𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎 & 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

3. Chaotic

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't take the piss out of me, Emma. It was fucking embarrassing," I grumbled, stirring the simmering pot of tomato sauce on the stove. My hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, a testament to my attempt to regain composure.

"But you spewed in front of three boys! You fucking vomited, like, fully choked!" Emma wheezed, collapsing back on the sofa in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

A surge of frustration went through me, accentuated by the splattering sauce. "How would you like it if you threw up in front of a group of ridiculously attractive guys? They probably think I'm utterly repulsive now. And I'm supposed to be managing them!" I rambled, my words laced with self-consciousness.

"You need to stir it—"

"I know I need to fucking stir it, thank you, Emma!" I snapped, forcefully inhaling a breath before resuming the angry stirring.

"Don't get pissy with me. I'm just joking," Emma muttered softly, a trace of guilt colouring her voice. She fell momentarily silent, busying herself with retrieving two bowls and two forks.

"I'm sorry for shouting. I'm just really embarrassed, and I can't stop thinking about it," I admitted, the weight of the situation sinking in.

"You mean, you can't stop thinking about them?" Emma grinned obnoxiously.

I spooned the sauce into a bowl of strained pasta, mixing it with fervour. "I don't know what you're talking about," I replied quietly, placing the pans in the sink.

"Maria, they're so attractive! And if they really were the guys from the other night, then you're so fucking lucky to be spending so much time with them," Emma giggled, helping herself to the pasta I had prepared. "Especially that blonde one, what was his name?"

Here we go...

"Roger," I said, smirking at Emma and relishing in her expression.

"Yes, Roger. You get to spend time with all of them. You're one lucky bitch."

I scooped the remaining contents of the pan into my bowl and made my way over to the sofa. "It's just work experience, Emma, nothing major," I said, taking a seat with Emma beside me. "Besides, I'm not into blondes."

"No, you're into the one with the big hair," Emma shot back, cramming a forkful of pasta into her mouth. What a bitch.

As I opened my mouth to respond, the shrill sound of the phone rang out from the hallway. I groaned at Emma's cocky remark, placing my bowl on the coffee table, and stepping over her legs, navigating through the mess she was supposed to clean up. Her stupid shoes always cluttering the place.

I picked up the phone, bringing it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Maria, darling, it's Mum."

I gave Emma a piercing look, my eyes narrowing—whether it was directed at her or my mother, it's open to interpretation. She responded with a sour smile and resumed eating.

"Hi Mum, how are things?" I sighed into the phone, attempting to maintain a positive tone.

"They're okay. Your dad and I went to The Wellington the other night with Uncle Alan and Auntie Samantha."

"The Wellington, eh?" I asked, trying to remain calm. "And you just pulled the money for that out of nowhere, did you?" I chuckled nervously, gripping onto the phone. Just hang up, Maria. Just hang up.

"Oh, we had some savings left from the other week," my mum replied casually, her voice crackling through the line.

"That's good," I murmured quietly. "We don't have much here; we're surviving on pasta." I sighed, hoping to drop a hint that I needed some financial support.