Fifteen | ✓

eleven

"Christopher why are you texting me pictures of rocks at eleven o'clock at night when I am trying to sleep?" she hissed into her cellphone, currently peeved.

"I wanted to throw a couple stones at your window," he started cooly, unfazed by her hostile demeanor, "but what if the sound wakes up your mum or another member of your family, or worse still, the stone breaks through your window and cracks your skull and you die a lonely, cold death in your room?"

She furrowed her eyebrows at his reasoning. "I'm pretty sure a pint sized garden stone is not capable of killing me."

"Who says it'll be small? What if I feel adventurous and use a giant one instead, huh?"

What is wrong with this boy today?

"Where are you even?" She asked just as soon as the thought occurred to her.

"Underneath your balcony..." he paused. "Juliet let down your hair!"

Catherine chuckled. "I think you might just be mixing up the two stories a little." She lifted herself off of her bed to peek into the spaces of her curtains. In the dim lighting, she could make out a poor outline of Christopher's form, his own phone pressed against his ear, and she said, "I'm coming downstairs."

"O-" Before he could finish the word, she clicked the line dead.

Donning a housecoat around her shoulders, she exited her bedroom quietly, walking so briskly it looked like she was gliding above the carpet that stretched through the hallway's length. She encountered no troubles or implications in sneaking out, that is, until when she arrived at the kitchen's backdoor. Its hinges let out a low, reedy cry when she pulled it open.

"Since when did you start to squeak?" she reprimanded the door incredulously, as if it could hear her and understand her words. "You did not squeak this afternoon when Fen passed by you, nor in the morning when Mum left for work, but you choose to squeak now? You know, I always knew you hated me; I suspected it since the very day that you scratched my elbow-"

"Who are you talking to?"

Her head whipped upwards in fear and to her utter relief, the query had been produced by none other than Christopher. He stared at her with an amused countenance, his arms folded across the expanse of his chest.

"Nothing, never mind." She hoped the night was enough to mask the ruddiness of her cheeks as she finally closed the maleficent door, but not before giving it the stink eye.

"Do you hold a vendetta against your kitchen door?" She wasn't sure when or how, but Christopher had already eaten up most of the space between them, their bodies within ridiculous proximity. His breath fanned her face; it smelt of raspberry.

"It's clearly the one with a grudge against me," she defended shamelessly.

How could no one see the true evilness of this door?!

He chuckled lightly, and she reveled in the sound. "Of course."

"Why are you here? At eleven o'clock when I was trying to sleep?" She repeated.

"Uh, it's 11:30 now, duh," said Christopher, not really helping his case. "Did you even check your time properly before manhandling me over the phone?"

How is it possible to manhandle someone over the phone?

She shook her head, giving up. He'd probably binged on Popsicles and, amidst his sugar high, sought to bring torture to her. First the door, now Christopher. What was the world turning into...

"Come with me, Sketch."

"Where are you taking me? I want to sleep." Despite her protests, she didn't put up much of a fight as he latched his hand into her wrist and pulled her. "Are you planning on killing me and burying my body secretly?"