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griffin
We’re back to us. Griff and Viv. Grivvian. Whatever other name the audience has come up with.
And I think I’ve just been on a high of relief since the moment we reconciled. When I called her, I was at a nearby cafe, in a state of disrepair— to put it nicely—and half of me didn’t think she’d answer. Or that, by the time I got back to Villa, she’d be all packed up and left.
But there she was.
Before we’d made up, I was lost. I wasn’t sure what hurt more: the fact that Vivi genuinely thought I would choose Imogen over her, or the fact that she thought it was ever a choice in the first place. That she was an option, when she was it.
Imogen had been yapping my ear off in the bar, saying all this bullshit about the nonexistent “us”. I’m almost one hundred percent sure she pulled the charade for optics, and I think Vivi realized that soon enough. Her and her little boyfriend needed a sink in our relationship, and she was the distractor. She wanted me to react, she knew everything to say, as though I was still the Griffin from way back when.
It was a little embarrassing, actually. Whole time, all I was looking for was Vivi. And it was damn near impossible to find her with Imogen all up in my face, trying to ruin fucking everything.
I didn’t sleep that night before I confronted Vivi about it. I was a disaster. Total mess. Then she broke up with me, and it was like she was speaking a foreign language. But she meant it, or told herself and me that, so I backed off.
But luckily for the both of us, Vivi and I have a propensity for making our way back to each other. And working shit out. Lots of crying. Lots of love.
Today, we spend the entire evening together, ignoring the looming fate of tomorrow. Vivianna canceled my spontaneous flight booking from the other, so that we could schedule to go the day after results. “Hopefully we get different seats this time,” I said as we talked it out. I’m hilarious.
We go out for dinner near the beach, ordering a butter chicken each. I planned it out, intentionally picking butter chicken for a little throwback to when we first met. “The white flag,” Vivi smirks.
“The white flag,” I grin.
Afterward, we play beach volleyball — very competitively, might I add— and it’s fun playing it without worrying about anyone else. I’m sure there’s a camera operator somewhere, trying to take pictures for the Lovebound thumbnail, but official filming ended after the final challenge and doesn’t begin until the livestream tomorrow, when we have the last Contestant’s Dinner. This is our last night off until the competition is over.
We eventually do run into Imogen and Zander at the Villa. We all just sort of stare at each other, no one discussing the final challenge. We also don’t discuss current polls, where we still have about a 1% difference between us, only changed by a few decimals. Which makes sense, seeing as no one knows what’s up except the producers and won’t know until tomorrow’s dinner.
In fact, no one says anything except Zander’s brief “good luck” and my briefer “you too” that neither of us mean, but is a somewhat positive gesture nonetheless. No matter what, it’s all going to be over. We’re going back to the real world once the show is done and all these politics and challenges will become forgotten until the next season of Lovebound begins.
In bed, I ask Vivi if she’s nervous, and she tells me straight up that regardless of how she feels, there’s nothing more we can do.
We talk about the money, and what we’d do with it if we ended up moving in together. Like maybe we’d save some of it for a first house, even though in Manhattan, your cheapest town house is a million dollars. Still, it’s nice to dream. We talk about more realistic things, like bettering Vivi’s clinic with the money and getting me a better apartment. She buries her head in the crook of my arm, our eyes on the ceiling as we discuss a future that very suddenly seems to be materializing in front of us.
And before she finally dozes off for good, I promise, “Whatever happens tomorrow, nothing changes.” she holds me tight in response.
***
We spend the next day getting ready for the Contestant’s Dinner.
“Can you help me with this?” Comes from both ends of our room every two seconds.
I try on ten different black dress-shirts that Vivi refuses to comprehend the unique differences between each shade. My explanations fall on deaf ears. “Listen, I know they look the same, but this one’s coal black and the other one’s actually obsidian.” I know my shades of black. The common folk won’t get it.
“Right,” she drags on, then coughs, “like they aren’t literally identical.”
“Shut up. I’m being deadass.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.” She’s trying to hide a smirk.
“You didn’t have to.”
She ends up buttoning up the raven black dress shirt that I eventually settle on, “because it definitely doesn’t look exactly like all the other ones.” Standing right in front of me, she buttons up the dress shirt one by one. I know this woman can feel my eyes on her.
“You look good,” I say as I do the buttons.
She quirks up an eyebrow. “I’m in a t-shirt. And shorts. With giraffes on them.” Apparently, Best Friend Reese had bought the set for her like five years ago, but it still fits. Well.
“And?” My lips curve upward. Vivi’s hands begin to shake a little, even though it’s not her first time being this close to me, even though this isn’t her first time seeing me shirtless. I’ve walked around the room in only sweats plenty, but this is obviously different for her. The way she’s looking at me should be illegal.
“You could do this yourself.” She says.
“Why’d I do that when I could just watch you blush?”
“I’m Black.”
I snort. “And you’re still blushing.”
“What do you think they’re going to serve us at dinner?” She asks, still fiddling with my top buttons.
“Hope it’s you.” I’m a smooth bastard, you better give me that.
“You think you’re so smooth.”
“I am.”
“...Delusional.” She loses one of her hands in my hair, tugging at the strands so she’s tipping my chin up. I need her horrendously. I hold back a sound that borders on feral. “And that’s cannibalism,” she says, “which is frowned upon in most societies.”
“Nerd.”
“You’re just mad because you weren’t successful in your attempts to distract me.”
I gasp. “Now why would I ever do that?”
“Because you’re basically a lecher,” She does my last button and I purse my lips. Rolling her eyes, she kisses me with the intention of it being chaste, but it evolves into something else. Before I know it, I’m pulling her toward me as I fall back against the bed. And then we’re kissing- kissing and I very discreetly go for tongue as my hand slides under that giraffe t-shirt.
“See?” She asks, out of breath as she pulls away. “Lecher.”
“Guilty as charged,” I say, mouth parted and probably swollen. “So what does that make you? A lecheress?”
“That’s not how it works,” She smirks, pushing me back against the bed and exhaling a laugh.
“Really now?” I reach toward her and she dances out of my grasp.
“I have to change, dude!”
“‘Dude’. Really?” I ask as she grabs her clothing and disappears into the bathroom.
“Would you prefer ‘lecher’?” She calls over her shoulder.
***
***
vivianna
I end up wearing The Dress, for obvious reasons. First of all, it’s the most expensive dress in my wardrobe, and second of all, it’s an act of defiance on behalf of the girl I used to be when I wore the dress. Whenever I imagined wearing the dress after our breakup, I thought it was going to be an act of spite against Zander. But when I put it on tonight, Zander becomes irrelevant.
Because the only thing I’m thinking of is the fact that: this is it. And as dramatic as this sounds, this evening is the accumulation of the past several weeks. We’re nowhere where we were weeks ago.
My curves fill the lavender dress; it fits like a glove. The first time I wore it, I was so focused on impressing Zander that I hadn’t even considered how I looked. In the mirror, I’ve transformed into a belle on the red carpet, like no matter how the night goes, I’ll still have wowed everyone.
When I step out of the bathroom—dress on, makeup done and hair gelled up into an updo, Griffin immediately rises to his feet. I do a little twirl for him.
“Vivi, you can’t be allowed to look like that.” He seems to be half-joking. I snort, crossing the room and adjusting his collar. He doesn’t ever stop looking at me.
“Who said something about being down bad?”
“Funny,” he says dryly, taking my hand.
“Hilarious, I know.” I check the time on my phone. “Ready?”
Griffin levels his gaze with mine. “Ready.”