Walls of Fire

19. My Little Raven

A limitation to two questions on a new subject (Ethan Jeffers) from his side was meager to meet my expectations of five-hundred additional questions.

"For how long actually? How am I not aware of your new friends? Is he your family friend? Is there any resemblance between him and Adam Scott?"

Now this big guy is talking! But does a dozen of vague questions is all he has?

Frozen with a zipped lips at the spot, he was battling with his inner demons taxing to interpret whether or not it was his place to bombard trivial questions concerning this brand new topic to his intellect. His sole focus for that particular minute was on: Amy and Ethan's category of relationship.

I did not consider it as my responsibility to provide an all-inclusive introduction or to state our label of relationship to a foreigner. The same foreigner,
who bashed to establish his chick's supremacy over me. Little did he not realise the line of discrimination drawn between Lizzy Carton and Amy Johnson by him was an offensive act.

"Is this editor and the man of your dreams belong to the same group? Are you are obsessed with him?" An mousy James (being mousy was not in his character trait, but the current situation made him one) spoke his heart out timidly. His tone was slightly quivery, as if a continuous fear of hearing the acknowledgement of the question from me worked within him.

Even if Ethan Jeffers was my addiction, how it would have been productive to Mr Black? Was there existed any key in my response for solving the ultra famous mystery of Bermuda Triangle?

I was enjoying my lethargic task of leaving his questions unattended. The more quiet and expressionless I became, the more he squirmed under the heavy weight of curiosity. My desire was simple: he must undergo through the same primary emotions which I was made to suffer with last nigh. The sensation of envy should engulf the overprotective guy, extra careful stubborn baby under its wrath. After all His misery is my pleasure!

"Is he your crush? Or maybe has a very special place in your heart?" No smirk! No twitch! No blinking of eyes! No flinch of muscle movements! In the middle of all these measures, did he even stop breathing? He stood there like a stone, and repeated his question.

He said with an emphasis, "PLEASE SPEAK FOR GOD'S SAKE?"

Nope, I was the mercliness devil this time!

"Did you apply in some company? I think you did." He was unwillingly to back off with his interruptions. His compulsive speaking picked up a new level of hyperactivity as he began to produce a organised predictable response to his anterior interrogations in one inhalation. "You are heading to your office now, aren't you? You have already met some of your colleagues, and from the team of your co-workers, one of the guy has offered to work as your editor?"

His strafe of successive creative stories behind my encounter with my editor pinned me at my position with a whirling brain. If I had decided to attempt responding to multitude enquires thrown at me one by one, I would have been oblivious which question to begin with. Perhaps, my naughtiness would have loved to choose the bomb which had the highest potential. My raunchy tongue would have twisted it into a juicy response. I bet it would be juicer enough to quench the thirst of the rising demons inside him, or make them sleep forever.

"Is it so? Say something man!" He exclaimed impatiently.

I watched as his leg rose to his waist level, and fell back again in frustration.

Silence is the best answer, Mr Black!

We had been speaking for more than five minutes now. Though I felt pity for his constant whining advances, I insisted myself, by biting my tongue, not to spill the tea.