Page 17 of Commit
Yes, hope is a very tricky thing. Even with the warning siren blaring in the back of my head, I can’t help but think I could be happy here. If I’m good enough, quiet enough, respectful enough—if I’m all the things I’ve tried to be once upon a time—maybe, just maybe…
I sigh and close the door behind me. I never was very good at being what other people needed. I can’t even give myself the things I need. I fuck up way more than I get things right, so at some point I stopped trying. Do I want to go back to being the people-pleaser who tried to earn the love that should have been given to her freely?
No. I refuse. But I can be a good person and a good roommate and still hold on to the scraps of my dignity without snapping myself in half by bending over backward for people who wouldn’t do the same for me in return.
But the room… a voice whispers in my head.
Sure, he had the room done for me, but that doesn’t mean I owe him anything. A gift should be just that—a gift. So until Hudson asks for something in return, I will treat it like he intended.
I enter the kitchen just as Abbot’s hanging up the phone.
“Done. Said they’d be about thirty to forty minutes, which gives us a little time to do some snoop, snoopy, snoop, snoopy, snoop—” I cover his mouth with my hand.
“Pretty sure that’s Shoop, ba-doop, but either way, let’s leave the 90s anthems where they belong, okay?”
“Spoilsport.” He pouts, and I shake my head.
“Come on, let’s check this place out.”
We check out the rooms on this floor first. The large living room is decorated in creams and whites. The huge cream sofas sit opposite each other, separated by a large oak coffee table that matches the wooden floors and the bookcases that run along one wall, filled with an array of neatly stacked books. It’s modern, clean, and tidy. Too tidy. It doesn’t look like the room gets used at all. The throw pillows are all perfectly plumped up and arranged to mirror the other sofa. Call me crazy, but Hudson doesn’t strike me as a throw-pillow plumping kind of guy.
As pretty as it is in here, I don’t see myself using it much. I’d be too worried I’d spill something, which I don’t want to do, knowing I can’t afford to replace any of it.
We move on from there to the dining room. It has the same color scheme as the living room, with white walls and twelve cream fabric-covered chairs arranged around a long oak dining table. There’s no other furniture, but a massive fireplace dominates one wall, and when I say massive, I mean big enough for me to step inside of it. I wonder what it would look like decorated for Christmas…
“You have a really weird look on your face,” Abbot says, making me jump, and I realize I was lost in my own little world and forgot he was even here.
“I was picturing this room decorated for Christmas. Stockings hanging from the mantel, pine-scented garlands, and candles placed around to make it look festive. The table full of food and pretty place settings with…” I drift off when I see the look on his face. “What?”
“You’re such a girl,” he teases.
I look down at my boobs before cupping them. “Oh my God, I thought these just came with the outfit.”
He snorts and shakes his head as I laugh at the idiot.
“You know what I mean. Men don’t walk into a room and imagine it decorated for Christmas. That shit is weird.”
“Oh yeah? And what do you picture, hmm? Empty beer cans and a tower of pizza boxes.”
He looks off wistfully and sighs, making me laugh again.
“You’re such a cliché,” I joke as he grabs my hand and leads me out of the room to the next one.
“Just doing my part to represent the youth of today. Besides, what you described doesn’t actually exist. It’s Hallmark movie bullshit that influencers on Instagram try to recreate for likes.”
“Wow, tell me you’re jaded without telling me you’re jaded.”
“I’m not jaded, just a realist. It’s funny to think that you, of all people, buy into all of that commercialized bullshit. Especially given your history.”
I freeze, his words catching me off guard.
“Shit, fuck. I didn’t think. I’m sorry, Starling. Apparently, my big dick comes with a big mouth. A sort of buy-one-get-one-free deal.”
“You should get a refund.”
“I would, but like I said, the big mouth comes with a big dick, and well?—”
I hit him before he can say anything else and leave him chuckling to himself as I make my way back to the kitchen, just as the doorbell rings. That must be the food. I hear Abbot at the door, and I take a moment to look around.