OLDER MEN | THE WEEKND

15

015

SHE WOULD'VE NEVER EXPECTED for her body to react as it does to a simple phone call. Bella's knees seem to give in under her as her eyes zero in on the vibrating phone, and all of a sudden the pink room seems childish to her, — she wants it to be black and white and simple and classic, she wants to be on the same level as the man she knows is calling her.

The faint sunlight spilling through the bruised clouds illuminates her anxious face as she turns to look at herself in the mirror.

"Pick up," she mouths, and makes her tentative way to the phone. With her hands shaking, she picks it up and presses the green button on the screen.

Bella tries to speak, yet her throat goes dry, her tongue — cottony, and her lips numb. Instead, she stands there, with the phone pressed to her ear, everything except for his breathing forgotten, everything except for her thoughts — stilled.

"Good morning, Isabella."

His voice sounds husky, as if he's just woken up.

"Good morning," she whispers finally, helplessly attempting to rid her head of the numbing thoughts of The Weeknd in his bed. The thoughts are frightening and novel, for the only thing she had imagined before Abel Tesfaye was Archie kissing her in the school's locker rooms.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, his tone bordering inquisitive.

"Good, thank you, Mr. Tesfaye."

There's a faint laugh from the speaker of her phone, and Bella feels her mouth dry.

"Mr. Tesfaye?"

"Well, it's you who calls me by my full name."

"I knew you'd prefer kitten." He sighs, just as faintly as he'd laughed. "I want to know how you're feeling, Bella."

"I feel fine, really." Bella's lips stretch into an involuntary smile, for his tone has a soothing, relaxing effect on her. She even reaches out to twirl the lock of her hair. "A little bit murderous, maybe. Did you call to check if I've committed homicide, or something?"

"I don't have time for you petulant questions," Abel says, and every tonal note of his voice states that he has all the time in the world. "Don't do anything stupid, yes?"

Bella goes quiet, her thoughts roaming the conversation she has just had with her father.

"Kitten." There are warning notes in his voice.

"You're a little late on that." Her heart is in her throat, yet Bella forces herself to keep her composure. He's just like the rest of them, she reminds herself. He's just another older man.

Yet there's something animalistic in his actions, something alien, as if he controls every single atom of his body, and expects the world to fall to it's knees for him to control, too. He knows too much, she realises, and does too little to change it.

"What did you do?" His voice is steel.

"Well, I didn't commit homicide, if that's what you're asking."

She can feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves, seeping through her phone. 

  "What did you do, Bella?"

   She slides down onto the plush covers of her bed, her fingers involuntarily scrunching the silky sheets in nervous agitation.

   "I said something to my father." She whispers into the phone.

    There's silence in her phone. He's waiting for me to continue, she realizes with late horror. "I..—" she looks over to the window, which seems to show a completely overcast sky. "I told him that you and I—" she can't, she can't, she can't.

   The Weeknd is silent, still. Then, after a pause—

  "Why?"

   Bella suppressed a sigh of relief. If her imagination isn't playing tricks on her, there are notes of well-concealed curiosity and even —amusement— in his tone.

   Her thoughts spring back to Luca. "Now, that's none of your business, Mr. Tesfaye," she purrs. There she is, the Bella with the three buttons on her perfectly ironed cream shirt undone just enough for them to notice, yet too concealed for them to stare. She's back and she's breathing once again.

   He chuckles in response. "You're rather insubordinate, kitten."

  "So you're not mad?" Bella asks, one of her brown locks twirled around her index finger in an attempt to further soothe herself. She doesn't know — doesn't want to — why her heart keeps beating this erratically, as if she's the deer caught in headlights and the man on the other side of the line is the driver. 

  "Oh, I'm livid."

"Ever the joker, Mr—"

  "Isabella, I am not that old."

   "Self conscious, aren't we?"

   "Don't you have a school to go to, little girl?"
 
   Bella gasps in faux indignation.   "Goodbye, Mr. Weeknd."

"Don't do anything stupid. I'll call you again today."

   Instantly, Bella's heart is back in her throat. She attempts to wish him a good day, and yet—

He hangs up.
 
   Bella falls with her head into the airy pillows of her princess bed and throws her phone across the covers.

  A wicked smile is playing on her pink glossy lips.