Fly High | ✅

6 | 101

◈A D R I A N◈

Darkness. That was all I could see. I tried to open my eyes but it felt as if someone had their hands clasped over them, digging their fingers into my sockets. I clenched my hands, feeling soft sheets underneath as I fought against the cobwebs that had my mind spun in silvery fog.

"Stop squirming!" a rough voice chastised. I tried again, gently testing my right leg when a warm, calloused hand clamped over my calf, halting any movements.

"I said. Stop. Moving," he growled and applied pressure on my injured ankle.

The sudden pain had me sitting up straight, bending my knees and accidentally knocking on his chin. I pulled at the damp cloth draped over my eyes and let it dropped to the floor. My eyes widened as I scooted away from him. He glared at me for a second before sighing in defeat as he rubbed at his chin.

"Where am I? What are you doing here? What do you wa-" I bombarded him with questions.

"Woah. Slow down," he said soothingly with both his palms raised as if comforting a terrified animal.

"First, you're in my lair," he smirked. "Second, I have every right to be in my own room and I'm just taking care of your injuries," he added.

I perked up when he mentioned his room. Turning my head sideways, I scanned the room. It was sparsely decorated with mostly essentials. The gray and brown color scheme worked well, complementing each other with cool and warm tones. A few dirty clothes thrown carelessly over a timber chair beside a desk.

My vision landed on him back. He studied me silently as if trying to guess what's on my mind. His stare made me feel exposed, too exposed as if he was stripping me off my skin and flesh searching for my core. I evaded his gaze and fixed my eyes on my hands clutching to the sheets.

"No words of gratitude, huh? Not even apologies?" he stood up and loomed over me, gripping my face and slowly turning me to face him.

"I was considering to teach you a lesson for what you've done but it seemed like someone had it before me," his eyes flickered over my features, eyeing at the bruises littered on my face.

I frowned at his words. Again with those cryptic words. He can't be that mad over the twenty bucks I snagged yesterday.

"Look. It was just twenty bucks. I can pay you back now. No biggie," I huffed.

"That's rich. You stole half a grand and called it twenty. Not to mention thrashing my workshop and broke a couple of machines that cost hundreds of dollar," he tightened his grip on my jaw and I winced at the pressure. "I wouldn't call that just twenty bucks."

Half a grand?! What the hell is he talking about? I may be mad yesterday but I damn straight did not stole half a grand!

"I only took twenty bucks. Nothing more, nothing less. You can't just pin that blame on me!" I yelled and jerked my head from his grip. He relaxed his hand and dropped it to his sides.

He squinted his eyes and stared at me, contemplating whether I was telling the truth. "Really? Just twenty bucks?"

"Yes!" I confirmed.

"Did anything happened when you leave the workshop?"

I sat up straighter, trying to convince him of my innocence. "Nothing. I cleaned it as you've instructed and waited for you but you never came so I just left."

"With the twenty bill?" he raised a brow.

"I waited for hours and I got mad," I admitted, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Okay. So you left with the money and what? Nothing happened?" he asked again, still unconvinced. His eyes widened suddenly as if he came to a realization. "Did you roll the shutter down?"

I was stumped for a second. "What shutter?" I asked meekly.

His nostrils flared as he ran a hand through his hair and kicked the chair, toppling it over with the dirty clothes. I flinched at the sound, wringing my knuckles until they were red.

"For fuck's sake!!! You roll down the shutter when you leave. Leaving it open is like telling the thief there's an all-you-can-steal buffet! That's common sense, you runt!" he bellowed, landing a second kick to the chair.

I blanched at the words. Anger got the best of me when I left yesterday and I've never once thought of all that.

"I bet you left the office door fucking wide open too. Didn't your daddy teach you common sense 101?!"

That's it. Anger slowly replaced guilt when he mentioned that bastard. I gritted my teeth and bit out, "Well, I'm sorry that my daddy didn't teach me common sense 101 because he was too busy fucking other whores and walking out of my life when I was still in my mother's womb!!!"

My breathing spiked after that outburst and my head started swimming. I cupped my head in my hands when the throbbing got worse and groaned in pain. My words must have left him tongue-tied when he stood still by the door. Few seconds later, his feet shuffled closer to the bed and stopped.

The bed dipped as he sat beside me, seeming to have calmed down or maybe felt pity for me. I looked up and stared at the crumpled socks on the table, waiting for him to react in any way. When he remained silent, the guilt started to gnaw at me once again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd get robbed," I whispered my apologies. I laid my head on my bent knee, turning my head to face him. He looked so uncomfortable that I find it comical because he was always so confident and aloof. His shoulders raised in a shrug and let out a grunt.

Much to my surprise, he raised his hand and settled it on my hair, lightly brushing them from my forehead. His lips curled into a frown when his fingers grazed across the jagged scar on my forehead. He sighed and dropped his hand. I missed the warmth of his soft petting already. He looked at me dead in the eyes.

"You're a shitty fighter, aren't you?"

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Author's note

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{Song: Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood}