Painted-tcl

Painted -- Ch 6

Unfortunately, due to his origin (inside my head), Ten had been not only gifted with a dazzling smile, but also the uncanny capacity to irritate me. With the knowledge of the exact location of every single one of the buttons he needed to press to get a reaction from me, he took to driving me insane as if it were his sole purpose.
Over the next week, the bickering was relentless. My only moments of peace were those spent at school whilst Ten stayed in my apartment, filling his time with the books on my shelves. It had surprised me, how much he loved reading. His personality was constantly amazing me, actually. Although I had come up with the outer layer of his being, I had never put any thought into his character, thus it had generated itself. Although he had developed some nice traits, most of the time I wished I had sketched it out so that I could erase all the aspects that drove me spare.
The first day, it had been hard resisting the urge to punch him in the face.
"Oh my god, I haven't watched TV in forever!"
"I'm parched, I haven't had a glass of water in forever!"
"I haven't heard this song in forever!"
"Are you aware of how obnoxious you are, Ten?"
"Yeah."
It had been even more of a battle convincing him that he would be taking the couch.
"You have a double bed, why are you so selfish?"
"Because it's my bed that I paid for. When you contribute money to the running of this apartment, I'll consider giving you half the bed."
"I don't have any money."
"That sounds like a problem that doesn't concern me."
Cooking was also a challenge, every meal almost spiralling into homicide.
"Can you pass me the frozen peas from the freezer, Ten?"
"Do I look like your servant? Will you pay me? Woah, no need to point the knife."
I steadied my nerves and ignored him, only to have a peach that should have been in my fruit bowl shoved in my face.
"You're a peach of shit," Ten produced, smiling proudly. In that moment, I was honestly quite sure that the only reason I was letting him stay was because he literally was a work of art—my art. It would be like decapitating my own baby.
And although his presence was undoubtably trying most of the time, ("Are you trying to pick a fight?" "I didn't even say anything, Ten, you dense fucker." "You were looking at me funny. Anyway, why would you call me a dense fucker? Are you trying to pick a fight?") I quickly found myself getting used to him.