MASH

Chapter 6: I Miss You

~Andre's POV~

I was sitting at my desk, doing my usual work, updating my status as a lifeguard at the all-so-famous California beach when there was a knock at my door. "Come in," I called out, not bothering to turn as I continued with my work.

"Andre?"

Blinking, I turned on my roller chair and faced the door. It was Clarice, my younger sister. I was surprised as she usually doesn't pay me a visit in my room. "Hey, baby sister. What can I do for you?" I smirked at the word 'baby sister' which she really hates being called by.

She once told me she would rather die than to be called a baby... seriously, baby is just a word, sis! "Don't call me a baby," she pouted. "I'm a seventeen-year-old teenager, NOT. A. BABY," she hissed, emphasizing each word with a silent shout. I did not reply her, but continued to smirk, waiting for her reaction. I love to tease her, I don't really know why though. It makes me feel kind of closer to her, unlike other older brothers which I'd seen who completely shut their younger siblings from their world.

I continued to smirk as her shoulders started shaking slightly. Finally she snapped. "STOP SMIRKING!" she half screamed, half shouted. "AND I MEAN IT!" I was slightly taken aback by her sudden out-burst and had to inch my face back a tiny bit, rubbing my ears in pain. Jeez, she can sometimes really be loud. By now, you might be wondering when our parents would burst into the room to shush us.

Well, you're wrong. Me and Clarice do not really live in a normal house, we live in a mansion with a theatre room, an indoor pool, a painting room, a library, a kitchen, an and many other rooms which also include guest rooms so unless our parents have exceptionally good hearing, that would've heard us at the other end of our 'little house'.

My room was a normal looking room though. I don't really like things being so extravagant, instead I prefer simplicity. My room was rather small and sparsely decorated with a tall bookshelf, a dresser made of polished wood and an impressive knife collection on the far wall. A simple bed sat in the corner, the blankets pulled tight from my last night here and on the other side, was a wooden desk for my work. Everything looked exceptionally clean, neat and Spartan, nothing like the rooms of those snobby rich kids.

“Andre?” Clarice's voice snapped me out of my stupor and I blinked at me in confusion. She sighed and shook her head. “You weren't listening, were you?”

“I was.”

“Oh, really? Then what was I saying the last five minutes when you were staring in thin air?”

“I heard you mumbling something.”

“That's not counted as listening!” she snapped, throwing her hands up in the air before calming down. “Look,” she looked into me eyes. “I just wanted to say that when you were going after Grace, you wanted to go after her and I made you stop by calling you and you stopped and she was -”

“Clare,” I raised a hand in her face, stopping her mid-speech. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was saying,” she said slowly as if I'm kind of a seven-year-old kid who have not learnt his words.

“That when you were going after Grace, you wanted to go after her and I made you stop -”

“Clare,” I cut her again and she gave me her death glare. I ignored her and said, “You're just repeating your words.” I rubbed my temples.

“I'm not!”

“You are.”

“I'm not!”

“Yes, you are Clare.”

“I'm not! I'm not! I'm not! I'M NOT!” she leaned over and screamed the last two words in my face. I sank back in my chair as I inched my head back away from her face, rubbing my strained ears in pain.