why not?

chapter 9: finally

 Tristain---->

chapter 9: finally

The rest of the day is uneventful. Tristain doesn't talk to me at all and just runs of with James. They drive to a bar I think. The thought of girls rubbing all over him, Tristain, makes me incredibly jealous. Because even if he is acting like an arse, I can't believe it but I still like him.

I finish my painting and walk around the house, trying to figure out where to put it. Auntie Cara sees and stops me.

"What's there you've got, darling?" she asks sweetly, sipping her tea.

"A painting I've been working on" I explain simply, eyeing the walls for a spot. The colour scheme in the lounge room fits the piece so I walk over there. Cara gasps, like Tristain did.

"It's brilliant! You're a proffesional artist!" she says, "My god, you should sell"

"Maybe" I reply. Honestly, I wouldn't like to sell because I get attached to every painting I make.

"Tristain talks about you often, you know. The trip here he'd always bring up stories of you two" she says. I freeze. I really need to talk to him about this!

"I'm glad he actually likes one of his cousins. He said he didn't like James as much, or any of the cousins from his fathers' side"

"Well I'm glad it's me then" I say with a smile. Cara grins and returns out to the patio where everyone's sitting around. The winter days are shorter, so at 10 pm, it's like midnight.

I ring James.

"James, where are you?"

"Prancing Pony" he giggles.

"You liar! Where are you really?!"

"Slap Dogs"

"Find Tristain and come home. You've missed dinner"

"No one gives sh** about dinner" And then he hangs up me. I ring up Tristain.

"Lila?" he answers, surprised. I hear thrumming music in the background as well and loud noises.

"Are you drunk?"

"No, I've barely had a sip or two"

"Liar. Call a taxi or something and get a ride. Find James and come home now. You've missed dinner"

"Yes ma'am" Wow. He actually listens to me? It's a fresh surprise from James' constant rejections.

"Thanks. Bye"

I heat up dinner for them, and myself as well (too caught up in painting again) and check the clock. It's polite to wait for others before eating. Twenty minutes later, James stumbles in drunk and Tristainflushed.

I have a cold wet towel ready and Tristain helps me drag him to his bedroom. James hugs the towel as if it were a bar of gold or something.

"Why is everyone in this house always drunk?" I ask myself. It's the family. Them Brits love to drink. Especially in a community of Irish people.

"I'm not" replies Tristain. Oh yeah, I forgot about him.

"Dinner's downstairs. Bring James' up for him, will you?"

"Yeah"

There it is again. That dead sounding, hollow and empty "Yeah" that I'm learning to hate with a passion. I start eating and Tristain joins the table. Oh! This is my opportunity.

"What's going on? What did Mr. Grayson say to you?" I demand, forcefully stuffing a spoonful of corn in my mouth. I probably shouldn't have because Tristain smirks at it. "ahn-shur me!" I say.