Faster Than Your Bullets

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Where's your bathroom?" He asks again impatiently, waiting for answer. I'm too baffled to speak. He looks crap, as if he had just come out of a big fight. One of his eyes is purple/black, his lips are busted and there's dry blood on the wound. There is also blood from his nose and the corner of his mouth. A not very deep cut is near his left ear. Half of his ripped white T-shirt is red. Red. His jeans knees are ripped too, and red blood is oozing out from one. I didn't know knee can bleed that much. His white Nike sneakers also have red. I think I may have a heart attack.

"Is that real blood?" I say finally.

He rolls his eyes and waves his hand in dismiss "Nevermind" and goes upstairs in attempt to discover my bathroom himself (I guess)

No matter how his appearance freaks me out, I can't help feeling a range of ultimate annoyance (this sounds like this those video games of Peter 4 years ago). This is the third time this asshole comes into my house without permission, and I will not fucking stand for it (even if I know that there's nothing I can do to him maybe except for shooing him out).

So I run after him and yank his arm.

"Wait!" I breathe. God, he is fast, even with one wounded knee. "You can't just barge into my house, or anyone's house! That is so fucking rude!"

Unexpectedly, the asshole stops, making me crash into him for the second time in one minute.

"Listen." He draws a breath as if trying to stay calm. Excuse me? Aren't I the one supposed to do that here? "I need to use your shower. Five minutes. Okay?" Before I can answer, he continues running upstairs again.

"You fucking British bastard!" I hiss, chasing after him. "Get out of my house or I'll call the cops."

By now he's at my room's door, a smirk plastered on his face.

"You wouldn't." He says then holds up five fingers. "Five mins. Help your friend out. Be nice to people for once, Andy!" After that he disappears behind the door. I turn the knob but it seems like he has locked me out.

He locked me out of my own room.

I would scream if Mrs. Duncan wasn't sleeping right now.

Frustrated, I storm downstairs into my studio where I remember to have kept a spare bedroom key just in case. The studio is now a mess. I won't find anything here. Sighing, I brush off the bits of green paint in my nails on my lab coat and start cleaning up the room. I put the paint tubes in a box and put it on the shelf more forcefully than I should. The paint brushes are thrown in a big plastic cup to clean later. My painting is put to a side. I can find a frame then hang it on my wall. I clean the drawers in the corner where I keep stuffs for colors and special detailed effects. Finally, I find my spare key beneath two pieces of colored cloth and a bunch of godknowswhats.

But no sooner have I found my keys than Drew finds his way down to my studio. Man, he showers fast.

"Nice." I turn around to see an oh-my-god-so-hot Andrew Archer with my towel slung over one shoulder, his hair is a sexy dark brown mess, the scar on his face is still red yet in some impossibly magical way he made it look so sexily badass, his lips busted (that must hurt) but the rest is still pink, and his eyes have those green sparks that just drive people, especially girls, crazy.

If his face is not attractive enough, I'll give you this: he's half naked. Yes, you heard me right. Dressed in only his jeans, the upper part of his body is showing. I mean SHOWING! To my freaking eyeballs! The first thing I notice is his abs. And oh holy mother of sweet Jesus how the fuck did the bastard get that perfect six-pact (almost eight) abs? Tattoos are on his left arm, some words I just can't make out. And by the way, his arms are like the dream of every guy because they're big with muscles. But not too big because being too muscular would be terrifyingly weird and a terrifying weirdo would not be hot, he would be terrifying. Any teenage girl (or even an old lady) would sigh dreamily at the sight of this. And hey, I'm only a normal teenage chick with normal teenage hormones.