Child's Play | Oscar Diaz

Child's Play - Chapter Seven

"Oop, sorry." Fatima covered her eyes, taking a step back. "Should've knocked." Oscar chuckled deeply, buttoning his shorts. "My dad said you were looking for me."

"Yeah." He nodded, pulling a tank top over his head, "did you finish getting your room together?"

"Um," she pursed her lips, squinting as she thought. "No?"

"Okay well, I'ma be out all night. So if you need help with any heavy furniture–"

"It's now or never."

She spun around, causing him to raise an eyebrow and follow her toward his old room.

"Nice." He mumbled, nodding approvingly at the dry walls. "I did a good job."

"You?" She scoffed.

He hummed, licking his lips as he continued to look around. He set his large hands on the night stand, getting ready to pick it up. "You're gonna have to–"

"What are you gonna do when I'm gone?"

He was taken back, completely confused as he removed his grip from the wood. "What?"

"I mean," she cleared her throat, "when I go home for school; what are you gonna do with the room?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, but ignored her question. "You're gonna have to pick up the mess you have on this floor cause you're gonna end up falling or something."

She pouted, looking around at the large buckets or paints and trash bags. "You sound like my dad."

He arched a brow dauntingly, "thought your dad didn't care bout you?"

"Bye." She shoved him playfully toward the door, shaking her head. "Go finish what you were doing."

He nodded, "alright, I'ma go finish. But when I get back I want this room clean."

"Yes sir."

He glanced around the room before setting his eyes on her a last time and walking out of the room.

She didn't listen, instead she sat on the bed and looked through her gallery. She missed Matias so much it made her feel sick. But he hadn't reached out once, so she was guessing they were really over.

With a sigh, she tossed her phone onto the other side of the bed, frowning.

"What are you doing?" Her eyes traveled toward the now open door, they were met with Oscar's curios pair. "Thought I told you to pick your shit up?"

"You were gone for two seconds." She defended, "where are you going anyway?"

"I have to make an appearance at a lil kick back the homies are having." He walked in, toward the night stand. "Did you want to go?"

"Nah."

He nodded, "didn't think so." His hand made its way to the drawer, trying to pry it open. "This shit never wanted to open." He huffed, "always had to open it with a screwdriver."

"Hmm." She turned on her foot, stepping toward the dresser. "There's one right here."

He held his hand out without lifting his head, waiting for her to walk back over and set it in his palm.

She studied the red screw driver,
"ever thought it may be too fu–"

Oscar reacted quickly, grabbing her by her arm before she tripped over a bucket of paint. He stared at her for a second, ready to tease her about how he had told her to pick them up because this exact thing would happen.

"Told you." He mumbled, licking bottom lip. "You should've picked it up."

She stayed quiet, contemplating wether she should lean in. Her heart began to pound, blood rushing to her cheeks.

He began to smile softly, "are you gonna do it?"

She blinked, stuttering. "Do what?"

He began to loosen his grip on her arm, snickering softly. "Pick up your mess Fatima." She gulped, watching him step back and grab the screw driver from her hand. "You should think a little more. Wouldn't wanna hurt yourself."