Scarred

Eight

Aurelia stirred awake, bewildered to find the room entirely dark yet she could hear noises from downstairs. She glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table next to her blaring red digits that read 3:30A.M. Who's awake? She wondered. But who else could it be? She was afterall not in her own bedroom.

It had been a little over a week and for some reason, she was still occupying the guest bedroom of Oscar's beach house. There hadn't really been an agreement or invitation; he made himself available everyday to drive her to and fro school, taking her back to his home daily as if it was the natural thing to do.

The only time she'd went back was to retrieve her school assignments, some books and her daily necessities. She didn't pack a bag for clothes, she didn't had to. On the second day of her stay, she'd returned to find an entire wardrobe of brand new clothes hung and washed with their tags saying her name. When did he do all that? How did he know her sizes? And most importantly, why? But she never asked, he never mentioned.

Some nights she went to bed—a queen sized one, unlike the single she was used to—and thought about it. She knew she could easily pack up and go, leave with her own belongings; it wasn't like he would employ security to guard the house and keep her in. He didn't keep her hostage at gunpoint. She was allowed a house tour the first night and she was in awe with the luxurious amenities in the three-storey home.

It boasted a decent gym, a games room with pool table and darts machine, a mini home theatre, a library in his office and a jacuzzi in his master bath. Not forgetting that the backdoor led directly to the beach and the sea; this was quite possibly the kind of heaven Aurelia pictured in her head.

It was a vast difference to the peeling sad piece of an apartment she rented, and that could be the reason why she was still here. She hadn't been bored, not once, while she explored the home in her own time. But it wasn't it. She might deny, yet the truth was that this place only felt warm because he was here.

Oscar made it a point to have breakfast and at times, dinner together at the dining table in the house. They'd talk about their plans and come home to discuss about their day. Occasionally Oscar woud be held back by his work in the office, but he always made sure to call and inform her not to wait up.

Since she didn't really have much to contribute, Aurelia took it upon herself to cook their meals. His fridge was mildly depressing; filled with stacks of microwave-able food in the freezer compartment while the refridgerator only had beers, water and a forgotten block of expired butter. She'd asked him why and he admitted that the only piece of equipment he used in the kitchen was the microwave. The stove, oven and toaster were mostly a display. She laughed at that.

On the second day, she'd asked to go to the supermarket when he came to pick her up after her class.

"Why?" Oscar questioned, but was already back in the driver's seat putting his seat belt on. "I have all the things you need at home."

She ignored the flutter when he mentioned 'home'. "Really, everything?"

He thought about it for a second. "No, okay. Maybe not all." He muttered under his breath, starting the engine. "I don't have tampons."

She rolled her eyes. "That, and also conditioner, non-men face wash, wax strips, hair brush, a tweezer—" she went on to list a couple more products.

Oscar smirked at wax strips. He'd thought the whole night about how to convince her to stay. Apparently she'd just made it a lot easier for him. He'd buy her all the things she need as long as it meant she move out of her place with immediate effect.

"Sorry," he replied, scrunching his nose. "I suck at these things. The only time I go to the store is when I run out of beer."

Aurelia smiled. "I can see that. It's a pity your two-door fridge cannot speak, or I'm sure they'll be crying out in hunger."