Save me, Elliot

Two

As I walked past the door, I heard sounds coming from the other side. I quietly walked back and pressed my back against the wall beside the sliding door that led to the kitchen. It could not have been Mother; if she were home, she would have answered my calls earlier that afternoon. Dad was working late that day. My heart started pounding against my chest. Oh dear, what if it was a burglar? It had happened before, a creep snuck into the house at midnight a few years back. I stealthily grabbed the cricket bat leaning against the inside of the coat hanger to my left. With the bat secured in both my trembling hands, I slid the door open with my foot.

            Before me sat a boy with raven-black hair dressed in a black leather jacket. He was seated by the island with earphones plugged in, furiously tapping on his iPhone. In his other hand was a fork, which sent my eyes searching over the counter for my biggest fear – my chocolate cheesecake.

            There were two things that had been running in my head that morning. One; I would be with the rest of the team celebrating our victory in Pizza Hut, the other; we would all be busy getting drunk at Finley's house, bracing ourselves for the worst hangover tomorrow morning. Unfortunately for the turn of events, there was nothing to celebrate anymore. All I had wanted since the rival team scored the last goal that had claimed them as the winner was to come home and tuck into my heaven-on-a-place.

            A gasp escaped my mouth. The stranger finally seemed to have noticed that I was in the same room as him and removed his earphones. He had beautiful dark eyes that complemented his pale complexion.

            "Is that my cake?" I demanded. His eyebrows furrowed.

            "No, I found it in the fridge. It had my-" I cut him off.

            "That IS my cake!" Rage boiled inside of me. "What kind of burglar breaks into someone's house and eats a cake that clearly has someone else's name on it?! How sick can you be?" I screamed.

            "It's obviously mine. It had my name on it," the boy retorted. He had an American accent.

            The tip of my ears felt warm. I dropped the cricket bat and lunged forward.

            "Listen up, pal. I had a pretty messed up day today and in case you didn't know, we folks in Manchester like to keep our crap together and you're starting to tick me off," I said, frustrated.

            The boy stood up. He must have been a good six feet; he made me feel small.

            "Look, munchkin," he started, walking towards me. "I was just taking what was rightfully mine." As he continued walking, his earphones dragged behind him, pulling my plate of happiness with it.

            With a loud crash, my cake was splattered on the floor with ceramic cracked underneath it.

            "Oops," he said nonchalantly, a smirk pulling at his lips. That was the last straw. I attacked the fool with both my hands aiming for his collars. He seemed to be taken by surprise, my action catching him off guard, sending us both crashing onto the cold floor.

            "You prick!" I yelled. Fury was evident in my eyes; I could feel it. I dug my thumbs into his neck, suffocating him. He let out a pathetic cry as he reached for my blonde curls and violently tugged on them.

            "Elliot! What are you doing?!" a voice cried from the hallway. Mother was home.

            "Mum! We have to kill this burglar! This prick ate my cake!" I pushed my fingers at the back of his neck, chocking him more.

            "Elliot! Let go this instant!" Mother hurried into the kitchen and pulled me off the crazy burglar.

            "Elliot, love, are you okay?" Mother asked, her voice traced with concern.

            "Yeah, I'm-" she cut me off with a cold snap.

            "Not you! How could you be so foolish? Is this the way you treat your guests?" she beckoned.

            "Guest?" I questioned. Mother let out a frustrated sigh.

            "You never listen. I've been telling you for the past three months that we will be having a guest over. He is part of a foster programme your father and I joined. It's to help troubled teens get back on the right track. Elliot Jensen, don't you dare tell me that you forgot. I even reminded you this morning but you were too caught up with your football nuisance to pay any attention." I just stare at her. Mother let out another sigh.

            "This is Elliot Fintry. Elliot, love, this is my daughter; Elliot Jensen. Now, I expect you both to make up and then clean the mess you've made. You will be living with each other for, at the least, a year."

            All that went through my head as I stared daggers at the damned American was "Brilliant. Flipping brilliant."