Playing:🎶Amin by Ayra Starr🎶
-Insane or not-
Helena's POV
Covering the short distance to my home after work, my thoughts keep going back to the conversation I overheard when I was strolling around to cool my nerves.
Mr. Cain had advised me to take a walk during our little heart-to-heart talk which is what I did until I paused the instant my ears picked up on a familiar voice.
At this point I still can't pinpoint who Xander was conversing with, thus I couldn't glimpse any other being in that perimeter. The word Azazel kept coming out of his lips, and his vision was focused on a particular spot as if he was indeed discussing with someone.
I'm beginning to contemplate if he has gone insane and now talking to the wind or if it is me who is mentally deranged hence my mind could have made it up especially after that kiss that left butterflies still dancing in my belly.
Recalling the kiss, my cheeks grow warm and my lips resume their tingling at the memory.
Stop it, he didn't mean it. I chastise myself palming my cheeks in a bid to tone down the temperature as I bite my lower lip to stop the buzzing in them.
But you enjoyed it. My subconscious teases and I groan, muttering dirty words in my native dialect and picking up my speed.
"Stupid idiot, who even gave him permission to kiss me?" I grumble, adjusting the sling of the brown bag on my left shoulder as I weave my way through the streets.
Look who's acting crazy now by talking to no one in particular. PS: 'Stupid Idiot' isn't a word.
"I knew that," I hiss in response at the voice in my head, releasing a sigh in relief as I reach the three-story apartment building. Unlocking the entrance door with my key I find my way to the stairs and ascend the tiring flight of floors.
Attaining at my door, I fish out my key from the purse and unlock it, using my knee to push open the barrier. I click on the switch, filling the milk-painted walled living room with light.
I throw the bag on the nearest blue leather cushion and shed my flats, dragging my feet across the red carpet floor and unhooking my earrings at the same time. The house is silent, indicating Allison isn't home yet from work because the girl can be as noisy as a trumpet, her presence always noticeable.
Taking privilege in the quiet, I move to drag one of the dining seats after placing the white beads on the table and haul it towards the window, making an ear-boggling noise as the wooden tips slide atop the ground.
A smile settles on my face as I peep down at the environment from the spot. Getting lost in the tranquility that comes from it, such that I ignore the grueling sounds my stomach releases.
This is one of the reasons I agreed to share this space with Allison the moment we clicked, the view from the third floor is pretty dope and the apartment is so grand and spacey that with two people in it and all the furniture and property, there's enough room to breathe freely.
To the third eye, it's unbelievable that a waiter and a club worker can afford to live in such a place, but turns out it's the privilege that comes with being your boss's favorite. Oh well, Ex-boss now I think about it.
Allison rented this flat with her Ex who at the time was a darling till she found out he was shagging everything in a skirt. It broke her heart and she drove him out of the house which was why she was looking for a roommate to help share the bills and this my people was how I came into the picture and we became best of friends. Two single ladies working and enjoying as they could in their early twenties.
I can see the pennyroyal farm from up here, the light breeze from the window enveloping me, and soon, I doze off sitting in a chair.
*******
My head hits the wall and I jolt up, seeing that dusk has taken over, the sun far set and the temperature dropping a few degrees. Groaning, I rub my lids and rise, stretching the stiff bones in the process.
I stride to the tv and turn it on, the sounds from it giving me company as I continue my journey to the kitchen where I decide to fix myself a sandwich.
My craving for jollof rice appears, and I steel my mind against that thought thus it's a treat I can't afford at the moment seeing as Nigerian dishes are a bit high-priced here in the US.
Finally succeeding, I produce a tin of sardine and produce the half loaf of bread left from breakfast. Picking up a ceramic plate from the dish rack I place it on the counter, proceeding to slice the bread into four slices. Once that is done I put the kettle on and grab a teacup.
I pour the sardine onto each pair of slices and put one atop the other, pressing a bit with my palms to have them all squished and nice the way I like it. Don't look at me that way, we all have our guilty pleasures.
With the kettle whistling, I pour the heated water into the cup and pour some evaporated milk into it. Adding some cubes of sugar to the water, I beautify it with half a spoon of powdered chocolate and stir, inhaling the nice scent.
I know this might look weird thus it's what most people eat for breakfast but hey, I'm my own person and I'm entitled to my choices. Placing them all in a tray I carry it to the living room, skipping the dining table and resting the food on the ground.
Snatching the remote from the pink bean bag I tune into Netflix and select 'Back to the outback' before lowering myself behind the tray and picking up the first sardine and bread sandwich.
I take my first bite, my eyes shutting in momentary bliss as my tongue absorbs the taste, opening them a second later to see the door pushed open, my fiery-headed friend sauntering in looking tired but an ever-present grin on her face when she sees me.
"I can never get used to seeing you in that position," she speaks in her American accent, staring down at me after kicking the door shut and locking it.
"Where I come from, we rarely eat on the dining except on special occasions," I shrug, chewing on the food as I take in her attire of a black t-shirt and ripped faded jeans.
"That doesn't stop it from shocking me every time," she rolls her eyes and unzips her ankle boots, discarding them close to where my footwear lay.
"Your loss," I wink and she scoffs, throwing herself in the nearest seat.
"You should have at least had a change of clothes," she observes, eying my long-sleeved kaleidoscope shirt that's still tucked into my thigh-high leather skirt. I wonder how you wore that in this heat.
"Have you forgotten the scalding sun you witnessed in Nigeria? Trust me this is nothing, and besides, there's always Airconditioning everywhere I go, no biggie," I reply, licking on my fingers before downing what's left in the cup.
"Did you make anything for me?" She inquires, tilting her head to the left.
"Oops," I gasp. "Sorry I had no idea when you'll be back, but there's bread remaining and some cabbage, carrots, and ham in the fridge, you can fix something up."
"I'm lazy," she whines.
"Don't eat then," I snort. "Also we need to go shopping for supplies, the fridge is almost empty."
"Talking about going somewhere," she stands, a mischievous look on her face as she walks slowly towards me. "How about we go have a bath and get ready for a night out."
"I thought you were lazy?" I lift a brow.
"This is different," she beams. "We can have alcohol, dance, and maybe get laid. Especially you, you need some servicing down there."
"Shut up," I grunt, standing and picking up the empty utensils. "It hasn't been that long."
"Three months is a long time," she wiggles her brows.
"For you, it is," I chuckle and push her gently.
"Come on it'll be fun!" She pleads.
"Allison, you need to eat and have a bath, not party and get shagged," I aim to make her see reason. "You've also got a morning shift tomorrow, alcohol and work do not mix."
"Damn work!" She laments. "Why are you always right?"
"My brain works faster than yours," I throw over my shoulder as I make my way to the kitchen. "Go shower, I'll fix your sandwich."
"Uh, thanks," I hear her mumble followed by footsteps retreating. "But we are going next time!"
"Yes, I promise!" I yell, hoping she doesn't remember this deal.
Freshy❤️