Our gaze met again, but mine would defeat his, if our gazes were to be in a clear cut battle. I stared long enough to have my eyes sting, but that wasn't enough. My eyes had no bullets or arrows too. Determined, I moved closer to him, casually surveying the items on the dining table. Without hesitation, I seized a mug and upturned its contents over Maverick's head. The chocolate brown liquid cascaded down his once immaculate, lustrous hair, dribbling onto his face and shirt.
The sight was satisfying, yet not entirely fulfilling. My fingers dug into a ramekin of fruit custard and I grabbed some into my hand, knowing I should aim for his stupid face. I wished there would magically be chili somewhere on the table, but even with this vengeful attempt, I felt a forceful grasp on my wrist.
"Let go of me." I demanded as he loomed over me. Despite my threat, his grasp remained firm, our eyes locked in a silent battle while my wrist twinged. My brows began to spasm and my lips stitched up into a knot.
"Have you gone deaf?!" I bellowed, my free hand desperately attempting to pry his grasp away. I could feel my hatred for him multiply by a zillion — my aversion for his gaze, for his height and the audacity to hold me. Each step I took away from him, he takes two steps closer, and sometimes, he takes a step away, and comes back two steps closer.
"You've just crossed the boundary."
"Wow!" The awe I felt flooded out of my intestines, "I never knew there was a boundary between us. I had always thought we were siamese. You know—I'm the dumb one and you're the sage one. When talking about boundaries, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO KEEPS CROSSING THE LINE! THE LINE REMAINS, BUT YOU'RE TOO BLIND TO SEE IT AND YOU KEEP CROSSING INTO MY NICHE! YOU GET THAT?! I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO SIT YOU DOWN SOMETIMES AND SHOW YOU WHERE THE LINE IS."
Maverick flinched, his face turned away. When I tried wringling my wrist off, he turned his face over, his brows knitted like crocheted patterns. He gave me an empty stare, and that irked me, because had better talked back immediately. I badly wanted to know whatever he was thinking.
"What's going on here?"
Maverick suddenly let go of my wrist and that sparked an electricity of confusion within me. Did he just call me a bullhorn indirectly? Everything I said needed response, but he acted as though I asked mere rhetorical questions. A normal person would have apologized, utter that he understands, or confess how sadistic he plans to be.
"Oh! What a mess."
My eyes never wanted to stop trying to suss out Maverick as he wiped his face with some mouchoir, quiet and unruffled, but I had to watch out for the intruder, and I knew it was the same person I suspected he was—Maverick's Casanova cousin, Jerome.
It wasn't behindhand for me to realize that it was suddenly the most unpleasant gathering because I didn't like his cousin either. I might not HATE his cousin, but I didn't like him. He was Maverick's age, but he had surely dated a number of girls more than twice his age, and I could have been amongst the blighted ones, thankful to how he's always steering clear of my circumference, especially whenever I glared at him—I always glare at him.
"Did you guys fight?"
"Stupid question." I mumbled under my breath.
"Mom told me you guys are getting married soon. As in, becoming a couple, Gee!" Those irking words had to slip out of his impure lips when none of us gave him any proper attention and it was late before I realized that attention was what he needed.
"We're not getting married."
"We're not getting married."
Maverick and I claimed in unison, as though we had had a prior practice.
"My poor cousin." Jerome still persisted. My eyes started to calculate how fast I had to grab something from the plate and hurl them at him if he ever happened to utter something more stupid. "He's handsome—I admit he's more good-looking than I am, he's a genius, he's overly responsible, he's mature, neat, and lastly, you're the only girl in his life. He's loyal to you, Broccoli."
I finally reached for the sliced watermelons in a jiffy, but on grabbing some and setting a throwing stance, I saw how he hid like a coward, using Maverick as his impenetrable shield. Maybe he thought I wouldn't throw things at him if it was going to hurt Maverick, and that's stupid of him.
"Stop calling me Broccoli." My voice remained stifled, but I was sure he understood what that meant when I wasn't yelling.
"I'm sorry, it was a slip." I heard him titter, the sight of his smile, punctuated with his teeth contaminating my eyes. "To be honest, my cousin doesn't totally dislike y—Argh!"
It was the first time I felt the urge to ask Maverick for a high-five, but I suppressed it so badly. He had already taken the initiative, elbowing his cousin's stomach. In no time, he crumpled to the floor, and that's only because he was only good with his mouth and just flirting.
"Hey, my phone." I asked when Maverick left the table side after grabbing his "cherished" book. I still couldn't figure out how many nerves had been damaged in his brain when I poured over the warm cocoa, because he only spared me a glance, bumped against me intentionally before exiting the dining hall. Has he really gone deaf? Did I yell too much? Did the cocoa caffeinated his brain into scrap?
My eyes followed, until he was out of sight.
"Y-your phone?" His cousin stuttered when my gaze shifted to him. I wasn't trying to intimidate him or anything, but maybe he thought I was.
"Maverick charged it at the lounge. And your bag should be on a davenport somewhere there."
Maybe it was alright for him to think I was threatening him with my gaze. At least, I didn't have to scamper after that dimwit. He could act deaf till the world ends—all good for me.
"Hey, could I borrow some change?"
He ceased holding his stomach upon hearing me and that made me wonder if I just spoke in a barbarian. We were not close enough for me to explain why I couldn't possibly call Mr Ezra to pick me up this late, nor how my purse got confiscated by his dimwit cousin.
"A-are y-you h-heading h-home? T-this l-late?" he stuttered.
"If it's such a concern, you could drive me home," I crossed my arms across my chest, resting my weight on one leg and angling the other out.
"But it's nearly midnight—fine, I'll lend you some cash. But surely you could simply stay—wait."
He fell silent abruptly, filling me with a sense of satisfaction. How could I stay overnight under the same roof as Maverick? Especially that his mom and dad weren't home. The fast one of us both would end up maiming the other and it was all going to be a pathetic ending for two students of Floradale—two children of prominent families. The internet was going to blow up.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Some days feel like 29 hours because no matter how long I wait, it stretches into seemingly eternity. It just goes on and on. Days like that include days I am bedridden, days I miss someone so badly, days when my life drowns in stifling monotony coupled with loneliness, and days like today. I couldn't be more taken aback when my wrist watch sounded off, indicating that it was only just 12am after all I had gone through today. Even time was a great cheater, deceptive.
Dad's guards patrolled our estate, encircling it like nocturnal animals and as always, I still couldn't bring myself to relate with them. Why should another person's loved son, brother or father be stationed around someone else's lavish property, when their own family likely awaits their return from a long day's work—? I noticed they took shifts, but Mr Bone face didn't have a life. He was always here 24/7—365 a year.
Once I got in after being inspected by some guards on intruder alert mode, I sauntered along the long passageways that smelled like the usual aroma of suffocation, sweltering gloom and sadberry flavor. The head maid, Granny Lydia was surprisingly up, dressed in her nighties, and immediately took my backpack. I would have been as glad as a two year old whose mom came to pick her up after school if Granny Lydia at least faked a smile. I would have considered her a mom, but all she ever did until I was six was bathe me, fed me, and pick me an outfit. She never smiled or gave me a hug, and when I stumbled across the word "alexithymia" recently, I already diagnosed her to be suffering from it. Sometimes, I wonder if she's like that with her family too.
"I will run you a bath, and make dinn—" She's aware it's morning already. "Breakfast thereafter."
"I'm okay." It's a lie, an echo of a wish. "I want to be alone, please."
I expected it — why would she bother to ask why I was home late when my "parents" were either upstairs, in each other's embrace like there's no tomorrow, or somewhere else, having fun?
"I will drop your bag off then."
I nodded, fixated at the same spot even after she was out of sight. I tried making up a scene of dad and stepmom in a frenzy, cuddling me and asking me to sleep in their room this night for the fear that they had lost me, but none of it seemed to make sense. One scene was like a parallel line relative to the other, so I instantly quit. It was hard, trying to imagine it—it would never happen. I never mattered to anyone and no one was ever scared of losing me. I was just an object that happened to exist in this place called earth—the minor character in a movie.
What I felt wasn't exactly sadness—I was accustomed to it—but returning home late was an unfamiliar experience, and I didn't expect anyone to wait with concern.
It wasn't too late when I realized I could neutralize the weird feelings, bitter and sour in my throat, with something very sweet. A sweet I-thought-I-lost-you hug would do, but chocolate sounded more feasible.
At the pantry, I grabbed my elbows full of chocolates and managed to travel with them, scattering them over my bed once I slammed the door shut with my leg. There was dark chocolate, milk, and ruby—a box of bonbons.
I had agreed to Jay's instructions not to eat more than one bonbon daily from his no-occasion-no-celebration gift, but I thought raising the dose to five would cure my distress—no, I wasn't distressed.
It was remarkable how I had managed to keep that box of chocolates untouched for two months or more, as I did with all other gifts from Jay. His gifts were precious to me, and I longed to display them in a gallery after graduating high school.
The first chocolate that met my molars crumbled pleasantly between gentle chews, its flavor melting in my mouth and prompting me to reach for another instantly. Of course, I took a moment to admire its galaxy-like appearance before enjoying its taste.
Ding-a-ling, it's a message for me!
Even for those accustomed to its distinctive chime, my phone's notification still had the power to startle, but I didn't think I was going to change it any time soon. Some said it sounded like a screeching witch baby.
Sliding the two compartments of my phone aside, there were several notifications vying for attention — reminder for having my wardrobe changed this Saturday, reminder about the newest comic releases, reminder about playing golf with the Pyramiadt club, reminder about—too many of them. And there were just two that finally had my attention, a Milkywaygram post from Jay01x, and, and—it didn't matter. But, why would he call me but to either remind me about organic structures I had got to master before morning, give me a sensational response about our fight earlier, or remind me of how messed up my life was? Twenty missed calls were excessive.
Turning my focus to the notification that truly mattered, I tapped on it.
"Who's she?"
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
No one hated school as much as I did. I liked school, but today, I hated school and it happens once in a while. If only I could be so brave to play truancy. To go to school obediently, but escape from those huge walls and walk about, watching how normal people live normal lives.
The sun had started to shine optimistically when granny Lydia came over, ringing a loud bell over my ear. Even if I spent the midnight studying, and brooding over the picture Jay posted, no one would have taken my confession of; I'm-too-exhausted-to-carry-on-with-this-week on a Tuesday. My body ached, my eyes watered and stung, and the world's greatest reluctance weighed both my shoulders down. Stepmom had promised to tell me off for sleeping in, and I had to gulp down chicken sandwiches and mixed vegetable drink in five minutes, without leaving anything on my plate or cup. I was sure soldiers were happier than I could ever be.
There was never any word in the English language that happens to have more intensity than "late." Once someone is late, he or she is late. So, I strolled leisurely toward Floradale once I stepped out of the Rolce Royce. It was such an embarrassment how Floradale had no lift or elevator despite its size, and I only realized that today. Huffing and puffing, I finally reached our floor, my stomach churning with nausea.
To my surprise, there was no teacher waiting outside to reprimand me for my lateness. Perhaps today wouldn't be a total disaster after all.
School was as serene as usual, indicating it wasn't break yet as I never bothered to glance at the time since I woke up.
When I hesitantly pushed open the back door, I quickly ducked into a crouch, my heart pounding in my chest. "Not today!" I cursed silently, realizing it was inspection day. How could I have forgotten?
In a split second, I spotted Vivian at her locker, sorting through makeup and filling up the confiscation boxes. Not my locker!
Knowing I couldn't simply slide the door shut without drawing attention, I set my backpack down, holding it with one arm, and crawled along the wall with the other hand, trying my bestest to avoid being seen through the windows. No, I couldn't afford to get caught.
In no time, I was free from the windows and front door surveillance angles, and immediately, I sprung to my feet and raced down a flight of stairs after tossing my backpack down first. Please let nothing break.
The last time I had sprinted this way was yesterday, but it seemed like I'd aged with the way I gasped desperately for breath. Snatching up my bag, I stealthily made my way through the offices on that floor, and finally, I arrived at my destination. Even if I hated today, it actually loves me. It's only unrequited.
Reluctant to slide the door open, I took a step back, gathering my courage before letting my forehead collide with the wall next to the nameplate that read "infirmary."
"Ahhh—hmm!" I stifled a cry, feeling the sharp sting in my forehead before entering the spacious room. Familiar with the scent and layout, I could navigate the infirmary blindfolded, as I was the only student who frequented the place regularly.
"Look who we have here," Mrs. Angela said, approaching me with a concerned look in her eyes.
Her parents probably knew she was going to be an angel, but—
"It hurts," I cried, ensuring my voice sounded sufficiently weak and shaky. She had to believe me because I wasn't even lying. My head was throbbing.
"Oh, my dear. What happened this morning? Are you feeling unwell?" Mrs. Angela asked, her usual compassionate tone enveloping me like the comforting sound of birds chirping outside the window. It was soothing yet invigorating, making me want to stay awake and feel a little bit better.
What should I say?
"Did you have another skirmish with Maverick?!" Ah, yes! I had always found myself in the infirmary for two main reasons; either when I desperately needed to escape classes on tough days, or when I inevitably ended up injured from tussling with Maverick. It's ironic how I had always wound up here, yet he had never set foot in this place. Even if I accidentally scratched his hand, pushed him, or kicked him, he never showed any sign of pain or asked for treatment. Though, growing up with him was quite amusing, as I still had vivid memories of how he used to be such a crybaby.
"Come on, just tell me where exactly it hurts," she urged. What was I thinking?
"He-headache," I stammered, unable to meet her gaze.
"Oh, dear! Having a headache so early in the morning—"
"I...I hit my head against his shoulder and now it's really hurting," I blurted out, immediately regretting it.
I could sense the awkwardness thickening in the air. Did that even sound believable? I hadn't been lying initially, but now I had concocted a ridiculous excuse. What if she sees right through me and realizes I'm just trying to dodge inspection? Why didn't I hide my bag?
"Take a seat. What snack would you like?"
"Snack?!" I exclaimed, startled.
She headed to the drug storage, and I watched as she scanned a shelf before retrieving something. I quickly turned to a seat when she returned. Had my absurd lie actually convinced her? Did she buy it?
"Would you like milk or something to take with this?" She asked. "Ibuprofen can irritate the stomach—"
"I've already eaten!" I blurted out. Had I just raised my voice? Calm down…
"I-I m-mean, I take Iburufeen without issue. It doesn't bother my stomach," I stammered, hoping to cover my slip. "Nothing irritates my stomach..." Except dining at home, festivities, or catching the sight of Maverick while eating.
"It's pronounced 'Ibuprofen'," she corrected.
"Right, right," I chuckled nervously. I sincerely hoped she wasn't aware that my father was a pharmacist.
"Okay, then. Would you like to—"
"Yes! I-I mean c-can I take a rest?" I slowly brought my hand to my head for a dramatic effect. She just had to buy it. I would be okay without Ibu—the medicine. I just wanted to stay away from class until the two periods of inspection were over.
"Sure. Sure."
She's the best. An angel sent from heaven to save me on some days, I say.
Thankfully, I managed to avoid any Freudian slips. If I hadn't, I would've thanked her profusely, and she would have suspected something.
Limping away like I was ill to the limbs too, I dropped my bag at the foot of the bed, slid the curtains close, but it slid open again and I staggered back.
"You forgot your Ibuprofen," Mrs Angela said.
"I did? Ah..., I thought perhaps the headache would subside with some rest. I've been studying Chemistry all night, and my head feels like it's going to explode."
Mrs Angela smiled. Maybe thinking I was too dramatic. I wasn't even lying about studying overnight. Studying and dying together. I was not lying about the "head pain" too. So, I wasn't a liar—just simply stretching the truth to fit the situation.
"I have some water with me, th—I mean I hope the medicine works."
"It will," she replied, slipping her hands into the front pockets of her white coat. She nodded slowly, her lips pressed together and her eyes closing briefly. "Once you take the medicine and rest for a while, you shouldn't need to miss class for the rest of the day."
"Hmm!" I nodded.
Seeing that she had finally turned away, I propelled the caplet out of the window and collapsed on the bed, feeling my cells heaving sighs of relief. I could hear my chest unshackled and free to work properly already. It surely took so much to pretend and lie. It was so stressful. A complex charade I never want to get involved with again.
Ding-a-ling, it's a message for me!
"My phone?"
After sitting up and patting around my trousers, my fingers brushed against the hard frame of my phone. I sighed in relief; it wasn't in my bag when I had thrown it down the stairs.
As I checked it, I noticed the screen lit up with a slew of notifications — KLG Boutique has just released their latest collection. Don't miss out on exclusive pieces!
Curated outfits based on your taste, straight to your inbox. Find your next fashion statement.
Attend an exclusive online fashion show featuring the hottest trends from top designers.
The latest issue of your favorite comic book series is now available. Dive into the world of your favorite characters.
Tickets for the upcoming Comic Con are on sale now. Don't miss out on exclusive panels and meet-and-greets!
Check out this amazing fanart of your beloved comic book characters, created by talented artists.
Introducing the latest must-have gadget from L-mon. Pre-order now and be the first to own it.
The limited-edition sneakers you've been eyeing are now back in stock. Don't hesitate to add them to your cart.
I scrolled through each notification, eventually tuning them out halfway through to tap my way to Milkywaygram and Jay01x's profile. There were only three new pictures, but Jay appeared to be enjoying himself. His circle of friends seemed mature, and there was a girl in the third picture—Lady. She was piggybacking on him, beaming brightly with her arms wrapped around his neck tightly. As I stared at the picture for the sixth time yesterday, zooming in, I noticed a pearl bracelet. It matched the one Jay and I had, and now she was wearing it in the photo.
For the third time, I glanced at her account—barely a glance, not stalking, just curious. I wanted to know what kind of friend she was to Jay, if she'd treat him well, and never hurt him. She had only three pictures, yet thousands of followers and triple verification stars. I, on the other hand, had just four pictures and a single follower: Jay.
I could attempt to delude myself into believing that Elizabeth02x0 wasn't sufficiently good-looking to be Jay's friend, but regardless of how long I stared, she still would look better than me even upon waking up from deep sleep. Her smile and stature was purely feminine and she wasn't short or anything "cute." I could tell the prices of things she wore in those pictures were never that costly like mine—what if Jay never remembers me anymore? What if he's got himself new friends at the University? What if he thinks I'm just a highschooler and far below his point on the social hierarchy? What if those extroverted, social, happy people become more important than me?
"Look who we have here."
Mrs Angela's soft voice effortlessly captured my attention, prompting me to turn off my phone. I started to focus intently on my breath, hoping to find solace in its rhythm. Breathing isn't hard when someone finally accepts the truth.
"Are you ill?"
Why would anyone not ill head to the infirmary? Poor Mrs Angela, if that person out there is also trying to play sick. Her caring gestures would have to go to waste. Maybe I have to repay her by truly falling sick later on.
"....check…eyes…" I wasn't going to eavesdrop, so that was all I heard without straining my ears. Deciding to retire, I plumped up the pillow, adjusting my posture to fit snugly into the sleeping compartment. For now, I would dissolve all thoughts from my mind, and grapple with my problems later, or perhaps never.
The bed soon sucked up my stress, lulling me to tranquility that nearly became pure slumber until—
Your phone's gonna blast, it's a sonic cough
Your neighborhood's shaking
Feels like windows are going to shatter
Your ringtone's so loud, it's like a bomb going off!
I winced as I was yanked forcefully from my realm of peace. That's how everyday is, my almost-peaceful moments get jeopardized one way or the other.
"Maverick," I muttered under my breath. Why was he calling again?
Shift!
My heart skipped a beat as Maverick suddenly appeared before me, waving his phone in front of my face as he pushed open the curtains.
"Hey!" I exclaimed, hugging myself. "Do you have any manners? You can't just barge into a girl like that!"
He advanced closer, his shin brushing against the bed frame, and I instinctively moved back, feeling a surge of alarm. Although I knew he couldn't harm me, I still warily eyed him. What is he doing here? Did he place a tracker on me?!
"Let's go to the hospital."
I felt my face do some jumpy twitching. But before I could respond, he reached for my forehead. In a flash, I snatched it down and sank my teeth into the bony prominence of his thumb. I surely heard a crack after which a loud whimper filled the air.
"What's going on here!" Mrs Angela's soft voice suddenly sounded stern as she rushed over, holding Maverick's bitten hand. She blew some air over it before settling her gaze on me. Why did she look like I was the assailant?
"He suddenly came over, pushing open the curtains. He intruded on my personal space."
"Biting him is inexcusable!"
"But—"
"Morticia, I suggest attempting to resolve any matter with Maverick. I can't bring myself to understand the fact that any time you're here, it's always because you got into a scuffle with him. Isn't it too early for you to have a headache after fighting today? It isn't even noon yet." It's not always.
I winced at what she just said, shifting my gaze to Maverick and hoping he wouldn't understand anything, but he was too wise and talked before I could do anything.
"Morticia wasn't feeling well. I've been trying to reach her since yesterday, so it's a coincidence that she's here now because we haven't seen each other today."
Mrs. Angela's gaze shifted between Maverick and me, and I could feel a cold sweat beading on my forehead, my back and neck getting wet.
Deceit and pretense were my Achilles' heel, and I could hardly make a move. At that moment, I offered silent prayers, hoping the truth wouldn't prevail.
"But she's here because she bumped into your shoulder and has a splitting headache."
She just said it! I wish the bed could swallow me up and remain like that for a millennium, until I get discovered as the oldest mummy.
"I— We had a fight yesterday!" I offered as a pretext, racking my brain to recall if I had gotten physical with him the day before. "Oh! I passed out yesterday and I still have a headache from hitting my head."
If the two of them were to study me closely, they would notice the unease in my chest as it rose and fell rapidly. In a bid to appear unwell, I quickly seized a pillow, hugging it tightly and allowing my face to lose all vitality.
"You said you HAD a headache from hitting your head against Maverick's shoulder," Mrs. Angela stated, her arms folded across her chest. Her stern expression was a stark departure from her usual demeanor, all thanks to that fool standing like an idiot.
"I- d-do," I coughed, cringing inwardly at the sudden noise I made. I have a headache, not a whooping cough!
"I understand now," Maverick snorted. Unable to bear the weight of his suspicious but amused gaze any longer, my eyes darted to him and I eyed him severally before I could rein in my optic nerves. If only my eyes had been armed with bullets.
"Morticia, you don't have to pretend to be sick. Isn't it exhausting?" He asked. I wish I could staple up his mouth and washitape it up.
Mrs Angela looked like she was never going to believe me anymore. Now, I've lost the only person I could indirectly rely on in just one minute. She wouldn't smile at me or ask how I am anymore.
"I'm not—" I resisted the urge to yell. He was purely getting on my nerves, trying to get me out of my shell to prove it to Mrs Angela. Too bad, I wasn't planning on leaving the infirmary until the inspection was over. What was he doing at the infirmary as well? Was he trying to skip inspection too?! This sly fox.
"You should take responsibility for this." I followed his finger to his eye that was still red. He probably got that extra redness from reading too much, trying to pin it on me because I threw that chocolate bar at him yesterday. Liar!
"What?" I feigned grogginess.
"We've got to go to the hospital together because of this."
Once again, Mrs. Angela looked shocked. Her hand flew to her mouth as she examined his injured eye. "Did Morticia do this?"
"Don't worry about it, Mrs Angela." Maverick said as though it wasn't a big deal, but I could see right through his facade — he was only trying to play the generous hero after trash-talking me to Mrs. Angela. Now she'd really dislike me. "Don't worry about it, Mrs. Angela. We'll see the ophthalmologist after school today. Thanks for the eye drops."
"It's serious." She said, shaking her head, and I felt like an idiot, still pretending to be sick and hugging the pillow for fake warmth.
"I'll see you in class then." Maverick said, his eyes sending a silent message of; how-lowly-of-you and you're-a-stupid-coward-acting-like-a-sick-baby. I hated it.
"Oh!" He turned back again before I could be thankful for being left alone to patch my ego and the cracks my emotions had gotten just this morning. "There was a lighter in there too. Do you smoke?"
"Do you happen to have a crack up there?" I retorted, pointing to my head. "Why would I smoke when I have to stay healthy to make your life a blissful hell."
"My life is too cold to be hell, you know…"
"Good for you. Go now." I motioned for him to leave. "I feel even sicker seeing your face, and your voice upsets my stomach."
"I was just leaving. Oh... I meant your locker. There were a lot of firecrackers there too. What's the occasion?"
I rolled my eyes, but it suddenly dawned upon me.
"My locker?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't leave me hanging. "What happened to my locker? What firecrackers?"
"I suppose you'll be spending your break writing apology letters or doing penance with a chair over your head and those contrabands. Tsk tsk!" He shook his head disapprovingly.
"Contra— My locker?! How—"
Before I even realized it, I was already out of bed. I grabbed Maverick's sleeves in a panic, knowing he would take pleasure in seeing my desperation. But, I just couldn't hide it or go check if he's lying either.
"Tell me." I demanded. "Who touched my locker?"
He leaned in closer, as if to make sure I could see him clearly. I was never short sighted, how irking.
"Use a stronger passcode next time, or better yet, keep everything at home…" he chided, as though trying to lecture me. Who was he to do that? I was well aware of the importance of keeping my belongings safe at home, but my school locker was the most secure place for those items. If the housekeepers ever stumbled upon them, they'd end up with granny Lydia and she'd pass it on to dad, and everything would end up in the trash, burned and forever gone. I kept everything there for a purpose and I wasn't naive enough to use easily guessable passcodes like 0000, 0100, or 1111.
"Get out," I croaked as I let go of him. My eyes stung, not because he was victorious, but because my beloved comic books and fashion magazines were already on their way to be incinerated. I could replace the firecrackers and maybe set some under Maverick's seat, but how could I ever replace those precious manhwas and magazines?
"Beg me," he purred slyly.
I was in no mood to keep exchanging words with him, and the day had already been terrible, so I shot him a final look before climbing into bed. Real illness really started to get to me at that point, a pounding headache making me feel like my head was being pummeled from the inside.
"Are you going to ignore me?" He inquired.
I simply covered my ear, turning away comfortably and closing my eyes, trying to drift off to sleep.
"Aikido sato, Spicy Family, Kairuto, five Madame Luxe magazines...they're all with me." He intentionally raised his voice, and I could hear him clearly. Those were the manhwas and magazines I secured within the confines of my locker, but—
"Liar," I snapped, momentarily forgetting my plan to deprive him of the attention he craved.
"What to do with them...?" he mused, his voice a low hum. I sensed a dip in the mattress beside me, and a surge of anger coursed through me. At that, I bolted upright, grabbing the pillow and shoving it at him. "Get up now." I gestured, catching the sight of Mrs Angela, sipping fruit juice leisurely, watching us. My outburst faltered. Even if she was going to have bad opinions about me from today, I didn't intend on making it worse.
"What will you do for me if you find out I'm indeed not lying?" He inquired, grabbing the pillow that had rolled to the floor after grazing his face. His expression held a hint of gravity, evident in the way he crossed his legs. If he were lying, his eyes would flutter beneath his lower eyelids, his legs would shift restlessly, and he would likely touch his nose several times.
"Are you attempting to threaten me?"
"That's your interpretation. It's a give and take."
I was astounded by his claim. Give and what? Those manhwas were mine, yet he spoke as if he were bestowing a favor upon me. I silently prayed that he would never become the nation's leader; he would undoubtedly become a tyrannical one, a ruthless one at that.
"My purse." I extended my hand, waving it repeatedly to prevent myself from forgetting. He glanced at it in a manner that suggested confusion, infuriating me further. "My purse. The one you took from me yesterday. Give it back."
"That's another issue for a good day. You have to earn it." He uncrossed his legs, getting up and adjusting his uniform like they were a treasured outfit for modeling. What a perfectionist.
"Class starts shortly, so you have until I depart. Once I step outside, your comic books and Madame Luxe will be donated to the orphanage."
"Wooowwww!" I shrieked. No words could capture the absurdity I felt.
"Thirty seconds." He arched an eyebrow.
The orphans would have a great time reading those comic books, but I could hardly imagine letting go of those ones. I hadn't read them at all. All I did was savor their scents and felt the smoothness of their new covers. So, I had to act tactfully. Maverick was a snake and I was sure he seeks for a way to have his fingers wrapped around me. He was going to shove me in a bin after that.
"Why do you have them?" My eyes narrowed but I could still see him through the space left. What if he's been watching me? Enough to know what my passcode was? What more does he know?
"Are you bothered about how I got your comic books or how I return them back to you safe and sound? I could start tearing off a page day by—"
"STOP! Don't touch even a sheet." I raised my index finger at his sight.
"I feel like you're asking for what I want in return. How flattering."
I couldn't deny or confirm his insinuation. Either way, it was easier for him to state his demands explicitly. I couldn't fathom the thought of asking Maverick for what favor he wanted in return.
"Apologize to me."
I blinked. Is that all? Is he feeling me out? Is that just a prerequisite?
"Apologize for messing my clothes last night. Apologize for yelling at me too."
A scoff escaped my lips, and I could feel the bitter warmth tasting in my mouth. Apologizing for last night was easy. But did he ever realize he had to apologize to me until he grows old and gray? Did he ever felt remorseful for all the bad, the cruel, the hurtful, the oppressive things he had done to me—?
Before I could even think it out, he turned away, "Mave—!"
He swiveled to face me again, cocking his head and arching an eyebrow. "I can do it," I muttered. "I can apologize, even if I don't regret it. I'd do it again if the situation demands it. I APOL—"
"Nevermind." His hand shot up dismissively, cutting me off. His manners, or rather lack thereof, were grand. The urge to inform him about his crude etiquette bubbled within me, but I stifled it, seething silently, hoping he wouldn't ask me to do something I surely wouldn't. My comic books were so precious.
"I don't want to hear it," he said.
"But I almost apologized!"
"Your apology would be meaningless. You don't mean it, and it would sound awkward coming from you. You've never apologized before."
I slipped off the bed, my headache forgotten. I couldn't endure the living headache standing before me any longer.
"I apologize when I'm wrong—"
"Only when you THINK you're wrong."
"Talk for yourself. You act all high and mighty, going around like a—" I paused, my lips moving to speak again, but I held it in, keeping my emotions in check. "Do you want the apology or not?" I asked, trying to maintain my composure.
"Spoilt brat," he muttered, his words hitting me like a slap to the face. It felt as hot and searing as ignited coal. In all sixteen years of my life, no one had ever called me a brat or treated me so derogatorily. I only had two true friends my entire life, and they never considered me a brat. No one ever did.
"Arrogant—" I held it in again when I realized the banter would never end and, like every other times, we wouldn't know when time passes, wasting everything on trying to prove our hatred for each other. From then, I was going to ignore Maverick, because he only seemed like a time leech. He sucks up my time and energy, and voila, I'm drained.
I snatched up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. As I bumped into Maverick, I was out of the infirmary in an instant, brooding over the ordeal I had endured to avoid inspection; all for nothing. My pride had been wounded. But, that was the final straw. I would no longer treat Maverick as an existing person. I clearly understood his manipulative tactics; how he was going to withhold my comic books and purse until he got what he desired. No, I will deny him everything—every attention he asks for.
Pitter-patter pitter-patter pitter-patter...
The rapid cadence of footsteps echoed behind me, ascending the stairs with an urgency that belied my own leisurely pace. If it was Maverick, he was undoubtedly determined to not squander a single microsecond of class time because it was probably a couple of seconds before the shrill of the bell hits everyone's ears for the first period.
Pitter-patter again, and when I moved towards the last stairs, it truly was him. He pivoted, his imposing frame eclipsing my path and his height boasting against mine. He was totally looming over, at advantage with the height the last stairs gave him.
With a deft maneuver, I shifted to the right, only to find him mirroring my movement. I darted to the left, but again, he anticipated my action. Frustrated, I turned my gaze away. I was never going to be hurt from missing a whole class, but he? Classes are his lifeline, his oxygen tank.
"I'm serious," he insisted.
I fought to contain the yawn that slipped out of my mouth. I was sleep deprived.
"Study with me after school, and I'll make sure you get one volume of your comic book every week, plus one magazine if we don't fight."
I couldn't help but find his offer absurd. It sounded like talking penguins, and me trying to decipher what they were saying. Study? With him? After what? Was that bargaining? If we don't fight?
Determined to continue ignoring him, my thoughts raced in response. Is he worried I'll outperform him or dedicate more time to studying now that I hate him even more? He seems eager to keep an eye on me. How insecure he must be. This fox.
With the way he kept his gaze intent, unwavering, he wasn't going to take no for an answer. I wasn't going to give yes for an answer either. So, we started up our staring contest, the eternity between us stretching longer and longer.
"You know what?" He broke the silence between us at last. The bell then chimed, loud and clear. And there I was, reluctantly hoping the day would pass by in a flash, without any encounters with Maverick. Isn't he running to catch up with cla—?
Caught off guard, he gently placed his hands on my shoulders. They lifted in unison, reacting instinctively to the wave of goosebumps that rippled across my arms. Frozen in place, I became an immobile statue. As he leaned closer, his hushed whisper caressed my ear. His voice, as soft as—, drifted through my consciousness, its faintness making it inaudible.
What did he just say? I intended to ask, but I dared not grant him any heed. No attention. No attention. Indifference. Indifference.
"Doesn't it irk you?" he inquired, but I remained steadfast in my silence. I don't care what he said, so I'm never going to ask.
Instead, I shut my eyes, clasping my hands together, my fingers tightly entwined. Moments later, I opened my eyes to find him staring intently.
"What?" I was tempted to ask, my eyes widening in surprise. Had no one ever taught him the impropriety of staring at someone? It was uncivil and had already make me start to feel a heartburn.
"Are you jealous of my face?" I scoffed, my patience wearing thin.
"Not even if I were a girl." He cringed, and I knew what he meant. Does he even know beauty is subjective and I'm quite good-looking to some people? This fool. "What did you just do?"
"Pray." I shrugged.
"Prayer won't make your da—"
"Tsk tsk!" I shook my finger at his face, smiling, "I just prayed to lose my interest in those things. I don't mind anything you do now."
Surprisingly, I was already the wise one, because I noticed how his lips parted, nothing being uttered, and his eyes static and round. Tables are turned.
"That's it, little baby." I raised my hand, waving at his face, "I'll kill you if you mention anything about those books—go ahead and donate them, those children would be so glad. Hoard them if you like too… But—I'll kill you if you ruin my day. AVOID ME LIKE PLAGUE."
If only I had asked him to repeat what he whispered to my ears.