Can I Kill You? (DAILY UPDATES)

The Exact Opposite

Gosh.

I was in trouble. In big, big trouble.

And the last thing I wanted was to face an angry Donnor.

I stared at the thing which made a ring sound with my eyes wide open.

The ring was still echoing in my head.

I looked at the door being slit open.

I rubbed my face, letting out one big sigh as I opened the door. Urun's angled eyebrows and tightened face greeted me graciously.

I didn't say anything to him, but I wondered if he knew what was up with this ring as soon as I was given my room.

I decided against asking him. He didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. I greeted him back with a subtle nod, rushing upstairs.

It was one long ride, but I made it.

The living room stood the same as before, except for the tray I had left on the centre table. The silence weighing down picked up my nerves. I glanced at the upper level. Nothing had changed.

I took my shot and climbed to the upper level. It was the third room earlier. I knew it full and well.

I exhaled sharply, straightening myself up, fixing my hair, and posing a serious look. I knocked at the door. That same door.

For a moment it felt like I was in a rewind, except this time I knocked on the door.

But there was no response. I knocked louder this time, with full force.

The door flew open on its own.

The room stood the same as before. Dim lightening, book filled with tall shelves and cupboards,

And Donnor's back, sitting at his desk with his knees apart, typical masculine prowess.

But I felt hopeful. Maybe he didn't eat the noodles yet?

I didn't enter past the door. I cleared my throat instead.

"Come in."

He commanded, the pull of his voice drawing me inside like a magnet.

I stood right behind him. My eyes shifted between his head and the table.

The tray was there. With the bowl.

Oh no.

I was in trouble. In big, big trouble.

Why did I do this to myself!?

He didn't face me, instead, he held the tray up to my face.

"What is this?"

He asked, his voice cutting through the air.

I coughed,

"Noodles....."

"Is that so?"

"Yes....."

"Eat it then."

He ordered, handing me the spoon.

I took the spoon from him, bending over his broad shoulders instead of coming forward.

I fiddled with the spoon in the bowl. But my mind went elsewhere. His lemon and soap and vanilla scent became stronger.

"Eat it."

He repeated, his honey voice suddenly becoming low and pressed.

I blinked, anchoring the fork to the middle of the bowl, and twirling some noodles around the tines. There was pin-drop silence. Not even the sound of him breathing or making any movement.