A Break Apart

CHAPTER 8. An Offer

I wouldn't have felt a bit embarrassed about my look if I hadn't rushed for the door thinking it was Mum. A few of my braids hung like swings from my loosed ponytail, another few draped in my face, and the squeeze of my pyjama trouser seemed as though I had pulled out the bottom from a small handbag, my whole appearance showing how rough of a sleeper I was.

"Are you going to let me in or not?" He spoke like one with a VIP ticket, looking more handsome, as if the sweat from his workouts in the two times that I had seen him had hidden twenty percent of his beauty. His smooth face probably hadn't grown a strand of hair before, or he just knew how to shave so well. And it surprised me to see him in a top for once, which could pass off as a see-through if one squinted hard enough at the thin, white cotton material of the long-sleeved sweater.

"I don't remember inviting you," I said, trying really hard to maintain a cool voice.

"I don't do invites." He almost brushed my shoulder when he walked in, the smell of his cologne wafting its way into my nostrils. I cursed myself for finding the love potion enticing, which explained why he had queen bees buzzing all over him. But not this queen.

I closed the door and stomped behind him. "Didn't your mum teach you any manners?"

He chuckled, turning around to face me. "Wish I had one."

My anger dissolved on hearing the words he just let out with sadness in his eyes, and I stood before him with a wide, sympathetic stare, not knowing what to say, and hating my big mouth.

"I'm really sor—"

"It's okay." His eyes were distant, his hoarse voice barely audible.

My foot involuntarily tapped nonstop on the cold, white-tiled floor as I avoided an eye contact like an awkward dummy.

"I see you're putting on clothes today." I switched to the cat-dog routine which felt a lot more comfortable.

"And I noticed you couldn't stop checking me out," he smirked. The jerk was back.

I looked him up from his black Balenciaga sneakers, to his black joggers, his see-through sweater-then my eyes landed on his spotless, model-structured face. "Well, I must admit, you look... cool..." I forced out a compliment, awaiting his fat ego.

"Yeah, I checked in the mirror," he replied.

"A simple thank you would have been enough."

He shrugged, putting on an innocent face. "My mum didn't teach me that, too." His joke took me off guard, and I only reacted with a small smile in respect to the deceased, I assumed, even though it sounded funny.

"Why are you here by the way?" I asked the same question I had been asking since we met.

"To keep you company, you seem lonely," he bluntly stated.

"It's you who seem lonely and needs company. Coming over to my house this early tells you're bored, jobless, and have no one to talk to."

"No, sweetheart"—I frowned at the pet name—"in case you've forgotten, I'm a trainer, and also a free person who doesn't take life too seriously, unlike... some people." He gave me a look, but I chose not to react. "You should be thankful I'm here. Plus, I'll bet you don't have any activity today," he scoffed, "you look bored to death."

I shot him a stern look. "Just leave already."

"I won't be leaving alone, though." He walked like a proud thug and sat in the couch that faced the TV.

"You're really going to drag me out of my own house?" He had been stepping on my boundary, but now he crossed the border.

"That might just be my only option if you keep proving to be stubborn."

They say action speaks louder, so I picked up a throw-pillow from the couch closest to me and threw it at him.

Laughing, he shielded his precious face with an arm, where the pillow hit before it landed on the floor. "I'm only being nice by offering you a chance to hang out with me," he said, with laughter in his voice.

"A day with you?" I scoffed. "That's the definition of torture."

"You have no choice, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that!"

"You look pretty when you're mad."

I exhaled a steamy air. "What am I going to do with you?"

He smirked. "Won't you offer me something?"

I blinked in shock. "As what? Prince William?" I air-quoted the name in a sarcastic tone.

"That's the smartest thing I've heard you say."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. You're not my responsibility, and you are certainly not my guest."

He leaned out of the couch, perched his forearms on his thighs that were positioned apart, and locked his fingers. "Then be my guest. Let's hangout," he said.

"And where are we going?" I asked to put an end to the conversation.

"Somewhere."

I looked at him, wondering how I let myself in a situation where a jerk decided how I lived. And a further argument would mean the jerk staying longer in my house, so accepting his stupid offer was the only way I could kick him out. I could as well use the offer to while away time since I had nothing to do.

It better be worth it.

"I'll just get ready," I said and marched to the stairs.

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