bluebird WRATH

Chapter 8 : Good Guy

I've been in bed for two hours now, agonizing over him.

I roll off to the left side of my bed, turning to see the flowers bloom in the morning so bright. The burgeoned beauties attract the sunshine to greet me a fair good morning, but I couldn't. I didn't know what to feel. I'd been awake for most part of the night, wondering where he could have gone off to.

It was sick to think that he had lied to me yesterday, and for me to accept him into my house. The way we spent time with each other—it was all so confusing. I let him kiss me; again and again.

I can still feel how light hasty his lips were on mine, how gentle he was to cup my face and tuck my hair behind my ear. How innocently he looked into my eyes, thinking that I might've never caught his bluff.

It bugged me to wonder now—Caivanial had been there for me throughout the past two weeks; making sure I was more than just ok. He was kind and sweet, so to have him lie to me like that—it bugged me. I like Caivanial, a lot. But if he wasn't going to be honest with me, how am I supposed to see myself with him?

I continue to lay in bed on this Saturday blues until I hear the doorbell chime through the small home.

My opportunity. It could only be Caivanial!

My parents were in Bangkok, Abby wakes at noon and Maverick was at practice.

I hoped for Caivanial to be at the door, but it could also be the post man...either way I rush quickly. I dash down the stairs but pulled myself together before almost crashing into the door.

I open it immediately with words flying out, "I'm sorry..."

I apologized in a fleet, but it wasn't who I wanted it to be.

Quickly I rebound to say, "You're not the postman..." I say to the tall guy standing in front of me. His hair is short, still fluffy. He looks clean, wearing a chequered yellow-black shirt.

"Were you expecting the postman?" he asks, his voice is deep and was absolutely not Italian. He has a sweet smile, very gleeful.

"Umm...yeah. I'm sorry. Who are you?" I question the stranger who's smiling at me. "You're in your PJ's" he says.

I look back down and shut the door immediately. Idiot! I cried to myself for being inane before taking out a long jacket from the closet at the front door.

I opened the door back and apologize...again.

"It's alright. I was just wondering if you could lend me your phone. Mine's out and I need to call a friend."

"Yeah, sure..." I let him in blindly.

He didn't take one second too long to enter the house with his boots removed outside. They were dirty with red sand on top as I see the trail lead in from his grey mustang parked outside in front of the long porch. The stone pathway to the porch is quite long, maybe about 20 feet away.

"The phone's next to the stairs." "Thanks. You've got a lovely garden-front by the way..." he says and continues, "...a nice home too...". "Thanks." I mumble, looking out at the blooming bushy garden we had in front.

He manages to get through to his friend in one-try. Talking with his back facing me, I would say he was as tall as Caivanial.

Seemed like he was fit and sounded apologetically himself; like if there was a good guy and a bad guy as friends, he was the good guy. But who was I to judge another person after last night's chaos?

When he finishes, he turns around.

Walking up to me he smiles, "Thanks for the phone. So, do you always let strangers in easily?" "Not really, you're my first one."