TEACH ME NOT 2 HATE LOVE

6

🧑Nik Anthony POV🧑

I swear, this mother of mine is out to drive me nuts. I mean, who the heck listens to the chirping of crickets at night? Nobody with sense, I tell you.

It's relaxing, she said. Keep her calm and youthful, she said. Make her sleep sound and peaceful, she said.

Well, because of that wretched noise, I barely slept last night. And I didn't get much sleep during the day either. My mother ruined that too.

That pesky woman came barging into my room, dragging me all the way to the dining room to treat me to her so-called "special breakfast" that she made. Cereal! Unbelievable. But I should have known better since the woman had never cooked a meal in her life.

Ugh, I should have kicked her out of my home yesterday. You know what? I should kick her out right now.

No. I can't do that.

The front doorbell rang as I was about to go about my regular daily routine. Argh, I wonder who the heck is here this early in the morning.

Ah boy. I guess I'll have to go find out.

However, Mother first me. She opened the door to our despicable and unwanted guest. The helper, whatever her name is, I don't remember at all. All I know is that this cunning woman duped me into agreeing to overpay her, and I intend to get payback.

Mother greeted the little witch with a hug and kiss. They then struck up a seemingly cordial conversation. I don't know what they were talking about because they were talking softly. Not that I was interested.

I inspected Danger from head to toe, and what is she wearing today? It's hideous compared to that appealing dress I saw her in yesterday. I felt ashamed for the poor thing.

Her eyes settled on me briefly, and she didn't look delighted. Not that I care. This is my house. If she has a problem, don't come here. Oh, I wish she hadn't come here.

Anyway, I left her with my mother to go work out in my home gym. That took about thirty minutes. I had a quick shower right after and changed into something informal: shorts, a T-shirt, and leather sandals. I then went to the kitchen to get some fruit and something to drink.

And unfortunately, that woman was there. Mother Pepper was washing the dishes my mother had dirtied earlier.

Our eyes met. It's clear we hate each other, and it's very uncomfortable being in the same room, too.

Why did I let my mother convince me to let her stay again?

I get that this place could use some cleaning. OK. A lot of cleaning. But what I can't comprehend is why my mother selected this ill-mannered, low-class girl to do it. She didn't request any credible documents about this woman's qualifications. There is no identification to prove if she is who she says she is—no references to see if she's trustworthy. Nothing. She just hired her. No question asked.

She could be a thief or a serial killer.

Now, I'm not the type to judge a book by its cover. But after all I've been through and my many experiences with all types and classes of people, you can't blame me for being cautious of people, especially women. They are wolves in sheep's clothing, and some are outright demons. Only naive men like myself—my former self—take a long time to figure that out.

"Are you going to say something or stare at me all day?" Mother Pepper barked at me. What's her problem?

"I don't have anything to say to you," I replied, and not in a nice tone either.

"Why are you here, then?"

"This is my house. I'm free to go wherever I please." I reached for a banana and an apple from the fruit basket and took an energy drink from the fridge. "And I thought I made it clear yesterday that you should stay out of my way."

"Prick," she muttered under her breath as I was about to exit the kitchen.

"What did you say?" I stopped in my tracks and asked.

"What?" She shrugged.

"What did you just call me?" I roared.

"What are you talking about?" She played dumb.

"Just know that if it wasn't for my mother, you wouldn't be here in the first place."

"As if I want to be here," she muttered while rinsing the dishes aggressively.

"What was that?"

"You heard me, Jackass!" She screamed at me. "If it wasn't for your mother, why would I even work for a scumbag like you?"

"How dare you talk to me like that in my house?" I shouted back. "You're fired!"

"Good. Pay me, so I can get out of here," she yelled at me. The nerve of her taking such a tone with me.

"I'm not paying you a dime," I retorted.

"Well, I'm not leaving here until you do. This is no voluntary service."

"If you don't go, I'll drag you out of here myself," I threatened.

"Try it." The crazy woman dared me, pointing a knife she took from the counter at me.

"Get out!"

"Not until you give me my money."

"Fine," I growled, beyond upset. "Do as you wish."

"I always do," she replied. Ugh, she just had to have the last word. "Ugh, it's like I'm cursed to work for a prick like you."

"Stop calling me that!"

"What, a prick? Prick! Prick! Prick! Prick!!!" She carried on like a toddler. Girl, grow up.

"Well, you are a b*tch. B*tch, b*tch, b*tch. B*tch!!!" OK, I'm no better, but she just makes me so angry.

"If I didn't like your mother, I'd tell you who the real b*tch is."

"Are you calling my mother a b*tch?" I released the contents of my hands to grasp her hand firmly. Not violently. I wouldn't dare hurt a woman physically, no matter how upset I get or how insolent they are. That's just wrong.

"No. She's way too nice. But you b*tch, not so much." She forcefully removed my hand and shoved me away from her.

I was heading towards her again, not to hurt her, just to. I don't know. And she held the knife to my throat. "Boy, you better get out of my face before you become tonight's news."

"You crazy b*tch!" That's the only thing I could think of saying in my high-level frustration. I never thought someone could upset me this much.

"That's right. I'm a crazy b*tch. So you better back the heck up." She confirmed that she was indeed a crazy b*tch.

"You are not staying in this house for another minute."

"That would be my pleasure. As soon as you give me my money."

"Fine!" I angrily marched up to my room, took fifty thousand dollars from my drawer, went back down to the kitchen, and handed it to her—and she didn't hesitate to take it. As expected, women like her like receiving things they didn't earn for themselves. Shameless. "Here you go. Now take your things and get out of my house."

"Nice working with you, scumbag. Not. And screw you!"

And with that said, she marched up to her quarters. Of course, I followed behind her to ensure she didn't take anything that didn't belong to her. She gathered her things, which weren't much (no surprise there), shoved me aside to exit, headed down the stairs like a storm, and out the front door.

Good riddance.