I've Changed

22. nightmares

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Malcom sighs loud. "The hair color is getting outdated don't you think?" He fluffs around some strands, using a spoon as a mirror. "What color should I try next?"

Sofie stuffs her mouth with cereal, "I hope your hair falls off—"

She isn't able to finish her sentence. Malcom is one step ahead, pinching her arm. "What the fuck!"

Malcom doesn't stop there. He takes an apple from our fruit bowl and throws it at her—not too rough though.

She catches it, looks at it, then at him.

A glaring contest begins.

A normal day in this household.

As I take a bite of oatmeal, the doorbell goes off.

Malcom and Sofie look in between the direction of the door and themselves. There's a beat of silence until the both of them rush to the door.

I shake my head with a sigh.

At least they're the reason my mornings are eventful.

"Oh my gosh! Hey bugaboo," I hear Malcom down the hall.

Bugaboo?

A few words are exchanged between them and the guest. I'm too far to understand them, either that or they're purposely keeping it down.

I continue with my breakfast, stirring my oatmeal so it keeps its consistency.

I'm scrolling through emails as the sound of footsteps approach the kitchen. I look towards them, and only expecting them, but Jae is the first one to enter.

I slowly place my spoon on the table because who knows what I will do with it.

What the hell is he doing here at 7 a.m?

Behind him are my lovely roommates who decide on a random Wednesday to ruin my breakfast.

To make it worse, Sofie starts to mime a make out session and Malcom follows along by humping the air.

Good thing I dropped the spoon.

"Okay! That's enough," I stop their crudeness before facing Jae. "What are you doing here?"

He believes my sudden abruptness is regarding him since he blinks at me guiltily. As he does so, I assess him from head to toe.

Damp hair. Glowy skin. Shiny lips.

I move down.

Crew neck. Jeans. Dad shoes.

An outfit I'd wear personally.

"I want to take you somewhere after school," he stops me from ogling too long.

The fact I caught myself ogling causes my face to contort into disgust.

"Why?" I ask with some unnecessary annoyance.

He sheepishly grins, "I wanted to make it up to you. Plus, you can destress a bit."

He probably still pities me. It reminds me of his expression the other day. On top of the other things I hate, pity is close to number one. I've seen and experienced enough of it.

"So...why are you here? You could've texted me, asked after school..."

"Oh I—I just thought I could drive us to school, then when we're done our classes, I can take us to the place. But if not, you can drive yourself. I can send the address or if you're not into it, I can try another day—"