In Hate With You [mlm]

the sixth dilemma

The world hates me, I decide, as I wake up with my legs tangled in a mess of white sheets and the room bathed in the glow of a 5am sunrise. I roll over, bury my head in my pillow, but the lingering calm of sleep has slipped away.

I wrap myself in the covers until my body begins to protest, one of my arms flopped across my face, the other spread-eagled across the bed. With a yawn, I drag my tired limbs out of bed and tug a hoodie over my boxers.

Luckily, I haven't got much I need to do today except run some errands.

Stumbling to the bathroom, I splash my face with cold water in an attempt to wake up properly, before moving through to the kitchen. I greet the coffee machine with a lazy half-smile and the flick of a switch. It gargles a reply, spitting out fiery liquid.

As I drink my coffee - black, because there's no milk - I eye the things scattered around my flat.

The open-plan kitchen and lounge space is covered in piles of work to mark, and a few of my unfinished paintings. Pots of paint are still stacked on the coffee table by the window, and the easel is leaning against the wall, with a forgotten painting propped on the wooden stand.

I tilt my head, examining the brush strokes scattering the paper. Rows upon rows of cakes and biscuits peek out from the layers of paint, covered in swirls of colour and chocolate icing. A figure stands behind the display of cakes, his face empty, as though the artist forgot to give him features.

I pull the painting off the stand, switching it with a painting of the view from my window. However, even hiding it beneath a pile of other canvases can't shake the thoughts from my head.

Hours pass as I paint, splattering waves of colour along a partially blank canvas. I lose myself in the rhythms, ignorant of the golden ink trailing along my arms and winding around my wrists; not noticing the lines of pink and blue staining my face and smudging over my lips.

Eventually, I step back, scrubbing a hand across my face as I drop my paintbrush into the hot water on the side.

Instead of allowing myself time to judge what I've done, I walk through to the kitchen so I can make some early lunch. I scowl when I see that the fridge is empty, reminding me that I needed to shop today.

I slip into a pair of jeans, and ruffle my hair into a semi-acceptable look. Time to face the world.

The hallway is quiet for a Sunday. Normally, there is a steady bustle of people on their way out to the shops, or down to the park. I lock the door behind me, and walk over to the elevators.

My face brightens at the lack of a queue by the doors. I press the button, fiddling lazily with the keys on my key-ring as I wait.

The doors slide open, revealing Dante, leaning against the back wall with two other men. They look remarkably similar to him; same dark hair, sweet amber eyes - even the same silver rings, twined around their index fingers. I wince, wondering if I can get away before he notices me but-

"Are you getting in or not, mate?" One of his friends scowls at me, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Yes, sorry," I mutter, my cheeks warming slightly. Dante's head turns at the sound of my voice, but he doesn't say anything.

I'm glad. I didn't really want to talk to him today.

An awkward silence ensues, and I can feel their eyes on me, judging me. I'm thankful when they begin to talk amongst themselves once more.

"What are you going to do then, D?" I turn away from them, wishing I had gone in a different lift.

"Nothing?" He replies, and the man nearest him chuckles. He drops his volume, but it's impossible to whisper to people in a lift. "Not all of us need to sleep with someone every week, Luca."

I can hear the mildly annoyed tone in Luca's voice when he replies, "I think it's been longer than a few weeks for you. In fact, it might even have been years now."

Dante doesn't respond, and I can sense the smug smile tweaking at Luca's face.

"He's being a bit of an ass, but he is right, Dante. You're stressed about the bakery and Ady and everything in-between; it would be good for you to do something for yourself," Dante's other friend interrupts the stand-off, and I frown at his words.

"Are you pair volunteering to babysit, then?" I glance up to see Dante raising his eyebrows, lines carving into his forehead.

The man furthest from him - Luca, I assume - waves a hand. "Ady will be asleep, it doesn't matter."

Dante goes quiet, and I can see him considering the possibility of whatever stupid thing his friend is persuading him to do.

His other friend frowns, but doesn't say anything, allowing Dante to judge for himself.

Unable to help myself, I interrupt, "You shouldn't bring your hook-ups to your flat if your daughter's there."

"And who do you think-"

"What do you suggest, then?" Dante stops Luca in his tracks, and Luca turns to glare at him.

"I work with kids her age all the time, I can babysit for her," I say without thinking, glaring defiantly at Luca.

"Feisty one you've got there, D," Luca comments as the lift pulls to a stop on the second floor.

"You've got some paint on your face," the other one adds, his gaze trailing along my face. A blush chases along my cheeks, darkens the pink tinting my skin.

Gritting my teeth, I step out of the elevator, making a beeline for the stairs.

"Hey, wait, James!" I pause. How the heck does he know my name?

"Your friends are assholes," I tell him, as soon as he has caught up with me.

"I know, I'm sorry." He purses his lips and I watch him expectantly. "Would you actually babysit Ady?" I raise an eyebrow at him, and he hurriedly explains. "It could be a real life-saver when I have to go into work at weekends and things. She's pretty sick of sitting around in the back of the bakery, waiting for me to get off work."

"Sure," I agree, a teasing note entering my voice. "I feel sorry for the poor girl, having to be around you all the time."

"Okay." His eyes are sharp, but a smile crosses his lips. God, he looks good when he smiles.

I nod at him, before walking up the stairs to my flat, my brain scrambled. It's only when I get to the door that I realise; I still didn't get any shopping.