Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(40)
“Bridgette, stop.” Warren isn’t laughing anymore, because he can see how white my knuckles are, clasped around my book. I think he’s afraid Bridgette’s about to get hit upside the head with a hardback. He’s right to be afraid.
“You stop, Warren,” she says, turning back around to face him. “Either stop crawling into bed with me at night or stop shacking up on the couch with her during the day.”
I drop my book onto my lap with a loud slap, then kick my feet up and down against the floor out of frustration, anger, and flat-out annoyance. I can’t put up with this girl for another second.
“Bridgette, please!” I yell. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Christ! I don’t know why you think I’m deaf, and I’m definitely not a whore, and I’m not using sign language to flirt with Warren. I don’t even know sign language. And from now on, please stop yelling when you speak to me!”
Bridgette cocks her pretty little head, and her mouth hangs open in shock. She silently stares at me for several seconds. No one in the room makes a move. She turns her attention to Warren, and the anger in her eyes is replaced with hurt. She immediately looks away once the hurt takes over, and she heads straight back to her room.
I glance over to see Ridge staring at me, more than likely wondering what the hell just happened. I lean my head back against the couch and sigh.
I was hoping that would feel good, but it didn’t feel good at all.
“Well,” Warren says, “there goes my chance to act out all the role-playing scenes I’ve been imagining. Thanks a lot, Sydney.”
“Screw you, Warren,” I say, understanding a little bit where Bridgette’s attitude comes from.
I slide my book off my lap and stand up, then walk to Bridgette’s door. I knock, but she doesn’t 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. She’s 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.
She’s 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 I’m still scared to death of her.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She rolls her eyes and falls back onto the bed in a huff. “You are not,” she says. “I don’t blame you. I deserved it.”
I tilt my head. Did she really just admit that she deserved it? “I’m 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 can’t help it. It’s not like it’s my goal in life to be a bitch.”
I lie back on the bed with her. “So don’t 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 you’re not a bitch.”
I sigh. She may not think I’m a bitch, but I sure have been feeling like one lately. “For what it’s worth, I’m 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. I’m beginning to think I’m not as nice as I always thought I was.”
Bridgette doesn’t 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 she’s going with this, and I interrupt her string of thought. “Warren and I are friends, and we could never be more than friends. He’s 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 Warren’s 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 don’t know for sure.”
If it’s 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 he’s pretty sure he might love you. I probably shouldn’t 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 they’re drunk are more accurate and honest than the things they say when they’re sober.”
I nod, unsure if that’s a true fact or just a Bridgette fact. She stands up and walks swiftly to the door, then swings it open.
Oh, no.
She’s about to kill Warren, and it’s 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, she’s swinging her leg over his, sliding onto his lap. Warren’s eyes are wide, and he’s looking at her in fear, which tells me this isn’t one of her usual moves.