably shouldnt be telling you this, though.
She drops her eyes to the floor and is quiet for several seconds, then looks back up at me. You know, most things people say when theyre drunk are more accurate and honest than the things they say when theyre sober.
I nod, unsure if thats a true fact or just a Bridgette fact. She stands up and walks swiftly to the door, then swings it open.
Oh, no.
Shes about to kill Warren, and its partly my fault. I stand up and rush to the door, prepared to catch the blame for telling her what Warren said. However, once I reach the living room, shes swinging her leg over his, sliding onto his lap. Warrens eyes are wide, and hes looking at her in fear, which tells me this isnt one of her usual moves.
Bridgette takes Warrens face in her hands, and he hesitantly brings his hands to her lower back. She sighs, staring him hard in the eyes. I cant believe Im falling in love with such a stupid, stupid asshole, she says to him.
He stares at her for several seconds while her comment registers, and then his hands fly up to the back of her head and he crashes their lips together. He scoots forward and stands with Bridgette wrapped around him. Then, without breaking for air, he takes her directly to his bedroom, where the door shuts behind them.
Im smiling, because Bridgette is more than likely the only girl in existence who could pull off calling someone an asshole and in the same breath confess her love. And oddly enough, Warren is probably one of the few guys who would find that appealing.
Theyre perfect for each other.
Ridge: How in the hell did you pull that one off? I was waiting for her to come out here and strangle him. You spend two minutes with her, and shes all over him.
Me: Shes actually not as bad as she seems.
Ridge: Really?
Me: Well, maybe she is. But I guess I admire that about her. Shes true to herself.
Ridge smiles, sets his phone down, and drops his eyes back to his laptop. Theres something different about him now. I cant pinpoint exactly what it is, but I can see it in his eyes. He looks distraught. Or sad. Or maybe just tired?
He actually looks like a little bit of all three, and it makes me hurt for him. When I first met him, he seemed to have everything together. Now that Ive gotten to know him better, Im beginning to think thats not the case. The guy standing in front of me right now looks as if his life is a mess, and I havent even begun to scratch the surface.
Ridge: Im still a little behind on work, but I should be caught up by tonight. If you feel like running through a new song, you know where to find me.
Me: Sounds good. I have an afternoon study group, but Ill be back by seven.
He smiles halfheartedly and heads to his room. I know Im beginning to understand most of his expressions. The one he just shot me was definitely a look of nervousness.
Ridge
I assumed she didnt feel like writing tonight when she didnt show, and I told myself I was okay with that.
However, its a few minutes past eight, and my light just flickered. I cant ignore the rush of adrenaline pumping through me. I tell myself my body is having the reaction its having because Im passionate about writing music, but if that were the case, why dont I get this excited when I write alone? Or with Brennan?
I close my eyes and gently lay my guitar next to me while inhaling a steady breath. Its been weeks since weve done this. Since the night she let me hear her sing and it completely changed the dynamic of our working relationship.
Thats not her fault, though. Im not even sure if its my fault. Its natures fault, because attraction is an ugly beast, and Ill be damned if I dont conquer it.
I can do this.
I open the door to my bedroom and step aside while she comes in with her notebook and her laptop. She walks confidently toward the bed and drops down onto it, then opens her laptop. I sit back down and open mine.
Sydney: I couldnt pay attention in class today, because all I wanted to do was write lyrics. I wouldnt let myself write any, though, because it comes so much better when you play. Ive missed this. I didnt think I would like it at first, and it made me nervous, but I love writing lyrics. Love, love, love it. Lets go, Im ready.
Shes smiling at me and giddily patting her palms against the mattress.
I smile back as I lean against the headboard and begin playing the opening to a new song Ive been working on. I havent finished it yet, but Im hoping that with her help, well make some headway tonight.
I play the song several times, and she watches me some of the time, then writes some of the time. She uses her hands to tell me to pause or back up or move on to the next chorus or to restart the song altogether. I keep a close eye on her while I play, and we continue this dance for more than an hour. She does a lot of scratching out and makes a heck of a lot of faces that Im not sure convey that shes having any fun.
She eventually sits up and tears the paper out of the notebook, then wads it up and tosses it into the trash can. She slaps her notebook shut and shakes her head.
Sydney: Im sorry, Ridge. Maybe Im just exhausted, but its not clicking right now. Can we try this again tomorrow night?
I nod, doing my best to hide my disappointment. I dont like seeing her frustrated. She takes her laptop and notebook and starts to walk back toward her bedroom. She turns back around and mouths, Good night.
As soon as she disappears, Im off the bed and digging through the trash can. I pull out her wadded-up sheet of paper and take it back to my bed and unfold it.
Watching him from here
So far away
Want him closer than my heart can take
I want him here I want
Maybe one of these days Someday
There are random sentences, some marked out, some not. I read all of them, attempting to work my way around them.
Id run to him, if I could stand
But I cant make that demand
I cant be his right now
Why cant he take me away
Reading her words feels like an invasion of her privacy. But is it? Technically, were in this together, so I should be able to read what shes writing as she writes it.
But theres something different about this song. Its different because this song doesnt sound like its about Hunter.
This song sounds a little like it could be about me.
I shouldnt be doing this. I should not be picking up my phone right now, and I should definitely not be contemplating how to persuade her to help me finish this song tonight.
Me: Dont be mad, but Im reading your lyrics. I think I know where your frustration is coming from.
Sydney: Could it be coming from the fact that I suck at writing lyrics and a few songs is all I had in me?
I pick up my guitar and head to her bedroom. I knock and open her door, assuming shes still decent since she just left my room two minutes ago. I walk to her bed and sit, then grab her notebook and pen and place her lyrics on top of the notebook. I write a note and hand it to her.
You have to remember the band youre writing lyrics for is all guys. I know its hard to write from a male point of view, since youre obviously not male. If you stop writing this song from your own point of view and try to feel it from a different point of view, the lyrics might come. Maybe its been hard because you know a guy will be singing it, but the feelings are coming from you. Just flip it around and see what happens.
She reads my note, then picks up the pen and shifts back on her bed. She looks at me and nods her head toward my guitar, indicating that shell give it a try. I scoot off the bed and onto the floor, then stand my guitar upright and pull it against my chest. When Im working out chords to a new song, it helps to play this way sometimes so I can feel the vibrations more clearly.
I close my eyes, lean my head against the guitar, and begin playing.