Chapter Seven- Just The Two Of Us
What the hell did I just do?
I stare mindlessly at my own palm still clutching onto Tom's blazer with his lemon scent lingering on the cotton fabric. Don't even ask why I made that comment. I think I'm going crazy right now. Inviting a guy—but not just any guy, it's that guy who just so happens to have feelings for me...and well... I reciprocate that feeling.
Great. Really ironic of you, Avery. I vehemently shake my head like there was something on my ear, trying to get things together and keep myself collected before I burst like out a chimpanzee on the run.
Maybe I should tell Lance to come over. That's right. Things will be less awkward if I invite him. As much as I hate him, he'd be my saviour right now.
I bit my lip, pacing towards the washer and dumped Tom's blazer on the basket altogether with the piling unwashed, folded clothes—to which my mother always does since shoving them carelessly in makes it look 'unkept'.
After I was done with that ordeal, I strolled back to my living room where my phone was left untouched by the glassy table. I picked up my phone and the lock screen greets me with a wallpaper of some sunset I got from a website.
My fingers slightly trembled for no particular reason as I held up my phone to my palm, typing a message to Lance in hopes he picks up and agrees.
'Very important. Come here.'
'I'll make your favourite meal while I'm at it.'
Lance/ 😛 :p
'Lance! I'm seriously in trouble right now! You gotta come here!!'
Lance/ You'll be fine. Tom doesn't bite lol.
'LANCEEE!!!!!'
Seen 16:29
"That little sh!t! Lance!" I instinctively brought a hand up and chewed on my fingernail anxiously—which I know is disgusting, but habits die hard.
And why did Tom tell him? Are they talking behind my back right now? The countless of probabilities just made my head tick with frustration.
My phone vibrates after a couple of seconds and I swipe open to see messages from the midget himself.
Lance/ For the record, I just assumed Tom was going there. Don't worry about it, you're more dangerous than he is. In fact, I should warn him right now.
'Har. Har. Want some Oscar with that joke? Just wait 'till you see. I'll introduce Emily to some fine-looking lads. The type of guys that you can never ever compete with in a million of years.'
Lance/ Goodluck with that. You're anti-social for Pete's sake. The only guy you'll probably know is some shady, unwashed neck beard at WallCart.
'There's this guy named Alfonso.'
'Emily seems to like him. They really get each other so much that she's grinning every day.'
Lance/ What?!
'😛 :p'
Lance/ Hey! Avery! You better tell me!
Seen 16:30
A wicked smirk emerged from the corners of my lips. Serves you right. The messages kept on coming simultaneously, vibrating while my phone keeps on flashing from its sleeping state. I could only stare at it with a triumphant grin, letting the brat get riled up and desperate for answers.
In my own reverie, I didn't notice the door flung opened, not even a single creak passed my ears to notify me of a certain person entering.
In my own defense, I was enthralled with extreme pettiness from Lance's misery and that makes me sound like an evil witch picking on kids younger than me, but whatever.
"What's got you smiling?" a low voice whispers from behind me, warm hands went around and squeezed my shoulder gently.
I jolt from the surprise, my eyes widening to the size of saucers and my hands involuntarily sprung upwards, causing my phone to slip off my hold and I frantically juggled, trying to grasp the phone now bouncing back and forth with my clumsy fingers.
After what seemed like an intense battle with my heart beating right out of my mouth by the thought of my phone dropping and smashing into pieces by the floor—I finally got ahold of it, pulling it to my chest like some fragile baby.
I whipped my head to look at the culprit who decided it was smart and fun to come up from behind me and scare the shit of me. My lips deepened into a scowl, glancing at the person just right behind me.
His dirty blonde streaks of hair was unruly to say the least. What used to be his slicked upwards hairstyle was now reduced to droopy locks of hair that was slightly damp.
His skin looks smooth and he smelled good---like milk. I stare at his face and to his outfit which consisted of white pajamas with pink bunnies as patterns and a towel slung over his neck.
"You sure do like bunnies," I mused, lifting my gaze back to him indifferently, trying to somewhat calm myself from exploding.
"Well, it's adorable," he smiles coyly—totally unfazed by my boiling temper right now while scratching his cheeks with his index finger. "---I mean who can resist a bunny?"
"Tom!" I screeched, pointing a rude finger at him. "—did you see what you just did? I almost had a freaking heart attack I tell you!"
He takes a step backward, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. "Well, I did knock—three times and since you weren't answering I figured I'll just let myself in."
"How nice of you," I sardonically replied, walking over the couch and placed my phone to the safest spot I could find : the glass table on the living room that has seen many things.
"Well, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he sincerely apologizes, then his eyes shifted to my clothes. His lips twist to a slight frown. "---you're still in your uniform."
"Thanks, didn't knew that," I snorted, looking down at my uniform which was slightly damp and he was right. I needed to take a shower right now. It felt icky, like when your white socks get soggy from the puddle and you must walk with that. That weird feeling. I involuntarily shudder.
"You're going to get sick," he added, his forehead wrinkled in the process.
I snort, cocking an eyebrow upwards. "Okay father, I will take a bath."
Geez, he acts like he's my dad or something with how protective and concerned he is with what I'm doing. Then again, I guess it's cause we're friends. Friends care, right?
He looks at me in disapproval, lips pursed into a thin line. "I don't appreciate you calling me that."
"Calling you what?" I feigned ignorance, testing the waters.
"Just go take a bath," he grumbles, not putting up a fight, lifting his other hand and proceeds to place it on top of my head, ushering me towards the flight of stairs.
. . .
"Tom," I grumble, trying to keep my temper from combusting. The hold on my knife tightens while I feel a surge of headache coming through my head. I swear I'll hit him. But I won't, cause that's murder and I don't want to be imprisoned for killing someone just because they were being annoying.
"---just sit and watch TV or something!" I scowl, motioning him away with my fingers. He pouts, not dropping the raw red onion and his other free hand with a knife.
"But I want to help."
"Ugh!" I groan, throwing my hands up in the air. "—fine! Slice the damn onion! I don't care if you cut yourself or something!"
Mind I tell you, we were keeping this up for almost half an hour. That's like equivalent to me finished with the preparations and the pot already boiling. But noo, he wanted to seem helpful---which in my case, made the progress non-existent.
He grins. "Yay!"
I roll my eyes, diverting my attention back to my plastic chopping board with handle, then I place the garlic on the board and proceed to smash it with my clenched fist using the blade of the knife.
Not a minute later I hear a sniff. He sniffed once more, voice sounding nasal. "Avery, the onions are making me cry."
I snicker. "That's what you get. I told you to sit your arse down and watch some cartoons or whatever, but you're annoying as usual."
"It really stings," he replied, eyes squinting with tears forming around the corners.
I turn around to look at him. I bite my lip, trying to hold a chuckle. I know I'm horrible for laughing. Onions are symbols of ultimate despair; cut the roots and you're sure to burst out crying. His eyes were now welling with tears, barely opening as he squints them. Then a tear slips and trickles down to the floor.
I sighed, releasing my hold on the knife, placing it on top of the chopping board. This is going to be a long night. I wipe down my hands using my apron and with one turn I was nearing towards the shelves where the tissues were placed.
He's acting like a kid. He somehow found himself in trouble with me having to help him fix it. My eyes roamed around the wooden shelf that was probably older than me and has seen many things throughout its shelf-life.
My father is Filipino and it was one of their unspoken-rule to take care of things—well, until they collapse and are deemed useless now.
There was a supply for canola oil, soy sauce, vinegar, baking soda which was never opened, some paper plates and cups and all other stuff. The top portion had the canned goods with tuna to corned beef and the lowest portion with stock for dishwashing. I grabbed the half-opened pack of tissue and pulled one out. I placed the container of tissue back, then took a step back and strolled to where he stood still, his other hand draped to the side still clutching on the knife while his eyes were still squirmed shut.
"Bend down, will you?" I murmur, lifting the tissue in my hold.
Oops. That sounded wrong.
He follows, slightly bending his body that his face was in level to mine. I could smell his minty shampoo or the milk scent from the soap. I shake my head, removing any futile thoughts.
So what if he smells good? Stop acting like a creep will you? I pursed my lips, prior to my thoughts as I dab the tissue gently on his eyes.
"Open them up, kid," I say.
He flickers his eyes open, a bit too reluctant, then he blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust his vision. His eyes then settled on mine. I immediately take a step back, putting some distance between us.
It's not that I hate him or I want him away from me—well technically yes, but not for that reason. Rather, I just can't look at him intently like before with how intense those olive eyes of his glare against mine. Maybe it's my feelings for him that's making me this cautious around him—especially when it's just me and him in this enclosed space.
It's getting worse the more I spend time with him. It's unbearable sometimes that I just want to be away from him and at the same time, I want to be close to him.
"Plop."
"Wha---" I blink, gaining my senses back to reality, my eyes looking down at my cheeks—which obviously I wouldn't see anything. I reluctantly lift a finger up, planting it on the other side of my cheek and trailed it, somehow feeling something smudge.
Then I put my hand in view to see a white, chalky-like substance. It dawned onto me. This littl---!! I look up to find him grinning wide with his eyes barely shut and his head slightly tilted.
What the hell did he just do?