Seal The Deal (Brooklyn Beckham)

Chapter 2: Bloody Honest!

Chapter 2: Bloody Honest!

I cannot believe this. Brooklyn Beckham is in my freaking room. What is he even doing in here? Is he gonna murder me or gonna rape me? Wait, why would a big time celebrity want to rape me? Plus, I'm not that attractive to get raped by a celebrity. Ugh. Too many questions.

I was purely stunned by everything. I can't react properly and his hands are still cupped on my mouth. I am sandwhiched between the wall and him because he's surprisingly tall and quite toned. How old is this boy again? 19?

He was eyeing our surroundings and fixed his eyes back to me, shifting away from me to level my gaze. "Alright, I know that this is your room and your house but right now I don't want you to wake every one up with your screams."

He continued looking at me. I was too stunned to understand what he said. So many questions bugging my brain. Eventually, I understood why he was looking at me. I tried my best to nod even though all I heard was nothing.

Seriously. A celebrity in my room? I must be lucky. Unless I'm gonna die when he murders me. Am I dreaming? And how the hell did he get up here?

"Good, I'm gonna let you go, and you're not gonna scream. Understood?"

Again, I nodded without understanding any word. He was skepticaly eyeing me- which I returned with a deer-in-the-headlights look- and skeptically removed his hands. The fresh air tickled my lips but I was still glued to the wall with the same look.

After a few moments, he was finally positive I wasn't going to scream. He eased down and sighed in relief. I watched him-still glued to the wall- as he roamed around my room a little bit, awkwardly waiting for me to say a word.

I eased down a little bit too since he is not that close to me anymore, and I slowly unattached myself to the wall. That was an achievement but I ended up standing there-like a prey ready to run-staring at him.

Questions still flooded my mind and disbelief still had me. How in the world did I ended up with Brooklyn Beckham in the middle of the night?

He scrunched his nose-slumped on my chair- and started, "Aren't you gonna talk?"

Talk? Should I talk? What would I say? That "Hey Brooklyn, welcome to my room and thank you for scaring the shit out of me," because he did scare me. But of course, I kept that to myself. Deep inside something was telling me I was lucky enough to have a celebrity in my room and I shouldn't be a moron about it. But what if he murders me?

"Alright," he stood up from the chair, grabbed some napkins from my table and wiped the hands he used to silence me.

Well, that's offending. And embarrassing in my part.

"Got some slimes on it," he added with small smirk on his lips.

Then he continued, "I hope you brushed your teeth. I don't want any germs on my hands, really. And you kinda smell. No offense."

He looked around again before muttering, "Damn, could've chosen a better room than this."

And from the looks of it, he wasn't even trying to get me to speak but he was being honest! Bloody honest! A very offending honesty. I didn't tell him to stay here and appreciate my room. Wow, Brooklyn Beckham can be annoying.

His eyes went back to me and he involuntarily grimaced at me. Probably because I look like a monster from all the work today but that is not an excuse to be a jerk.

"What are you doing in my room?" I finally spoke up.

That caught him off guard. And he's kinda cute when he did a surprised face. Wait, I shouldn't be checking him out. He's a burglar! 'And a handsome celebrity'. You deep-inside-voice needs to shut up! I need to concentrate.

Just because he's famous does not mean he can go anywhere he wants and be offensive anytime he wants.

"Finally, you talked. I almost thought you can't talk. You're probably wondering why I'm here."

"Obviously," I snapped and that amused him. I'm quite snappy when I'm sleepy.

"Well, shoot me some questions and I'll answer 'em all."

"Got a lot."

He smirked, "That I could see."

There is too much questions flooding my brain and I think I'm almost out of my sanity. I want to freak out because first, Brooklyn Beckham is in my damn room. Second, a cute and handsome celebrity is in my room.

If you think I'm not happy about his existence in my room, well, you're quite wrong. I don't want to scare him away, of course, when I freak out. And I forgot to mention that breathing has never been this challenging to me.

On the other hand, I'm still wary about him. I mean let's face it, no celebrity would sneak around in the middle of the night. They have a high chance to get caught. And what if they entered the wrong house? What if they kidnap that celebrity or something?

"Why are you in my room?" I began to question him.

"That I cannot answer yet," he answered nonchalantly.

But of course, I'd protest, "This is my room. I have the right to know."

"I'll tell you that later. Next question please."

I paused for awhile. That's all I really want to know. If he answers my first question then my next questions would be answered too. And how ironic. First, questions bombarded my brain and now I'm out of it. Thank you so much brain for almost pulling me out of my sanity.

"Uhh... Well, are you going to murder me or rob our house? Wait, you're already rich so don't mind that last question. But seriously, what the hell are you doing in here?"

He was amused again. That puzzled me. I was never amusing. Or at least that is what I thought. "Aren't you happy I'm here?"

What a stupid question. Really? Isn't that what you also feel about him?

Ugh. What is happening to me? And this inner voice is starting to get really annoying.

I mentally shook my head, dismissing the voices. "Will you please leave my room?" I requested, standing up and gestured to the door.

This is for the better, anyway. 'But I bet you'd be sad if he'll leave. I mean look at that handsome face in your room.'

His eyebrows shot up a bit. "Excuse me? Me? Leave?"

I nodded, still quite stunned. "I suggest you take the front door. The window is quite difficult to climb into. Or out. Wait, how did you get up here?"

He shrugged. "Through the window."

He checks his watch, stood up, and headed to the window. "Well, it's nice meeting you," he chuckled, quite amused by his own sarcasm.

"Nice meeting you too," I noted with sarcasm, too. "And please don't come-"

"What's your name?"

"...back... What?" About to finish my sentence but instead, it slowed down when he asked. I gaped at him. He wants to know my name. That means if I tell him, he'd know me. And have the slightest memory of me. And I'd be Brooklyn Beckham's acquaintance. If he ever remember my name when I tell him.

"Uhh," scratching the back of my neck, "Name's Sydney," I informed.

"Well, Sydney, nice meeting you," and with that last words, he disappeared out of my window. I got to admit, I'm impressed. I tried using the window once but ended up being stuck there because of my lack of strength. Well, what do I say he's an athlete.

'By the way, the inner voice you call is named Fangirl.'

And there goes that voice again who claimed a name.