248 Days

November 10th

What an unfortunate turn of event. Despite having told myself that I wouldn't, I was beginning to enjoy his presence. Remaining annoyed with Grayson was becoming increasingly more difficult. Luckily, I found irritation in his ability to be so likeable.

     Today, however, it wasn't so challenging to remember my dislike of my roommate. My pleasure of waking on my own, no loud intrusions into my room, was short lived.

     As any other person would when they found their dresser and closet wrapped in large chains, I stared blankly at the silver padlocks. I blinked once, then twice, and still couldn't fathom the reasoning behind their presence. Realisation was slow that morning, but once reality dawned on me, I searched furiously for the boy whom I was certain was to blame.

     Fists hammering violently on Grayson's door, I shouted his name. Though I received no answer, I swore I heard a snigger. Only because he had the tendency to invade my privacy, did I surge through his door.

     "Unlock them now," I demanded, voice meant to be stern but faltering when I took in his attire, or lack thereof.

     Freshly showered, his jeans hung low on his hips. Running a towel through his wet hair, droplets of water ran down his chest. I forced my eyes to stick to his face, gulping as I attempted to refocus my anger.

     "I want my clothes," I urged again.

     "No can do."

     Nonchalantly he turned away from my angry figure. Throwing the towel in his hamper, he retrieved a white long sleeve from his desk chair. I did not notice the way his abs and biceps twitched when he did so.

     "We leave in an hour," I warned. "I don't have the time or patience for this."

     With a roll of his eyes, very casually he retrieved a pile of clothes from his nightstand and handed it to me. Studying the baggy pair of black jeans and the plain blue shirt, I lifted my gaze with a crinkled nose. They were his clothes.

     "You wanted clothes. Problem solved."

     "The problem is most certainly not solved," I objected, arms crossed over my chest. "There is no way that I am wearing your clothes."

     "You kind of don't have any other choice."

     "Grayson," I warned brusquely.

     "Alex," he mimicked my tone. "The year was 2001... Your parents were stuck in a storm, and you had to stay over. Because you didn't have clean clothes, you borrowed some of mine—"

     "I was your next-door neighbour, why wouldn't I just go get my own clothes?"

     Grayson's brows shot into his hairline, as though after so many years, the idea had only now crossed his mind.

     "Doesn't matter why," he decided, still frowning lightly. "It's what happened then, so it's what we're doing now."

     I scoffed. "I'll borrow Claire's clothes."

     Dropping his poor choice of clothing, I headed for the door.

     "I figured you'd try that," he called indifferently. "You didn't fit in her clothes then. I've made her clothes inaccessible as well."

     Jaw clenching, I shot him a glare, before turning on my feet. I would find someone else.

     "Your friends are in on it too," he announced. "Please save yourself the time and give in."

     "I'd sooner wear my pyjamas to school."

     Grayson's amused pretence faltered. He groaned. "I had really hoped it wouldn't come to this."

     Tone and words making me wary, I turned just in time to be blasted with a ketchup bottle. The condiment that belonged on food covered my favourite white cotton pyjamas from the top of my chest down to my knees.

     Chest sticky with ketchup, nostrils flared as I took deep breaths. My anger was too strong for words to escape my tight lips. Grayson shifted uneasily under my harsh gaze.

     "I'm doing this to help you," he reminded sheepishly.

     With another deep breath, I shut my eyes. There was no winning with him. Grumbling in defeat, I marched past him. Aggressively pulling his drawers open, I threw his clothes in every direction, in my search. If I was to be left with no other option than to wear his clothes, I would to the very least choose the outfit.

     Finding faint pleasure in purposely making a greater mess of his room, I finally settled for a smaller pair of jeans and black t-shirt. Grayson watched me silently, not daring to make a fuss of the mess.

     Arms crossed, body trembling with a profound shiver, I stared inanely at my cafeteria tray. In attempt to inch my body as far away from Grayson as possible, I was nearly sat in Katie's lap.

     "I brought an extra sweater," Grayson said, retrieving said grey sweater from his school bag.

     Scowling, I met his eyes briefly, before returning my gaze to my empty plate. I made no move to take the warm material from his hands. I would rather freeze.

     "Any specific reason for today's anger?" Katie asked, blue streaked hair shaking with delight.

     I shot Grayson a nasty glare in response.

     "What did you do this time?" she laughed.

     "I made her wear my clothes." Grayson sighed. "I didn't think it'd be such a big deal considering she agreed to the memory recreation."

     Though he was answering Katie, narrowed blue eyes were fixed accusingly my way.

     "I didn't think you'd be such a pain!" I defended, refusing to let him make me out to be the unreasonable one "You entered my room without my permission, placed rusty chains on my dressers and ruined my favourite pair of pyjamas."

     "All for your benefit!"

     "I don't see what good comes..." my voice faded when the table erupted in quiet giggles. Cheeks heated, Grayson and I watched the others with furrowed brows.

     "This isn't funny," I said.

     "It's a little funny," Blake countered, lips quivering in contained laughter.

     Pout on my lips, Katie nudged my side, forcing me to my seat. "I'm just relieved you didn't willingly choose this outfit," she laughed. "I knew you weren't this fashionably impaired."

     "Hey!" Grayson and I cried.

     Biting my lip shut as we spoke at the same time, my ears turned pink, and Grayson folded his arms against his chest. The table erupted in more giggles. The five did quite a bit of laughing that day, amused by any of Grayson and I's bickering... And there was a lot. The tension and bickering reached such disconcerting levels, that halfway through our last period of the day, Mr. Ponce requested that Grayson and I leave early. Falling into another argument, this time blaming the other for the reaching of Mr. Ponce's breaking point, the walk home was as pleasing as the rest of our day.

     Forget what I said about finding myself enjoying his presence. Grayson Ryder was as infuriating as usual.