Anne's POV
"Andrew, are you okay?"
He looked at me, then down at our joined hands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Something about him felt off.
"Drew?"
He snapped his face up at me, wide-eyed, like someone yanked back from a thought.
"Anny."
He pulled me close, his eyes moving from one of mine to the other.
"Yes, Drew. Is something wrong?"
I was starting to get worried.
"Anny," he said softly, his gaze drifting up to the top of my head.
"Drew, talk to me."
"Anny, do not panic, but... you have something in your hair.”
Before I could react, he buried his hand in my hair, messing it into a wild bird’s nest with a quick, mischievous shake, then spun on his heel and took off.
"Andrew…You bully!"
He threw his head back and laughed.
I stood there and watched him climb onto his bike. He gave me a salute, flicked his fingers at me in a go-inside gesture, then zoomed off.
Andrew was a cheerful guy, a charming dude with a good heart. All I could think of as I watched him disappear around the bend was how I could protect him from the sharp edges of life. It’s a shame he'd already been pierced and bruised by those edges, but I was grateful it didn't kill his spirit.
After that night, I visited their apartment two more times. Each visit, I spent with Andrew, listening to him play and build new songs in the small studio he'd set up inside his room.
He was creative and sensational when it came to composing music. His lyrics were beautiful, his thoughts translating into something poetic that let you feel exactly what he felt. His songs gave me goosebumps more often than not, and sometimes actual tears. Other times, I'd find myself moving to the rhythm, carried away by the beats. He never failed to take me along on his musical rides.
A few times, I had playfully sung along in my terrible voice. Trust me, it was awful compared to Andrew's sweet tenor, yet every time I tried to stop, he would smile and urge me to keep going. I knew I had no hope as a singer, but the way Andrew gave me those encouraging nods made me feel like I could hold my own against top singers.
I always saw a different person whenever he played. He would get so calm, so collected, so emotional, that you'd find yourself wondering if there were two of him. It was in those moments that his resemblance to Vincent was most visible.
Vincent had been swallowed by work, so I hadn't seen him at all.
It had been over a week since my last visit, thanks to my annoyingly tight schedule. But I'd decided to go today right after school, because Andrew had called the previous night. He said he needed my amateur thoughts on a finished song. He didn't say "amateur thoughts," of course. That was entirely my own addition. I just didn't feel worthy of giving feedback on his work.
All the same, I was both excited and honoured to be getting an exclusive preview from a rising star. Plus, I was also going to be escaping my ghostly hostel.
After my lab practical, I left with my course mates to get some photocopies done.
We were walking and talking animatedly, complaining about our lecturers and how they were trying our patience. I didn't notice anyone approaching until I was shoved, hard, off my path.
I would have let it go. I hadn't been watching after all, but the pain in my right shoulder was too painful to dismiss. It felt deliberate.
"Excuse me!" I called out, walking briskly towards her.
She turned abruptly and stared at me, a knowing smirk already on her face. That settled it. She had bumped into me on purpose.
"Yes?" she answered churlishly, the smirk still on her face.
"You bumped into me," I stated.
"So? You weren't watching," she responded in the same manner, bouncing on one foot as if I was wasting her time.
I wasn't going to get anywhere with this, so I sighed and turned to leave.
"Wait," she said, and sauntered over to stand in front of me.
"I bumped into you and I know it hurts…" she began, ever so sweetly.
‘Oh, we're getting somewhere,’ I thought.
"…That is just the tip of the iceberg. Next time, I’ll take your arms off!" she snarled.
What!
My jaw dropped.
"Excuse me?!" I jerked my head back, stunned.
"You're excused… and get yourself out of my boyfriend's life while you're at it," she retorted.
‘Who the heck is this lady?’
I was completely lost.
The woman looked like she had walked straight out of a music video. She had an enormous chest that was threatening to escape her tiny top, and skinny jeans so tight I was fairly certain her behinds were begging to be let out.
"You must have confused me with someone else," I said, already preparing to drop the whole thing and walk away.
"It's you alright," she said, twirling her bubble gum, arms folded beneath her chest, pushing everything further forward. I was scared something was going to escape.
"Andrew Sawyer is mine and mine alone, you hear me!" she screamed into my face, spun on her heels, and walked off, leaving me standing there with my mouth open.
My coursemates and the small crowd that had gathered watched the whole thing unfold, their faces in matching expressions of shock. Even after she left, they kept looking at me, clearly expecting a sequel, probably with me sprinting after her and dragging her hair, or collapsing in tears, or something equally dramatic.
They started dispersing when it became clear the drama was over.
"What was that, Anne?" my coursemate asked, walking over from where she'd been standing.
"Honestly, I have no idea," I replied, staring after her.
Andrew had a lot of explaining to do. I couldn't help the shudder that moved through me when the image of him and that woman together crept into my head.
Andrew came around three to pick me up. I didn't wait for him to get off his bike. The first thing I blurted out was, "Do you have an Instagram model girlfriend?"
"What?" he asked, confused, staring at me with a raised eyebrow.
"I was harassed today by a voluptuous lady claiming to be your girlfriend," I said, folding my arms accusingly.
"You've got to be more specific, babe. I've got a lot of well-endowed lady friends," he said, smirking.
"I'm dead serious, Drew. Your girlfriend threatened to cut off my arms."
Andrew's eyes widened in alarm.
"Whoa! Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" he asked anxiously, coming to hold my arms while his eyes scanned me for bruises.
"I'm okay," I said, giving him a flat look.
"Well, did she give you a name?" he prodded.
"No, she didn't. She didn't even give me a chance to ask. She just wanted me to stay away from you," I fumed. Even replaying it in my head was irritating.
"Can you describe her?"
"She looked like an Instagram model!"
"Babe, I need more than that. That’s not a description," he said, his eyes narrowing into a deadpan stare that wordlessly asked if I was actually being serious.
That made me smile. Over time, I'd come to realize that Andrew never minced his words, especially when he was irritated or on the edge.
I described the lady the best I could. It didn't take long for him to put a face and a name to my description.
Her name was Mindy. According to Andrew, she had been inserting herself into his life ever since they met at a music studio, and apparently hadn’t taken his lack of interest as a cue to stop. Andrew admitted things had gotten messy for a bit, but he had ended whatever it was months back.
He was seething the entire ride to his place, muttering words that the wind swallowed before I could catch them.
When we got to the house, he handed me his house key, told me to get comfortable, and rode off without a second glance.
I yelled after him but got nothing back, just the fading sound of his bike.
I sighed, watching his bike disappear around the bend. Then I turned, climbed the stairs to the front door, let myself in, and leaned back against it, suddenly aware that I was alone in someone else’s house, with no idea how long I’d be waiting.
"Drew?" came a voice from somewhere inside.
My heart dropped into my stomach. I wasn't alone.