The Cliche Gone Wrong

Chapter Twenty

Oh my God she's in my house. I watch nervously as she looks around with a blank expression, taking in the high ceilings and sparkling tile floors. She's not smiling at all. She hasn't smiled since we pulled up to the house.

Maybe she hates it. Oh God she must think that it looks super gaudy and tacky. Fuck, I knew I should have just driven her home. Why the hell did I bring her here? How stupid am I?

She starts to walk away from me, her hands interlaced behind her back as she walks down the side hallway that leads to the kitchen at the back of the house. She doesn't reach out and touch anything; occasionally stopping to lean in and study one of the paintings on the wall or peek into one of the glass cabinets that are spaced throughout the hallway. I try to put myself in her shoes and look at everything through new eyes but I can't seem to do it. 

The white walls just look white. The paintings just look like someone gave a three-year-old some crayons and paper, and told them to go wild. The furniture looks expensive. The floors look clean. If I didn't know any better it's as if someone staged this house, and no one really lives here. I don't comment as I walk behind her, letting her lead our way toward the kitchen.

We walk into the empty room and she stops immediately, barely even crossing over the threshold. The kitchen smells like something was just in the oven, but no one is in here. I want to walk around to get a better look at her face, but I don't want to freak her out. Finally, she turns to look at me, her face still weirdly closed off.

I expect her to say something but her mouth stays closed. She looks away as she walks around the perimeter of the kitchen once, her head turning this way and that as she keeps her hands locked behind her back. I stay standing by the entryway, watching her careful examination of the room.

She finishes her rounds and walks past me without another glance, heading back down the hallway toward a different part of the house. We continue like this for the next 20 minutes, her silently going in and out of the living room, dining room, the library, and the drawing room that are all downstairs. Surprisingly, she doesn't find my parents room hidden on the far right at the back of the house.

We finally end up back in the foyer, her head following its same route as she spots the opening for the stairs off in front of us. She starts walking toward them, but stops before the first step, turning to address me for the first time since we arrived.

"You live here?" She asks.

I nod, not knowing what she is getting at.

"Interesting," she murmurs as she starts to climb the stairs.

But she doesn't wander around freely up here. She stops in the middle of the loft, standing beside one of two couches that surround a coffer table. Her head turns left and then right as she looks at the two different hallways up stairs.

"Where is your room?" She asks, not turning to look at me this time.

I point to the left, expecting her to walk down that hallway but instead she goes in the opposite direction. There are three doors on this hallway, the two in the back are guest bedrooms but the first room. That room is off limits. But off course it's the one she walks up to, her hand reaching for the door handle as she stops in front of it.

"No!" I bark out, jumping across the space between us. I wedge myself between her and the door, stopping her from opening the door to the office. "You can't go in there."

She steps back, her hand still raised in the air as if she would grasp the doorknob. She looks up at me curiously, her pouty lips pressing together as I see the question in her eyes.

"This is my dad's office," I explain. "Even I'm not allowed in here."

She quirks an eyebrow but nods as she steps backward and walks back into the loft and then down the hallway that has my bedroom. There are only two doors in this hall, and she skips the first door, heading to the one in the back. I'm not sure how she knew my room was the one in the back but she walks right in, throwing open the door, but stopping at the threshold much like she did in the kitchen.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she mumbles under her breath, so low I almost don't hear it. I can't figure out what she means about that, but she walks around the large room with her hands still behind her back.

"You know," I clear my throat before continuing. "You can touch stuff if you want."

"I think its best for the both of us if I don't." She laughs, interlacing her hands as she walks up to the open door of my walk-in closet and peeks inside there.

I slowly walk toward her, trying to figure out what she is looking for. When I stop behind her she turns around, the space between us almost uncomfortable as she stares at me with her inquisitive brown eyes.

"You live here?" She asks again.

"You don't believe me?" I ask, trying to subtly take a step back so she can have some space.

But as I move backward she takes another step forward, not putting any distance between us.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Shills?" She smiles mysteriously, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I try to laugh but the sound gets caught somewhere in the back of my throat. I scratch the back of my head as her smile grows, a giggle escaping from between her teeth. Before I can say anything else someone knocks on the open door to my room. I look over my shoulder lazily, already knowing who it is.

"Jude, dear, would you li—" Nattie's eyes widen as I turn to the side and she gets a view of Killer. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't know you had a visitor. Could I get the two of you something to eat? I just made a cake; red velvet, your favorite."

"We're fine." I grit my teeth as I turn away from her, facing Killer once again. "You can leave."

"Are you sure, hun? You must be hungry! I could fix you up some sandwiches or some lemo—"

"I said we're fine." I interrupt. "Goodbye."

She doesn't respond, but I hear the shuffle of her slippers as she leaves the room. I turn my attention back to Killer to see the smile that was on her face turned into a prominent scowl.

"Why did you treat her like that?" She asks, taking her arms from behind her back and crossing them over her chest.

"Like what?" I question, smiling innocently.

"Like shit!" She huffs, uncrossing her arms and pushing my arm as she forces me a step away from her. "Is that how you treat the people you deem 'less than you'?"

I try to tell her that's not what I was doing at all but she refuses to hear it, continuing on with her mini-rant. "Who the hell taught you that is was okay to treat another person like that? What kind of fucked up upbringing di—"

"Maybe I should take you home now." My face turns blank at her words, as she continues to glare at me because of the interruption. 

"I can find my own way out." She brushes past me as she stomps out of my room her footsteps echoing down the hall.

I turn around to stare at the empty doorway. Well good fucking riddance! I'm sick of her fucking attitude anyway. I don't even know why I'm still associating with her. I lost the best, so I should just move on with my life and go back to normal. My fists clench and unclench as I figure out if I should go after.

No, I don't need to go after her. I don't need her to pay attention to me. I don't need her to talk to me. I don't need her to smile at me. I don't need her. I don't—

"Fuck, why are you so goddamn difficult!" I groan to myself as I tear out of my room and start jogging after her.

Why is she making me like this?