Beagle accompanies you to the skate park. As you savor your steamed buns, he appears contemplative. Sporadically, he gazes at his right palm, as if uncovering a mystery, then shifts his attention to the skateboarders. As you savored your steamed bun, your tender nudge breaks his profound reverie.
"Your thoughts seem oceans deep," you inquire softly. Beagle's warm smile dispels your worries.
"I'm fine, just a bit exhausted," he replied.
"Perhaps you shouldn't have agreed to join me earlier, so you could rest instead."
"I'd love to join you here. You seldom invite me to hang out, by the way."
"Sorry we can't catch up frequently. Layvalor's rules are quite stringent."
"It's a good thing he permitted you to go out."
"I told him I had a group project to work on, so I convinced him."
You sat upon the cold, grey concrete, mesmerized by the whirlwind of skateboarders showcasing their prowess at the rink. Your gentle hands cradled Beagle's head, transforming your lap into a soft, comforting pillow. As he lay down, the dusty, weathered cement beneath him served as an unlikely canvas, while his gaze drifted heavenward, lost in the vast expanse of sky.
"Aren't you tired of living with him in that house?" His question prompted a sigh, followed by a moment of realization.
"Despite his behavior, my life is still better now than when I worked at the bar with disrespectful customers. Additionally, he ensured I was well-dressed and educated." You replied with a smile, but it was tinged with bitterness.
"It seems he's taking advantage of you, providing for your needs in exchange for loyalty and control."
"For now, I'll endure. Once I finish my studies, I'll leave his care, find employment, and repay my debts. Currently, I justify this as supporting him through his loss."
"It's almost two months since Rosielush passed away. Is he still struggling to move on?"
"Sometimes I catch him looking at their wedding picture, a clear indication of his ongoing grief."
Three months ago, you and your twin, Rosielush, attended a music festival at Red Orange Beach. According to your online interview, Rosielush informed you she was going to the restroom but failed to return. After twenty-four hours, she was declared missing. A month-long quest ended with a heartbreaking discovery: a body, worn by time, yet bearing the unmistakable symbol of love – the wedding ring – confirming the unthinkable fate of your twin.
Based on what you've shared, it appears you and your twin sister previously worked as waitresses at a bar, where you met Layvalor Ranguard, or Badboy. He prefers women with a refined look over those with an edgy style, which explains why he was drawn to your twin.
Badboy and your sister got married in a civil ceremony, as evident from the living room photo. After her tragic demise, Badboy was consumed by grief. He lost his appetite and became withdrawn. Upon learning this, you empathized with him. He pleaded for your companionship at his home, promising in return to rescue you from the bar, where you faced numerous hardships, and provide education.
Due to his traumatic experience, Badboy became overly protective of you. His strict rules dictated that you only leave the house for school. However, your resilience led you to seek escape routes. Your decision to attend the music festival hurt Badboy's feelings. However, for you, his control has become suffocating, and you assert your autonomy, recognizing your capacity for self-sufficiency and self-defense.
Upon returning home, you hesitated outside, fearful of Badboy's presence. Torn between knocking or using the makeshift bedsheet ladder to reach your room, Badboy unexpectedly opened the door. The interior light cast a blue hue, yet I could still discern your silhouettes. Badboy stood by the large window, clad in executive attire, sipping what appeared to be bourbon.
"How's the group project progressing?" he asked bluntly, his back turned, holding a glass of liquor. His stance emitted assertion.
"It's fine. We've completed the project," you replied. He poured himself another drink.
"Really? I thought you spent the day with Rigolos. Didn't you go out?" Your jaw dropped, and you raised an eyebrow – shocked he knew the truth.
"You're probably tired, which is why you'd think that. I actually visited a classmate's house, and Rigolos wasn't with me today."
"Perhaps you're right; I need adequate rest to clear my mind and avoid paranoia. However, I don't want you to end up like my ex-wife."
"Are you keeping an eye on me?" you clarified.
"I became negligent towards Rosielush, unaware of her whereabouts. I let her slip away, and now I've learned my lesson. I'm just protecting you, Rosenthale," Badboy said, meeting your gaze, but yours held a hint of disgust.
"I don't feel protected by your actions. You know what I feel? Fear. Yes, fear. I'm afraid of you because I feel trapped."
"Am I to blame now? You were insensitive towards me at the music festival, and now you're lying? And you're taking advantage of someone trying to show you kindness?"
Instead of responding, you chose silence to avoid escalating the argument, opting to retreat to your room and leave Badboy downstairs. As you entered your room, you rested against the door, momentarily shutting your eyes. You then moved sluggishly to the bed, lying down. After a few minutes, you rose, picked up a towel, and proceeded to the bathroom.
I saw you standing before the mirror, intensely gazing at your reflection. You put on your ruby-colored bomber jacket, tied up your hair, and placed a cap on your head. Then, you proceeded to the terrace, grabbing the bedsheet to create a makeshift ladder for your descent. You were about to leave, but hesitated. Weighing your options, you retreated to your room, removing your jacket and cap.
You then exited and headed downstairs to the living room, where Badboy lay on the sofa. You observed his posture, visibly sympathizing with his state. His long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, one shoe hung loosely from his foot. The overpowering stench of alcohol wafted from him as you drew closer.
"Come on, let's get you to your room. You'll sleep more comfortably there," you said, supporting him, but he stiffened.
"Let Rosielush assist me instead. I love my wife and I respect you, but you're stubborn." Badboy was drunk, and instead of getting irritated, you laughed at his mumblings.
"Fine, sleep here if you want." You adjusted Badboy's position, and surprisingly, he didn't resist. Suddenly, he vomited on the floor, forcing you to step back. You briefly left and returned with a t-shirt and cloth to clean the mess.
You carefully removed Badboy's eyeglasses and placed them on the glass table. Unbuttoning his shirt revealed a chest once honed by rigorous gym sessions, now softened. You draped a white T-shirt over his slumbering form.
"I love my wife, and I care about your well-being too, Rosenthale," Badboy muttered, making you smile.
"I appreciate your love for my twin and your presence in our lives. However, I'm still upset you didn't try my cooking. Didn't you know it was a peace offering?"
"I was full then, but I still tasted your cooking. It was delicious. Rosenthale, if you're listening, I want to apologize to you and my spouse. Let's start anew tomorrow, free from worries, scolding and resentment. Can you do that?"
"Wait, are you genuinely intoxicated or just messing with me?"
You awaited Badboy's response, but he seemed asleep. You fetched a blanket to cover him, ensuring he wouldn't get cold. In the morning, I found you busy cooking in the kitchen, guided by video tutorials. Although your breakfast preparation was satisfactory, some charred sausages revealed room for improvement.
Badboy stirred on the sofa, waking from his slumber. He sat up, visibly nursing a hangover. His smoky-gray hair was disheveled. Reaching for his glasses, he put them on, only to pause, realizing he wore a white T-shirt while his lower attire remained unchanged. He stood up, his movements sluggish. Barefoot, he walked towards you. You caught him approaching while setting the table. You smiled, and he scratched the back of his neck, seeming embarrassed.
"You're up! Perfect timing, breakfast is ready," you said, smiling warmly.
"Thanks for last night," he said, visibly blushing.
"No need to thank me. Sit down, I'll get you some coffee," you said, grabbing a mug and heading to the coffee maker.
"Did I say anything hurtful or embarrassing last night?" he asked.
"You don't remember? No big deal. Whatever you said, your secret's safe with me." You placed his coffee before him.
This morning, warmth radiated from your face as you savored each bite. Occasionally, your eyes met Badboy's, and a gentle smile spread across your face. Conversely, when your gaze drifted away, Badboy's intense stare lingered, as if mesmerized by a priceless work of art in a museum. Post-breakfast, you got ready for school.
Badboy stepped out, mesmerized by your elegance, comparing you to a blooming flower. I know you're being nice to Badboy because you're trying to fulfill his wish to restart your relationship. Yet, his perception of your charming gestures diverges, weaving an intricate tapestry of misunderstood intentions. As you depart for school, Badboy sets off to work, transformed by his formal wear. His demeanor shifts, now powerful and assertive. He dropped you off at LeCentral University, and as you stepped out of his Chevelle, you waved goodbye.
Then I saw Warchaic Famalgam, with his tattooed physique and buzzcut hair resembling algae growth, wearing emerald-colored lenses, riding his motorcycle. Upon spotting you, he smiled, relieved to have found you. However, his gaze darkened upon noticing Badboy.
Warchaic's facial expression reveals his eagerness to approach you, but he's waiting for the perfect moment to initiate conversation. He followed your movements, and I, in turn, monitored both of your actions. Your every move is under silent surveillance, with Badboy's hired observer joining Warchaic and me, forming an unseen trio, vigilantly guarding you.
You were reading a book beneath a pine tree with withered leaves, listening to music while Warchaic discreetly observed you from another pine tree. As the wind gently swept strands of your hair, and you focused on reading, Beagle arrived with a picnic basket. Oblivious to his presence, he had to sit beside you and gently remove your earphone before you noticed him. You were startled but delighted by his arrival, playfully ruffling his chocolate-brown hair.
A thoughtful smile accompanied his words: 'I've brought a picnic, just for us.'"
"Wow, this is quite a feast!" you exclaimed, exploring the basket's contents.
"Whenever Mom gets bored at home, she experiments with various dishes. Since only the two of us live here, it would be wasteful not to share them. So, I brought some here."
Your connection is effortless, filled with playful banter, whimsical gestures and contagious laughter. In each other's company, joy radiates freely.
As Warchaic observed you, his eyes betrayed a hint of disillusionment and longing, a whispered pang of jealousy.