The Cherry On The Cake

Rock and Roll cuz no one cares.

Jeremy had kindly invited us to stay at his place for a while, so that we would not have to pay for the motel. It was really cool living there. I shared my room with Bruna and like any girls of our ages, we talked till late at night, sharing secrets and funny moments. Jeremy lived in a medium-sized cozy house which he had apparently inherited from his great-uncle. We spent most of our time in the traditional wooden kitchen which was why we were always drinking tea and coffee while munching on biscuits and crumpets.

"What are you doing?" I asked, quite annoyed that he was smoking so early in the morning, poisoning his body with nicotine, tar, carbon monoxide, formaldehyde, cyanide, arsenic, ammonia- I could go on and on like this.

He glanced back at me as I walked in Jeremy's kitchen, a very cynical look disgracing his eyes and sneered: "Having breakfast," while waving the stupid cigarette in the air. I snorted sardonically and resumed my purpose: making tea.

I was seriously annoyed. I gritted my teeth as I dumped the teabags in the pot. At least though, he had the decency to step out of the kitchen by the backdoor, to smoke outside. He came back inside after a few minutes though, as though he was testing my ferocity.

"Are you pissed?" he asked from behind my back and I could imagine his narrowed eyes trying to decipher the thoughts of my mind.

"No," I fumed.

"No?" he teased.

"No, I am not pi-annoyed," I replied rather coolly, replacing the indiscrete word by a more elegant and Mother-approved one. As I turned around to face John, I took a whiff of smoke and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I stomped towards him, had a short second to murder him with angry eyes and surprised him even more when I snatched the Killing Machine from his hand. I smothered the lighted end and satisfied of my deed, poured myself a cup of tea.

"Idiot," he seethed behind me, claiming my attention. I whirled around, cup of tea in my hand, feeling audacious and daring enough to face his obvious wrath. He was close, very close, so close that I could feel the smoke of his fury. "Yes, imbecile," I sweetly replied, with my Diet Coke voice (the Diet Coke voice by the way is my hypocrite innocent and sweet voice, just like the aspartame in Diet Coke is sweet but not really sugar). I pierced right through his provocative eyes which held a mixture of soft anger and surprise. Quite unexpectedly, he seized my cup of tea and poured it languorously down the sink, smirking as he did it. My cup of tea! My poor wonderful hot cup of tea went down the sink! I gasped, appalled. I narrowed my eyes at him and he smirked victoriously. How dare he? He pushed the cup back into my hand and sauntered away. The little prick!

I ran after him and caught him by the back pocket of his jeans. He stopped dead in his track as I finally retrieved the packet of cigarette from there (no need to tell you it felt rather weird to make contact with the cushion-like cheek of his bum). We stared at each other for a short millisecond and as if Play was pressed back again, we regained our locomotive skills. I ran around the kitchen island, stepping nervously from side to side on my spread-apart feet like a boxer, with the packet of cigarette in my hand, eying John's every movement from the other side. He swiftly ran around to my side and I galloped through Jeremy's living room as fast as I could, tumbling to the other side of the couch, making a weird body roll like in James Bond movies.

John had a playful smile etched across his face as he took in the Jackie Chan abilities of his opponent. I swung a cushion at my adversary but he ducked and nearly missed my near-perfect shot as it hit his shoulder. I teased him a little, jumping from side to side.

"Come and get it Johnnie," I cooed.

He threw a cushion at me and missed. Of course, I was the expert at that. It takes skill and talent to be me!