His relentless gaze pierced through my skin like arrows. His eyes took in every inch of me, leaving invisible wounds that I could almost feel. When my pen rolled off the table, sending me bending to retrieve it; when I excused myself to the restroom and on my way to my seat; during lunchtime when we had savory lunch of mac 'n cheese and meatloaf—which strangely gave only me a heartburn—and even now, as we engaged in sports, his eyes remained fixated upon me like a beacon.
Yet, I clung to the desperate denial that his unwavering stare was anything but a series of coincidences. It was merely an illusion, my imagination playing tricks on me. No, he could not possibly be singling me out, like a vibrant hue amongst persistent black and white. It had to be my own self-consciousness casting a twisted shadow over his innocent glances.
"... something happen?" A sullen voice jolted me out of my reverie, and I snapped back to reality, realizing I had been locked in a sickening gaze with Maverick. Hadn't I threatened to kill him if he dared to spoil my day? But there he was, smugly rubbing it in.
My innate athleticism has always surpassed that of ordinary girls, even boys at school, and they often regretted challenging me to sports like archery, golf, bowling, tennis—any activity that didn't involve running, cycling, punching, kicking, jumping, or wrestling. Yet, despite my prowess, the final score of our team in this archery match looked greater than the intimacy I feel towards Maverick.
"We lost," I muttered to Ashley, stating the obvious. Her face was already contorted in a deep grimace, and I could read her mind as easily as anyone else's.
"Did you lose your touch?! What were you thinking? Are you even listening?!" she exclaimed after smacking my sweaty forehead, and I knew I was in trouble. Ashley had zero tolerance for defeat in competitions between boys and girls, but me? I've got an even deeper grudge against losing to the boys if Maverick was amongst them. I'm an equal match with him in sports too, almost always victorious. And, perhaps that was why he had exploited my weakness against me.
"Forget it." A frustrated grumble escaped my lips. I glanced dismissively at the six arrows I'd shot, all far from the gold target spot — Not even one made it to the target. My gaze then snapped to Maverick, who had "intentionally" locked eyes with me. Then, I realized; he knew that his constant peering would fluster me, and make me overly self conscious and end up painting everything I do with anti-corrosive errors.
Determined to retaliate for his sabotage, I reached for the first arrow I had shot; the one that didn't get to travel through the air. But as I stumbled forward, the cheers of the crowd ignited my fury. The scoreboard showed a 28 vs 3! It wasn't even a fair game!
"Hey. Hey. Hey." Ash's voice cut through the chaos as I nocked the arrow onto my bow and turned towards the sight of Maverick, who was already grinning cheerfully and chatting with his friends. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, grabbing my wrist and breaking my focus. "The target isn't there, Ticia. Ar—Don't tell me you're going to blame our defeat on Maverick. Is that so sensible?"
"Let go of me," I growled, my eyes still fixed on Maverick. My mind raced, trying to comprehend his carefree demeanor. How could he be so restful after everything? After causing me to humiliate myself in front of my fans? He had undoubtedly orchestrated this entire charade!
"Morticia—"
The bow and arrow I still clutched dropped lower as Ash remained resolute. She had just voiced her disappointment over our loss, but now she's stopping me.
"Do you always defend him?" The words escaped me without contemplation. Her always hindering my actions towards Maverick was increasingly evident. "Friends should support each—Uh… you would choose him over me, wouldn't you?"
"W-what? What are you i-implying?" Ash's stutter aroused my suspicion. My question only demanded simple yes or no, but she suddenly started to give me pissed off kind of stares.
"Well then," I broke the silence, releasing the bow and arrow and freeing my wrist from her grasp. "Forget it. I wouldn't give Maverick what he wants." And so I resolved.
With relentless effort, I bravely disregarded the cutting words, snickers, and accusatory fingers of the girls. I boosted my pace, but despite my haste, it felt as though I were trudging through quicksand, the weight of their disapproval weighing on my shoulders. Yet, the shame of letting them down was bearable because—
"Congratulations."
Maverick's gaze met mine, his round eyes unmoving, his lips parted a mere fraction. Yes, he should be taken aback at that very moment. As he seemed to shake off his trance, his vision returned to normal, his attention shifting to my outstretched hand and back to my face, as if something interesting was going to be pieced together.
"Wow!" I could hear one of his gang whisper in hushed tones.
"Morti Morti has admitted defeat," he continued. "How weird. Shake her hand, dude." At least he had the decency to finally utter something sensible.
My hand remained suspended, unaccepted, trembling slightly. Maverick's surprise seemed to persist with each passing second, each adding a new layer of torment to my wounded pride. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then he tilted his head, raising his eyebrows at me.
"Did you miss the targets intentionally?" he asked with feigned ignorance, as if he were unaware of his own tricks and the reasons for my defeat. Why would I deliberately succumb to him? Though, it seemed less humiliating for him to suggest that I had lost intentionally. That way, his friends might spare me from their pity.
"I'm glad to see that your archery skills have improved." My lips threatened to cut across my face, stretched wide as my ears.
"And..." he tilted his head, "that's rather… creepy. That. That smile. That particular one." He pointed at my face, and I felt myself slowly shedding off my skin and becoming the real Morticia Katz. "Anyways, thank you."
Finally, he grasped my hand, making a surge of goosebumps snake along my arm. The warmth of his hand, and the stark contrast in size between our hands, heightened my discomfort. I couldn't wait to end the handshake and get rid of it once and for all.
"Dope!" His friends erupted in a cacophony of applause, as though it were something to celebrate. What's so amusing about shaking hands? Fools.
"Come closer," I beckoned, my hand still clasped by his. Unresponsive, his unwavering gaze pierced into my pupils. There was neither a smile nor a frown on his face, leaving me wanting to delve into his thoughts. "Closer."
As he finally lowered his head, as if ready to listen to my whisper, I raised my hand vertically against my lips, my thumb resting against the curve of my mouth. Thankfully, he turned his face to the side, but his friends leaned in closer.
"This conversation isn't for you," I pointed my index finger in their direction, the frustration I had been hiding finally surfacing. "Mind your business, ugh!"
"Mind your business, huh?!" I could see their twisted expressions as they chuckled in unison, as though I had just cracked a joke. Their laughter only proved their lack of IQ. Birds of a feather indeed. Three—Four idiots.
"Listen," I rolled my eyes at them before turning back to Maverick, ready to speak. He nodded, attentive.
"We need to talk."
"What?" He gave me a look of utter grimace. "Is that all you have to say?"
"It's important," I whispered. What was he expecting from me?
"What could possibly be so important to discuss with you?" he whispered back.
My eyes quickly scanned around, relieved to see his friends leaving, their sweat suits bidding goodbye. I mentally calculated the combined IQ of his friends, adding a bonus point of 1.03 to the total.
"It's about the marriage," I whispered, and Maverick's expression softened, similar to the look he had when I congratulated him. I didn't have time for him to suggest meeting after school; I wanted to talk to him now, before PE ended and the next period began.
"Upstairs. Art studio. Now," the words spilled out in one breath, and I heard him start to move towards behind me. I resisted the urge to smirk; it was easier than I expected.
We walked through the quiet school grounds, ascending multiple staircases until we reached the studio. It could have been my favorite spot if only I had the talent to draw the smallest circle without it looking so much like amoeba. I still struggle even to draw straight lines with a ruler, causing me to abandon my affinity for art. Although I admired different hues of colors, there was one shade I could never bring myself to appreciate, but still, I found joy in watching artists seated on stools, effortlessly translating mysterious messages from their minds onto paper. Perhaps my right brain hemisphere was underdeveloped at birth.
"Can I see your phone?" I asked, extending my hand towards Maverick once we halted at the doorstep.
He hesitated, scrutinizing my outstretched hand. "We aren't close enough to invade each other's privacy—"
"I understand," I huffed, "I just...I need to make sure our conversation isn't being recorded. Is that too much to ask?"
His lips formed a pout, and he nodded repeatedly, giving no verbal opposition.
"You show me yours first."
Sheesh! I discreetly slipped my hand into my pocket, making sure to turn it off before placing it in his hand. He reciprocated my gesture equally.
With utterly professional gestures, I motioned towards the room, prompting Maverick to raise an eyebrow and suggest we talk there. "It's quiet and empty. What's on your mind?"
I immediately surveyed the surroundings cautiously, scanning left, right, and behind me before meeting his gaze once more. "What if someone walks by? I'll make it quick."
"We can just chat after school," he proposed. But that was not an option for me.
"PE will end soon. I'll keep it brief before the next class."
"Ugh!" He groaned. "Fine, but you owe me one."
I almost rolled my eyes before he finally stepped inside. In a panic, I swiftly closed the door behind him, turning the deadbolt and ensuring it was securely locked.
"Perfect." I dusted off my hands, a feeling of control and satisfaction washing over me as Maverick began pounding on the door.
"Excellent," I muttered, hopeful he could hear me over his incessant calls for my name like he's trying to learn it for the first time.
"Morticia Katz! Open this door now!" He yelled, and the repeated bangs strangely made me feel empathetic towards the poor door. I relished in his desperation, dancing about like a real victor.
"I can hear you! Open this door now!"
How could he even command me in this kind of situation? I was going to be his likely savior and he was going to be a victim, so he should speak to me in a pacifying tone.
"You said I owe you one. I sure do." I laughed, feeling my throat going dry.
"This isn't funny!"
"I'm laughing because it is."
"Open this door or you'll regret it when I'm out."
That was the emptiest threat I had ever heard. Me? Regret it? Regret hearing Maverick yell with desperation? Regret seeing Maverick helpless? "No. Try getting out of this one first, little baby."
"If you ever call me that again—"
"I've got a bank of nicknames. Wait till this one expires, little baby—"
Bang bang!
I flinched, almost jumping out of my skin. Now, he was becoming wild and the hits on the door were getting tougher. I hope it doesn't echo all the way downstairs.
"I'll release you if you agree to be my butler until we graduate. Deal or not?"
"Fine! Do whatever you want." He smiled. "I'd rather die here. Just pray no one hears me and I don't get out of this place."
That sounded hilarious, but I could feel my chest tensing at the intensity of his voice. It was a real threat this time around. Maybe it's just a psychological trick.
"Don't let the brushes bite." I gave him one last word, but I didn't hear any further hits from behind. Another psychological trick?
Before I was finally tricked into opening the door, I sprinted off, leaving him behind.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Sweat trickled down my palms and the sides of my face grew damp. My heart pounded a relentless rhythm, as though determined to escape my ribs. I feigned utter encapsulation by my notebook and pen, diligently scribbling calculations as though it were something great to accomplish. My penmanship resembled calligraphy, each equation I wrote adorned with thick ink, exaggerated brackets and meticulously drawn integral signs. An observer might mistake my mathematical equations for love letters, as would Mr Mathematics himself if he reviews my classwork.
"Has anyone seen him?" The second question echoed through the room. It's about Maverick, whose absence from class prompted an obligatory chorus of concern from every teacher who came into the class after PE. Yet, it was unfair how no teacher ever questioned the regular absence of Davin, or Gavin, the notorious class backbencher who often vanished without notice several times a week. Like Maverick, he was tall, good-looking, but his quietness made him mysterious.
"Morticia said he's quite under the feather," a voice replied from the back, repeating the same grammatical error he committed in all the three previous classes. For once, I was spared the need to fabricate excuses. I had only lied when the intimidating Mrs Biology demanded that I produce Maverick in her class, as if I bore responsibility for his whereabouts. Her suspicious gaze forced me to maintain eye contact, unless she'd suspect something amiss when I informed her of Maverick's illness and his request for me to deliver the notice.
A ripple of laughter swept through the class, as various groups erupted in amused discussion of the hilarious word "feather" instead of the "weather." Evidently, he's got a problem with heeding to correction, as the mistake had been repeated three times.
"Return to your work while I check on him," the teacher instructed. Before I could quell my involuntary impulses, I bolted upright, inadvertently sending my own books and Maverick's tumbling to the floor.
"Maverick has serious diarrhea from lactose intolerance!" I blurted out loudly like he wouldn't hear me if I used a decibel lower tone. It was only late before I realized I had drawn everyone's attention. I could tell his three friends were stunned by my claim, because in fact, Maverick wouldn't go a day without a glass of ice cold milk or flavored milk they sell at school.
"That's serious—"
"He's stuck in the toilet because of that." My eyes stung from trying to maintain eye contact and prove sincerity.
The air crackled with hushed whispers, disbelief hanging heavy in the air. Everyone wondered how I alone knew of Maverick's condition, and I could relate to them because I had never even cared to pick up his water flask after accidentally toppling over. I could hear how some questioned why the usually robust Maverick had suddenly fallen ill. God!
Bbbbrrrrriiiiing!
The resounding bell, indicating the start of freedom for the day, cut through the tension and eyes boring into me. Finally! With a sigh of relief, we were given time to finish our work in five short minutes. That was close.
Guilt ridden, I had written Maverick's notes too. It felt like self-punishment, for imprisoning him and I nearly started to regret it. Fortunately, I was spared the torment of solving calculus problems on his behalf. After completing my work, I hurriedly jotted down the questions in his notebook, hoping it might be useful.
I and a front seater classmates did the collection of the notes since Maverick was quite absent, and I quickly submitted my portion to the staff office, darting back like my life depended on it.
"Hey," one of Maverick's friends called out, taking Maverick's seat and interrupting my attempt to stash his textbook into his backpack. I couldn't resist raising an eyebrow in challenge, but he gave a wry grin in return. It seemed that Maverick's friends were equally weird and daring.
"Maverick isn't lactose intolerant," he stated confidently, breaking the silence that had settled over the classroom. As I glanced around, I noticed other students were now focused on our conversation. Even Ash, whom I had been avoiding, was turning her attention our way. I couldn't help but wonder what she would do if she found out about my revenge, despite her attempts to stop me.
"He is," I countered, crossing my arms and tilting my head defiantly.
"He isn't," he replied, a cocky smirk on his face.
"I don't have to prove it to you," I shot back, my annoyance evident in my tone.
"Where did you hide him?" he pressed, a knowing look in his eyes.
I cursed internally. Has he figured me out so easily? Is it because he's Maverick's friend, or did I underestimate his IQ?
"Under my bed, fool," I retorted, the taste of the blackberry lollipop adding satisfaction to my hint of sarcasm.
He chuckled softly, turning his face away. Seizing the opportunity, I quickly snatched the book under his arm and slipped it into Maverick's backpack. I then grabbed his stationary case, gift boxes with questionable love letters, and his new water flask - the replacement for the one I had "accidentally" broken and never apologized for.
"I'm not Maverick." He slipped his fingers into his blonde hair and massaged it backwards, as if trying to cool boiling blood beneath his scalp.
"As I can see, you're clearly not." I shrugged, zipping up Maverick's bag.
"This girl." He scoffed, tapping his finger rapidly on the table and shaking his head. His two other friends drew near, backpacks already slung over their shoulders, and laying curious gazes on me.
"Make sure he doesn't drink milk next time." I pointed to the curly-haired one with flawless chocolate skin, glaring at the blonde punk who was evidently trying to stir up trouble in Maverick's absence.
With his bag and mine in tow, I exited the classroom and sprinted through the corridors. I scanned my surroundings vigilantly as I ascended each flight of stairs, hopping into hiding whenever I spotted any staff member approaching. I crawled beneath the low-hanging windows to avoid detection. I feel like a detective.
Reaching the art studio, I paused outside the door and listened intently. I waited for any sound of struggle, but the seconds ticked by in silence. I pressed my ear to the door, but heard no movement behind the door. A wave of disappointment washed over me. I expected him to be in a frenzy and very desperate.
I immediately turned away. Then, I waited for a while after sousing everywhere. If someone were to follow me, they wouldn't wait that long before they show themselves. Two minutes and then three minutes.
Good. I placed my ear on the door again but I never heard the slightest drag of a chair or sounds of someone crying.
Knock. Knock.
The first time, I received no response.
Knock knock,
Again, I couldn't hear anything.
Surge of frustration prompted me to quietly turn the thumb lock, pushing the door open with a crack and peering inside.
To my surprise, the room was empty, with just rows of empty stools, an assortment of paintbrushes and other art supplies, and canvases adorned with colorful masterpieces from last semester competitions. Amidst the vibrant display, one particular artwork caught my eye—a line drawing that had an uncanny resemblance to me. It's impossible that I thought about it, so I shifted my gaze, searching for Maverick.
Had he managed to escape? How? My eyes darted to the only, narrow and high level window beside the glass pane on the ceiling for lighting, noting that it was open ajar. No, he wouldn't have squeezed through that tiny space. If it were me, I could have fit through that space and plummeted to the ground, shattering my limbs. But Maverick was bigger in stature; he wouldn't have been able to contort his body through that narrow opening. Yet, he might have successfully made it that high and gotten out to hang on to something. But what if he had lost his grip and fallen to his doom? Would that mean I killed him?!
A mix of dread and determination surged through me. I finally entered the studio, removing my right shoe to prop open the door. With the weight hanging on my shoulders like a camel hump, I tiptoed through the room, scrutinizing every nook and cranny, until I suddenly got pushed against the wall with some kind of speedy force, feeling something sharp poking my back from my bag.
'Ma—' I attempted to utter through my lollipop-obstructed mouth. But, in a swift motion, he snatched the candy from my mouth, his face like a lion gone rampage. He popped it into his mouth, gagging me with his big hand. I stared in horror at my lollipop, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm me. How could anyone eat what had been in someone else's mouth? Was he that hungry to the point of desperation? Strangely, he showed no signs of disgust, leaving me as mentally disturbed by his behavior. His sea-blue eyes glinted with a psychopathic intensity that made the lightning seem dull in comparison.
"Are you regretful? Or are you ready to serve as my butler until graduation? Hmm?" he inquired. I had no intention of regretting my actions or becoming anyone's slave, especially his. Yet, given his strength, my constricted breathing caused by the gag on my mouth, the heavy weight of my bags pressing against my front and back, and the unknown object digging into my back, a twinge of remorse crept in. I don't regret confining him in there, but I did regret stepping in.
"I missed four classes because of you. Are you afraid I might maintain the first place? I thought you were used to me being first all the time." he scoffed, denying me the opportunity to speak or clarify that I had never been afraid of letting him be the first place. "I can't believe I fell for your congratulations. I should have found it suspicious, you, expressing admiration for me?"
I struggled to speak beneath the gag, but it felt like uttering words through thick paste—cumbersome and futile. Biting his hand off was also impossible because I had tried to move my lips.
"Enough of the ga—" he abruptly halted as I lifted my leg, but he promptly kicked it over my other leg and stepped on my foot. In an instant, his hands seized my wrists, and I saw him pull a rope from his pocket. A rope?!
"Help!" I screamed, "Someone's here!"
He silenced me once more, his eyes darting frantically. It was obvious he had never tied anyone up before and he was afraid of being caught too. But, what if he tied me up here and abandoned me, leaving me stranded until tomorrow? No one would think to search for me! I'd go hungry!
"Two options: stay silent and pay for your actions, or shout and we spend the night here together."
What kind of choices were those? How could I remain quiet when he was acting as if I gagged him and did everything he's doing to me when I locked him up? Why would I willingly spend the night with him, far from the walls of my own room?
"Five seconds to answer." He slowly lowered his hand from my mouth, his tone cautious. "HELP! HE—" I shrieked at the top of my lungs, but he silenced me again with a sigh. He lowered his head, and I could clearly see the scalp between the side part of his hair.
"You leave me no choice," he said, raising his head and releasing me. My foot stings. He made the first move, prompting me to drop the bags before sprinting after him and grabbing the back of his sweat suit.
"Stop! Someone is here!" I yelled, attempting to pull him back. But despite my efforts, he pushed forward, swiftly kicking off my shoe and slamming the door shut.
"Hey!" I yelled, "what's your problem?!"
"Me?" He raised his eyebrows and pouted, glancing around as if we were surrounded by more people. "Your attitude."
"Wow," I scoffed, "it would have been more sensible if you said 'me', because my own problem is you and only you."
"You have a problem with being happy, grumpy foot?"
"I am happy, at least happier than someone who wears fake smiles every day. You, sadist."
"You're only saying that to deceive yourself into denying that you've never fallen for my smile before. You're the real sadist, shorty."
I scoffed, feeling a burst of laughter bubbling up inside me, though it wasn't the right time to laugh. "Outright ridiculous. I'm not like those girls who leave gifts on your table or drool over your smile like it's something delicious. For your information, I'm not a shorty. You're just abnormally tall for someone your age. Like hormonal dysfunction."
I felt more annoyance wash over me as my eyes laid on the lollipop he was licking, which belonged to me. He now broke it into pieces and discarded the stick, making annoying sounds as he crushed the candy. I despised ASMR, and now he was making me hear one without my consent.
"You've never received gifts from anyone?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you envious?"
"Hey!" I exclaimed. "Find a way to free us immediately."
He shrugged, his expression carefree, contrasting sharply with my near-panic. "Did you forget that I locked it? Why should I be responsible for finding an escape route?"
"My phone." I extended my hand, but he snatched my arm and swiftly lifted me over his shoulder. My heart raced, but I suppressed the ultra panic I felt.
"Put me down!" I commanded, but as he continued to move, I pummeled his back with my fist, pausing when I realized his destination: the window! "Are you trying to murder me?!" I cried out in terror.
"Depends."
"M-mmaverick, th-this isn't f-funny." I tried not to stutter, but as he approached the awning window and scaled a chair and then a table, I clutched his shirt tightly. "STOP! I'M SERIOUS!"
"It's not too far from the ground, little baby."
"A-are you trying to get back at me?" I fought to control my stutter. Yesterday, he had claimed not to harbor any kind of hatred towards me, but who would inflict such harm on someone they only just disliked? I would surely die if he hurled me out the window, and my body would break into scraps. Painful! Excruciating! "M-maverick, STOP!"
"Are you crying?" he asked, turning around. Through the narrow and long window, I could clearly see the vast distance between the floor of the art studio and the ground. A whole four floors gap!
"Hmm-hmm..." I shook my head vehemently, keeping my lips still.
"Let's reconsider our options," he offered as I became overwhelmed with nausea. "One, Get punished or, two, be my butler."
"P-punished..." I could hear my own rapid and shallow breathing. I was shocked by how swiftly I had answered him, without a hint of defiance or sarcasm. Did I fear death that much?
With cautious steps, he finally descended the whole height, gently placing me on my feet, his touch too tender for someone who had just tried to throw me off the fourth floor. Unlike the wild way serial killers would slam their victims — like they do in movies, his movements were in contrast slow and gentle.
As my legs trembled beneath me, I collapsed onto the floor, immediately shielding my face from the mortification I believed awaited me.
"Are you.. crying?" his voice inquired, and my gaze flickered towards his face, the sight of him a distorted blur through tear-filled eyes. "I was just joking around," he said with a mirthless chuckle.
"W-what?" I demanded, my words abruptly stifled by a fresh wave of sobs. The audacity of his amusement in the midst of my anguish made my skin crawl. "IS THIS FUNNY?!" I cried, my lips quivering.
"Sorry," he uttered, crouching down and reaching for my cheeks. Wary, I recoiled, lest he had another threatening move against me. "Don't touch me," I hissed.
"But you're crying like a baby," his statement belittled the gravity of my distress. "Perhaps I should take a picture? Of the ninny Morticia CRYING."
"I dare you!" I exclaimed, wiping my tears with my sleeve and clutching at his collar. "You find this funny?"
A hurricane of anger surged through me as a devilish grin spread across his lips. He tilted his head back, giving no resistance to my grip. I longed to inflict upon him a taste of my torment, to force him to walk in my shoes.
"I can't believe you thought I'd throw you out of the window," he said, a note of scoffs in his voice. "Scaredy cat."
My grip tightened around his collar, the fabric straining against my clenched fists.
"I'd choke… if you go… any further." His warning tone was accompanied by an exhausted eye roll. And like poison snaking up my veins, permeating and coursing throughout my body, I felt an irresistible urge to be someone terrifying. To be someone that would strike fear into Maverick's heart, make him stutter whenever he talks, and send shivers down his spine whenever he meets my gaze. It was just so maddening how he's always indifferent to my threats, fights, hate confessions, and attempts to avoid him. Was it my smaller stature or was it his daunting demeanor?
I felt his fingers entwined around my wrists, but I refused to give in and release my grip. "Don't touch me."
"Yet you're holding me, suffocating me," he retorted, smacking my forehead. "Cease your drama and let go. In fact... wait... just wait..." A growing smirk spread across his face, grating on my nerves. "You... you're unbelievable. Haha..."
Could I be more oblivious? He covered his nose with his fingers and grinned, his eyes widening abruptly, causing me to pull my hands away. My keen observation suggested he was losing his mind.
"Did you..." he chuckled softly, "did you keep me confined here to have me to yourself after school?"
My jaw dropped. To have him to myself? I wouldn't even accept him as a gift or 70% discount!
"Morticia." My name rolled off his tongue melodically, igniting a spark of curiosity within me. I yearned to know what his thoughts were, but I resisted the urge to question him, and instead watched him delulu. "That's quite sly. You're not even close to my ty—"
"Shut up."
"No need to be coy." He interrupted me with a wave of his hand and rose, brushing off the invisible dirt of his trousers.
"Why would I confine you here because you're my type and I desire to have you… to myself?" I air-quoted my words while standing up as well. I couldn't tolerate being looked down upon while he towered over me.
"You're admitting—"
"You're delusional, you idiot," I spat, the words escaping like they were lubricated. "A narcissist. You'll never be my type because I hate boys like you. Even if you miraculously grow into a real man, I'd still hate you. I hate your guts, I hate you, but hate is still just a small word. You're delusional—"
I hesitated as the nearly deafening sound of my ringtone filled the air. Amongst five possible callers, including the idiot himself, I was slightly sure I knew who it was. Frantically searching my pockets, my phone was nowhere to be found. I followed the sound and saw Maverick holding it in his grasp, his index finger lightly touching his lips as he stared at the lit up screen.
"Jay with the sunshine emoji." He mockingly waved the phone at my face, and my gaze followed as though hypnotized by the sight.
"Give it to me," I demanded, cutting my gaze and glaring at Maverick. "That's my phone." I reached my hand out, but he swiftly moved out of my reach. The ringing had stopped, making me worry that Jay might think I was ignoring him. I had always picked his call and replied to his texts immediately.
"You gave it to me willingly, remember?" Maverick taunted, raising the screen with a smirk.
"Give it back!" I moved to grab it from him, but he dodged out of the way. My frustration grew. What if he declines Jay's next call? Or worse, what if he knows my password, like he knows the code to my locker?
"You never respected my privacy," I accused, my voice tinged with annoyance.
Maverick raised an eyebrow, a smirk still playing on his lips. "Privacy..." he mused, teasingly.
"I, on the other hand, never touched your phone after then because I kept it in my bag. I didn't intrude on your privacy!"
His brows raised, a soft "hmm?" which I could hear from him, "privacy…"
I had a lot of comments right there, but I feared he might do something worse with my phone. Just give it back, kindly.
My phone's message notification pierced the air, drawing my gaze once more. Unable to endure it any longer, I surged towards him, kicking off the only shoe on my foot, in a desperate attempt to grab his arm. However, he dodged me effortlessly, moving with a lithe grace that belied my repeated attempts. Sadly, it dawned on me that my stature was the problem, his towering height and long legs granting him an unfair advantage in this chase game.
Refusing to engage in the crazy and childish Tom and Jerry pursuit, I pivoted towards my backpack and delved into its depths. Grabbing Maverick's phone, I brandished it before him with determination, drawing his focus and tameness as I moved to a nearby table.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" As expected, desperation colored his voice as I positioned his phone's screen against the sharp edge of the table. "Morticia, this isn't funny." Funny, he said?
"First things first, return my phone."
A heavy silence descended, unanticipated and unsettling. Expecting him to draw closer to me, phone in hand, I glanced at him, only to find him still standing motionless, arms now folded across his chest.
"Ten seconds, or blame yourself for the consequences."
"Did you believe I would panic?" He scoffed. "That was merely a joke. It's high time I bought a new phone anyway."
My eyebrows knitted together as disbelief washed over me, disappointment permeating my cells. I could indeed buy a new phone immediately, but the precious memories stored within mine would be forever lost.
"My ten seconds is up," he reminded me, moving and scaling up the table by the window where he had previously tried to throw me off. Dread filled me as he extended my phone out of the window. It was a mix of submission and defeat, with a tinge of tears threatening to fall, but I refused to cry because of him. Never.
"Give me back my phone and you'll get yours. Wait... Do you actually have feelings for me? Is that why you locked me up?"
"What—"
"You could have just agreed to study together after school. That would have been more reasonable than trapping me here just to have me to yourself. Now we're both stuck here, and I'm afraid of what you might do to me."
"YOU'RE DELUSIONAL!" I shouted, to prevent him from interrupting. "I TOLD YOU I HATE YOU. WHAT PART OF THAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?"
I found myself getting closer to him without realizing it. There was no need to yell, but I felt compelled to do so.
"Then, why did you trap me here?" His voice came out soft as though disappointed. "... Did you dread the fact that I might outshine you in the classes after PE? You need to work harder."
A scoff escaped me, and I had to fight back a laugh. "I don't care if you stick to the top and above every pyramid. I locked you up here to get my revenge."
"What revenge? For telling on you at the nurse's office? For hoarding your comic books? You said I could have them and do as I pleased."
"You made me lose all my targets at the archery! Cheapskate."
He withdrew his hand from the window and pocketed my phone. "What?"
"Stop pretending. You knew I couldn't concentrate, yet you continued to bore your sharp gaze into me. You didn't stop even when our eyes met. I lost because of you. You deliberately distracted me!"
He scoffed, avoiding eye contact. It was as I expected. What a snake.
"I— Tish, I would never stoop so low as to make you lose using such petty tactics."
"I'm not surprised you're denying it. I don't want to hear your excuses."
"You need to listen." I turned away, and he raised his voice, "I swear it's not what you think. You've misunderstood."
While he continued to assert his innocence, I grabbed my backpack and kicked his to the side before rummaging for my shoes. I carefully slipped his phone into my pocket and made a beeline towards the door.
"Morticia, please, just listen to me." What a drama queen.
I balled my fist and pounded on the door, shouting repeatedly, "There's someone stuck in here!"
My efforts seemed futile as I kept at it, refusing to give up, until suddenly, I felt a firm grip on my wrist from behind. I tried to break free by twisting my hand, but the hold was too strong, leaving me no choice but to shoot him a fierce glare. As I attempted to bite his hand, he reached for my forehead and pressed my head against the door.
"Don't touch me. I have nothing to say to you."
"Fine." He nodded. "Just hear me out."
"I'm not interested."
"I'm not the type to play cheap. Now, everything is all because of you and your crazy ideas."
"Yes, now it's all my fault even though you're the one who locked the door. I don't want to hear any more excuses from you."
"I seriously—" My attention was diverted as I felt the door moving behind me, pushing me against Maverick. Disgusted, I quickly created some distance, finally getting the sight of something satisfying. The door was finally open, and I was no longer trapped.
"Holy…" My savior, who surprisingly turned out to be Maverick's blonde friend, tilted his head and pointed his index finger at me. I raised my eyebrows and widened my eyes threateningly, but instead of backing off, he thankfully pried my wrist from Maverick's grip and came closer than I could find comfortable.
"What… Wh—Holy moly!" He stumbled over his words, sighing. "What were you guys doing?! Dude!" Did he just call me dude? Or was he referring to his best friend?
"Think whatever you want," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. I was relieved he wasn't some gossip queen from Floradale, misinterpreting the situation. The rumors would end up tugging at my life.
"Why are your lips the same color?!" He exclaimed, but I had had enough. I stepped forward, relishing in the feeling of finally being free from the awkward situation I had been stuck in for almost thirty minutes. The thought of spending an entire hour with Maverick was unbearable; I would probably end up looking gray and wrinkled like a roasted hotdog.
"We're not done talking," Maverick suddenly stated firmly, his voice low and commanding.
I felt a force grabbing my bag. Shouldn't he be the one to leave the studio after spending more than four hours confined? What good does talking to me bring him?
"What are you guys talking about?" Maverick's friend interjected, grabbing his wrist. I silently urged him to just coax his friend into acting normal. Or probably punch some sense into him.
"Jake, it's between us," he replied, and it sounded purely absurd. Between us? I let out a scoff and slammed my hand against my face. Trying to struggle out of my bag, and make a move to leave, an arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me backwards as if sliding through an icy field.
"Maverick," I warned, but I continued to be guided backwards until I felt my thighs hit something hard. Then, hands were under my arms, lifting me to sit on a table.
I let out a nervous laugh, but it quickly faded. My gaze burned into Maverick's, locking intensely with his as he placed his hands on either side of me, his brows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together.
"Dude! Are you flirting with her now?!"
The unexpected question caused me to clench my jaw and grit my teeth. Despite the burning sensation in my eyes, I refused to back down in the silent battle of wills with Maverick. I was prepared to endure the discomfort of my drying up eyes and the echoing sound of my breath.
"Are you shifting blames now?" Maverick's gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he sighed as if I were the one exhausting. I may be nuts sometimes, but he's a psychopath. A sadist. Far worse.
"Just own up to it. You resorted to cunning tactics just to see my team lose, and I made you pay the price."
"Fine." He chuckled. "But that's all in your head. I believe in fair competition. I don't enjoy competing with girls, but if that's the game you want to play, bring it on."
"Stop trying to justify yourself to me." I resisted the urge to dig my fingers into his shoulder and make him cry in pain. "Stop pretending to be so righteous. It's disgusting."
"Your insecurities are even more disgusting."
"I'm not insecure. It's just difficult for you to acknowledge," I whispered, my voice deliberately hushed to make the words sting. "Admit it... you're unbearable. You pretend to be kind, but your core is darkened by selfishness, cruelty, narcissism, and arrogance. It's beyond words."
The wall between us remained sturdy, and Maverick remained composed, perhaps knowing so well I wasn't just accusing him of something false. However, I felt an irresistible urge to intensify the pain and crash the wall he had built. I felt the urge to hurt his emotions and I knew I was close, it just needed the right words.
"That's why your brother committed suicide. He could no longer endure how suffocating your presence was. It was probably too toxic that he couldn't bear to share the same oxygen as you. Do you now know—?"
My words abruptly ceased as the table beneath me slowly lurched backward. I felt quivers along my fingers as Maverick's gaze met mine, blazing with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce through my very existence. What if he flips the table over?
When the table finally remained steady, he slowly raised his trembling hands above my head, holding them there for an agonizing eternity before lowering them to my face. I couldn't hide my trembling fingers anymore, because as I hid the fives in my other fist, both of my hands trembled as though trying to drift apart.
The warmth of his hands radiated toward me, though they barely grazed my skin. My eyes darted around, searching for his blonde friend, but on spotting him, he had his back turned, as though granting us the privacy we never needed.
Abruptly, Maverick's hand finally found my hair, and I felt its gentle caress as he softly stroked my head, the motion belying the ferocious and prey like look on his face. My eyes move uncontrollably, and goosebumps crawled across my skin, creeping up my neck. My eyes never met his gaze, but as he withdrew his hand, I stole a glance at him. He cocked his head, his eyebrows and lower lip twitching faintly, nose flushed, and gaze even more piercing than I had received today.
I traced the movement of his hand as it slipped into his pocket and pulled out my phone. However, before I could wrap my head around his intentions—
"Arrrgghhh!" His piercing scream, amplified by the deafening sound of shattering glass, shook me to the bones. Automatically, I covered my ears with my trembling hands. It wasn't an earthquake, but its impact was no less profound. Maverick, who had always maintained an air of tranquility, was now erupting with an intensity I had never witnessed before.
Fear preyed on me. What did I just thoughtlessly do?