Taming The Lockwood

Eleven

"No, no no," I mutter to myself, throwing a pile of clothes out of my wardrobe and onto the heap that was slowly forming on my bedroom floor.

I huff and collapse back into the pile, staring into the depths of my closet.

"I'm not the slightest bit interested in you." His voice echoes through my head and I bang it against the side of my bed.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up."

I'd left the ogre alone in the kitchen to finish the cake seeing as though he was having enough fun by himself. Meanwhile I had just gone for a shower and was currently having a moral dilemma.

To wear or not to wear. That is the question.

It was at times like this where I wish I had Cher's wardrobe tool from Clueless to whip me up an outfit that would actually go well together.

I dial Sophia's number into my phone and ring her. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."

"Hey, if you reached this then I'm not avail-,"

"FÜCK." I yell, throwing my phone across the room watching it dive through the air and hit my wall with a loud thud. I groan and sit cross legged on the floor with my head in my hands.

Maybe I could just go in my bathrobe. I stretch my legs out and glance into the full length mirror.

Hmm, doesn't look bad.

All of a sudden, the door bursts open with a loud bang as it's slammed against the wall. Gabriel is stood in the doorway, a wooden spoon in his hand, eyes alert. He eyes me on the floor and the state of the bedroom, murmuring, "Are you okay? What happened? Shall I grab the first aid kit?"

I feel my face go as red as a tomato and stutter out, "Y-yes, I mean no, well I'm fine but my closet fell over and everything came out."

He raises his eyebrow questioningly and flicks his eyes back to my wardrobe, gesturing to it with the wooden spoon. "That thing fell over," He enunciates his words by moving his wooden spoon across the span of it, "And you're telling me you managed to get it up again."

I raise an eyebrow back at him, growling. "Are you underestimating my strength?"

He holds his hands up in defence and backs away. "No, just saying."

"I can't find anything to wear." I grumble out.

"There's a pile of clothes behind you and some garments left in your wardrobe."

"Is this acceptable?" I tighten the straps of the robe and push the cloth near my shoulder down to make it look slightly fashionable. "Couture?"

"No." He grumbles out, eyes on the exposed skin of my shoulder. His gaze moves down to my legs and I tuck them under me, feeling myself flush further. He steps forward and picks up an oversized black hoodie and an ankle length skirt I hadn't worn since high school then hands it over to me. "This."

I'm no Westwood but I knew for a fact that I wouldn't be seen dead in any of that.

I scrunch my nose up at him and pause momentarily as the smell of cake wafts through to my room. I immediately spring into action, pushing past him and dash into the kitchen, yelling, "The cake!"

He traipses after me casually and as I turn to look back at him, he has an amused smirk stretching across his lips, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"Hello? The cake? Is it burning?"

"It's done. Just needs icing but that's not my forté." He watches me, leaning against my door frame.