Endless Bonds

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

ierre's face looks drawn, as he rests his head against his pillow.

I adjust my phone so I'm laying down as well, facing him, my head on my own pillow. If I close my eyes for two seconds, I can imagine that I'm in Paris. In his room. On his bed. Over his soft white sheets with his warmth seeping into me.

But I'm stuck in Vancouver while my fiancé is miles away.

We've been video-calling for twenty minutes now. It's getting late, but I don't want to end our call.

"You've been acting all weird," I whisper so Sara, who's sleeping soundlessly on the other side of the room, doesn't hear.

"How so, chérie?"

His gruff and tired voice causes something in my chest to twist.

"I don't know. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Nothing in particular..." He blinks, desperately trying to stay awake. "Except that I miss you...And that this is plus difficile que I thought."

It's hard for me, too.

I'm conflicted with so many emotions and feelings and... I just say it like it is. "Pierre, you've been distant. You take forever to call me back and I've noticed twice that you ignored my messages."

That catches his attention. Instantly, his eyes flash with mild annoyance and they narrow. "Fvck, Cher. Tu oublies that I also go to school. I also have a life here. Just because you decided to leave France doesn't mean I can do the same. Of course, we're distant. We're continents apart with a huge time difference between us. Mon Dieu...We're so far away. I'm not doing this on purpose. I've been...caught up with so many things just like you were before. Remember au debut du semestre when I was always calling you and you were too busy to answer me? Well, I'm busy now. But I am trying to make time. It's just difficult."

Now I'm the one who's annoyed. He's been caught up with things – why didn't he simply tell me? God, I would have respected that and would have wanted to be there for him. But I'm too far gone in my annoyance that I don't even bother asking him what's wrong.

Instead, I spit, "You know, Lise called me?"

Pierre has never been a morning person, but now his gaze snaps wide awake. There's venom in his voice when he speaks. "Pourquoi est-ce-qu'elle t'a appelé?" he snarls. "Don't answer the bxtch, Cher."

"I don't know why she called."

He shifts, disappearing out of view.

"Pierre – Where are you going?"

He groans. "I just remembered the time and I have to meet with my parents...It's complicated. Just...Promise me you won't answer her? She's trying to stir shxt up. Anyways, you'll see me soon, chérie."

Since when did we become that couple, the one who doesn't talk about what we're dealing with? I feel defeated and suddenly drained of energy.

"Will I?" Will I see you soon, Pierre?

I'm so lost and there's so much happening here.

I'm missing Pierre and I'm suspicious of his fvcking ex-girlfriend. And, I'm heavily guilt-ridden because of Trent and what I'm feeling for him because I can't put that feeling into words.

I liked dancing with him too much. I liked being close to him too much. I loved feeling his warmth.

What I didn't like was when Trent had his arms around me, that feeling of righteous was so potent that I'd forgotten about Pierre.

All these emotions tumbling inside of me are further emphasizing that my actions with him at Danny's Grill were wrong and I know Jared was right.

I'm screwed. Plain and simple.

I've been so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even realize Pierre hung up on me.

* * *

I'm running late for my weekly study session with Gabe and Sara.

When I enter Starbucks, I see them huddled in a corner table with their laptops.

"Sorry I'm late," I announce as I squeeze in next to Gabe. "What did I miss?"

Gabe's mouth lifts into a half-smile and he chin nods towards Sara. "This one over here has been procrastinating for the last hour. She says in the middle of creating a food Instagram account."

"Oh my God. Are you serious?" I chuckle. "I'm all for it, Sara."

She smirks at me and wiggles her eyebrows. "Thanks, sis. This one over here is quite pessimistic. He says no one is going to care."

"I say you get 200 followers. Tops," Gabe chimes in playfully, as he types away on his word document. "Do you know how many food accounts Instagram is saturated with?"

Sara's expression morphs into something sad. She looks like a kicked puppy with her mouth turned downwards and her crazy curls tamed into tiny pigtails at her side. Even her badass eyebrow piercing isn't doing anything.

I jump in to defend her, nudging Gabe in the rib with my elbow as I open my own laptop. "Yeah, well, do you know how many fitness and personal trainer accounts Instagram is saturated with? Fvcking plenty, Gabe."

He looks guilty now. We all know he posts his workouts and his training sessions with his college athlete buddies on his account.

"That's totally different. I'm actually going to need the social media following for brand awareness when I finish my degree. Sara is going to do absolutely fvck all with food!"

Sara flips him the middle finger. "I'm studying business and I may want to open up a restaurant in the future, so I need the social media following for brand awareness, too, you d!ck. And while you're at it, you have like, over four thousand followers. So why can't you put in a shameless plug in for me and help a girl out, eh?"

He sticks his tongue out. "Maybe I don't want to help you. Now can we please get back to work?"

Sara decides she's not done talking yet. "Cher, I forgot to tell you. I'm not seeing Jared anymore."

"What?!" Me and Gabe bark in unison.

"Yeah." She looks at us and shifts a little uncomfortably under our scrutinizing gazes. "We talked and we decided it's best to keep it casual. Plus, I don't really think he's the right guy to lose my virginity to."

Gabe's in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee. He sprays it out.

My own mouth falls open in surprise. I forget that Sara kind of doesn't have a filter. She says whatever she wants, as loud as she wants, wherever she wants. Like Tara.

"Honestly, Sara," Gabe wheezes, clutching his chest a little. "That's the kind of information I don't need."

"The part where I'm a virgin or that I don't want to lose it to Jared?"

"Both," Gabe squeaks out, sounding like he's having an allergic reaction and can't breathe.

I didn't know about Sara being a virgin, but it makes sense. And I'm glad she's being smart about this. I know Jared well and I love him, but if he's not one hundred percent in it...Sara would have needed a big-ass bandage to hold herself together when they'd be done, if things went any further.

"Sara, I'm happy to hear that. I respect your decision and honestly, hon, I'm glad you're being smart about this. There's no need to rush into things. Don't ever let yourself get pressured."

She nods her head and smiles. "You're right. Plus, I think my first time should be with someone I really love you know," she adds. "So, tell me what your first times were like?"

Gabe's trying not to choke. I grin.

Some passersby stare at us, but Sara doesn't give two fvcks. She continues to look at us expectantly.

"Well, not much to say. I believe I was sixteen, almost seventeen. It was the summer before I left for France. We were in the backseat of his mustang and...I didn't tell him I was a virgin because I was too embarrassed. Anyways, we were kissing, things got heavy and the next thing you know, I'm on top and well...Since he didn't know it was my first time...He kind of just wrenched me down and honestly, it fvcking hurt. He was super thick and long, too. I had tears."

"Oh, my God!" Sara inhales sharply. "I can't believe it. That's awful."

I literally don't care that I've said this in front of Gabe because I'm really comfortable with him. But now he looks like he's going to be nauseous, sitting here listening to girl-talk.

"Meh. He was nice about it. The second he found out I was a virgin he was so apologetic and gentle. The next day he came over to my place with fancy cake as a peace offering. We did it again because he wanted to show me that sex could actually be fun, and he was sweet and attentive again. Never saw him afterwards, because I left for France."

"Can we talk about something else – I really don't want to hear this?" Gabe asked pathetically, burying his head in his hands.

We ignored his groan. Sara looked at me with a hopeful glint. "Wow. That's kind of romantic, I guess. Was he your age? And, ohhhh, what's his name? I want to Facebook-stalk him."

"No. He's a year...or two years older, I think. And I don't even know if he has social media. But if you're searching, his name's Cole Shaw."

"Oh shxt," Gabe puffs out. "I think I know him. The Shaw triplets, right? They've got a sister or something? Pretty sure I know his brother Dylan."

AKA the only guy Tara's ever been hung up on. "Yup."

I stand up then. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go get myself a coffee. Have fun stalking his social media."

* * *

"It'll be 6.70$"

I smile at the barista as I reach into my wallet, perusing for my debit. My lungs shrink a little bit and heat flames my face. Where is it?

My fingers are rummaging helplessly through the slots. Crap. I don't even have my credit card and I'm not one for carrying cash. Maybe I left it in my desk drawer at my dorm room?

"Hey, I'm sorry," I inform the girl standing behind the counter with a fake happy smile pasted on her face, the one that's probably mandatory when you work at Starbucks. "I actually forgot my –"

"– I got it." A thick forearm emerges from above my head, using PayPass to pay for my coffee.

The barista gives her thanks and wanders off to prepare my drink. Mouth parts in slight shock and gratitude. I turn around to face the sweet stranger behind me who just paid for my medium salted caramel mocha with almond milk.

"Thank you," I laugh, a little embarrassed. "You really didn't have to do that."

He shrugs and suddenly, his eyes snap open a little, as if finally noticing me. Playfulness swirls in his gaze. "Well, you were holding up the line."

I bite my lip. He's kinda cute. "Well, there's only you standing behind. And thank you, yeah. That too. You really didn't have to do that."

I gesture my hands awkwardly towards the counter.

His grin widens. He's huge, for lack of a better word. Meaty, muscular arms and tough, buzzed hair. He looks like he can break me in his two fingers. Kind of like the Hulk.

"Let me etransfer you," I say.

He shakes his head. "Nah. Don't worry about it. Just seven dollars, right?"

"6.70, to be exact."

He nods his head with a mock-serious frown creasing his forehead. "Hmm. Yeah. That 6.70$ really hurt my bank account. Maybe you can pay for my coffee next time?"

Okay. He's smooth. I laugh. "Okay. I'm Cher, by the way."

"Lance." Like a gentleman, he gives me his hand. "Do you study here?"

Of course, since the café is on campus.

Trying to be polite, I take his hand and notice how big it is. Then a random meme strikes my mind and I remember, every hand you shake has held a d!ck in it.

Don't cringe. Don't cringe, Cher.

I manage to smile somehow. "Yes, first semester here. Just transferred."

"Cool. Third year for me." A knowing glint enters his eyes and I see him trying to do a subtle check. "Maybe you can repay me after all. How about coffee and a study date here next week?"

"You sure you don't want that etransfer?"

"Positive."

"Okay, because I'm not known to say yes to dates with random strangers. But tell you what – if you're around the next time I come here to study, I'll pay for your drink."

* * *

Gabe's watching me wearily when I saunter back to our study table with my free coffee in hand.

I presume when his gaze darts behind me, it's to latch onto Lance, who's already walking away to his own spot.

"You really shouldn't have been doing that," he says with a slight shake of his head.

Even Sara arches a pierced eyebrow.

"What?"

"Flirting with Lance Campa. Him and Trent are kind of quarrelling. They play football together."

Whatever it is I'm sure it's not serious. Boys and their toys. I've been around Trent's football buddies, and they're always ribbing each other and making stupid bets.

"I don't answer to Trent. I can talk to however I want. Plus, Lance was sweet."

With a mild laugh that's not at all humourful, Gabe goes back to typing out his notes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

My history paper is finally complete. I'm doing a final edit when Sara speaks up from her side of the room.

"Your phone keeps lighting up, Cher. Might want to check that out."

"Hmm?"

"Phone, Chérie!" she says in a teasing French accent.

Chérie. Pierre's nickname for me.

Instantly, my back stiffens. I know Sara doesn't know he calls me that. She doesn't even know about him and that's my fault.

Yet I try to mask my reaction with a false smile and reach for my phone on my nightstand. I've got a bunch of texts. Some from Tara, a few friends from France and their group chats and...

One from Trent.

Not one from Pierre.

Sara's perusing my face. "You okay?"

I smile again. It's fake. "Peachy."

The more I stare at Trent's words, the easier my decision becomes.

Closing my laptop, I head for the bathroom with my change of clothes in hand, and towel. I need a shower.

* * *

Trent sucks in a small breath through his parted mouth as his gaze soaks me in. I'm wearing a jeans skirt – the short ones I know he really likes on me – a distressed black tee, a leather jacket and my signature beret.

I shift a little self-consciously. "Hi," I mumble under his intense stare.

His Adam's apple works with a swallow. "Come in," he says gruffly and moves to the side.

When I step inside, he slides closer and our bodies brush against one another. I try to ignore the electrical current that passes through me at the mere contact, but it's futile.

Trent senses it too. His tall body jerks at the touch as he locks the door.

"What are we watching?" I ask.

Those blue eyes of his hold me pinned to my spot. There's an emotion I can't decipher, but it looks like vulnerability. Even his smile is a little weak, on the lighter side.

"Anything you want to watch," he whispers. "I just wanted you here."

Oh. Oh, my.

I'm trying to hide the fact that he's shaken me. I just wanted you here.

Oh, no. Trent.

Feeling uncertain of his words, his tongue plays behind his cheek.

I smile back, just as meekly. "And I just wanted to be here."

Which is the absolute truth and I can't deny it any longer.

Suddenly, Trent's face breaks out into the huge, heart-melting grin I'm growing used too. "Fvcking get over here," he says, pulling me into a strong hug that puts his hard-honed muscles against my softer ones.

My senses are evaded by his masculine cologne and I breathe him in, realizing how much this scent reminds me of home.

We fit like two broken puzzle pieces.

* * *

Omero Reynolds may not have been a very good dad, but he did teach Trent how to make kickass enchiladas.

Let me rephrase that. Trent's dad made amazing enchiladas. Trent, having tried his best, only learned to make them half as good.

"You just b!tched that there wasn't enough cheese, and you've eaten half the plate."

"There was enough chicken to make up for it. Mmm." I lick sauce off my lips as I go for another one.

Trent slaps the back of my hand and gives me a glare. "You've had four. Can I have the remaining two please?"

I pout as cutely as I can. Trent's eyes linger on my lips.

My own gaze falls to his mouth, which looks so inviting.

The trance is broken when Trent clears his throat.

With an eyeroll and a low grumble under his breath, he shoves the plate in my direction. "Here. I can't take that puppy-dog look."

I smile evilly as I take it from his hands. He dives in for the milk and boxed brownies I helped him make.

We're watching an old horror movie we've already seen once with the gang. It's terrible and the acting is less than mediocre, but that's what happens when you can't find anything to watch on Netflix.

Trent's on his third brownie and his glass of milk is almost completed when I have the audacity to ask him, "Can I have some?"

He looks scandalized. "Are you fvcking kidding me? Do you not know how to share? You just ate half the enchiladas and now you want the last brownie?"

My reply is a monstrous burp.

"Ugh," he says, the perfect proper prince. He acts like he doesn't digest out loud. "You're a fvcking a pig." Then he laughs with a twinkle in his eyes. "You're not getting shxt, babe. Go get some cookies from the pantry or something."

He tries to shoo me with a hand.

"But I helped make those brownies!"

He huffs at me. "And I made the enchiladas but now they're all in your stomach. Life's unfair. Deal with it. I certainly did."

I'm eyeing the last brownie. It's got my name on it. I launch for it with a giggle.

Trent's answering chuckle is boyish.

Before I can even grab it off the plate, his hand shoots out. It encloses around my wrist and then he's hauling me away.

"Noooo!" My left hand manages to break off a piece.

I don't even have a second to shove it in my mouth, because Trent's grasping both my wrists and stretching them apart as I desperately try to shove the broken piece of brownie in my mouth.

"You're not having it!" he screeches, laughter lingering somewhere behind.

He wrestles me on the same couch we napped. Bending me this way. Twisting me that way. Just so I don't eat the godforsaken brownie.

Before I know it, I'm face-down, a$s-up, and he's molded behind me.

"Alright. I give up." The brownie is mush in my fingers anyways. I let the crumbs drop to the floor, knowing that's going to piss him off because he's so damn neat.

He makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat, before flipping me so effortlessly until I'm on my back. The manoeuvre knocks the air out of my lungs and a few strands of hair fall into my eyes. I blow them away.

He's looking at me with an arched eyebrow. "You're vacuuming that."

"No, I'm not." I stick my tongue out.

Trent drops the fake I'm-mad-at-you façade. A mischievous look enters his eyes and, before I know it, he's tickling me.

My ribs ache and my limbs kick in every direction as I try to free myself. "Trent! Stop! Oh, my god!"