Mental

Chapter 7 - Stalkers

A lone figure sporting an untamed crown of black hair sat lazily in the corner most part of the lounge, occupying a seat meant for a group of five, and a small coffee table where the rest of his legs lay lax, which truthfully seem rude and disrespectful for most who see such behaviour. No matter how many times people see him, or the workers report him to the manager, no one dared to lay a finger on him. Of course if you are smart, you wouldn’t, because you don’t want to mess with the Cordival once he hears about the news regarding his only son. Despite the Cordival’s son’s rowdy behaviour, the man was well-respected, and known for being a gentleman, and an honest business man at that, that is why most are feeling guilty in even doing something that would cause the man inconvenience, including his son getting into trouble, again; much to their distress.

Said Cordival’s son sitting in the lounge was currently paying so much attention to his phone, slim, dainty fingers won’t stop sliding, gliding and pressing in places, as if the owner have some business to attend to, and actually, he has.

According to the early shifters, the boy was here since the museum’s opening time, where the young man went straight for the lounge the moment he entered, the paintings and other artworks doesn’t seem to catch his attention at all.

For four hours, he just sat there; he never left for a snack or for the bathroom at all, as if he’ll miss something if he did. And every once in a while, you would see him glance impatiently at the lounge’s entrance, as if he was hoping for something to enter, which is most probably that person he was appointed to.

And whoever that person is, he/she must be lucky; to make the Cordival’s son sit there and make him wait for how many more only-god-knows hours just to meet with him.

Though is that person really lucky, or will he/she feel the young man’s displeasure when the time comes? They have no idea whether to feel sorry to whoever that is or not, is what they thought as they watch the young man temporarily divert his attention from his phone back to the entrance once again.

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Who knew sitting and doing nothing for how many hours can be so tiring?

Lance sighed in frustration, blowing his strayed bangs away from his eyes upwards and glared at his phone. He really is bored.

It was still as early as ten in the morning and he doubts it she’ll be heading here anytime soon. He glances back to the entrance, and although people are entering, the area is getting more and more crowded and soon, no one would be entering by then. Which means he has to keep an eye on that entrance now, since she may appear, though won’t enter.

An hour passed. No Francine. Okay, he gives up. Maybe she’s just playing with her yesterday, maybe she knows it would be a sort-of-kind-of date that he was asking her, and since she don’t want to, or him, for that matter, made up a lie, which also gave him that impression that she is one of those studious types, though she really isn’t. And the museum is just some random museum may or may not be nearby her home town that she randomly thought of, which would make more sense, since she makes pauses per syllable that time when she told him where it was. And if his theory was right, then, congratulations! You are duped.

And so, he stood up, much to his unknown inspectors’ surprise and joy, and came into an abrupt halt, when he caught glimpse of black that almost walked in and immediately turned back in a swift turn of heels.

He rushed to follow, and maybe prove his theories wrong.

As he approached the black blur from before, his dejection flew right out of the window, pushed away by relief as it was indeed her, and so maybe she really is the studious type, or she just used her school trip as an excuse to not to see him tonight for the movies, and so maybe he was still conscious about how would she react when she sees him, or vice versa.