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Authors: T.A Richards Neville
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clue what time it is was, but I guessed it must be pretty late and my dad had crashed at the garage again, because the house was in complete darkness.
He sat me on the couch, switching on a nearby glass-standing lamp and the room instantly filled with a warm glow. I dropped my head in my hands.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
I looked up.
He was standing over by the open plan kitchen, his back against the counter with his hands crossed over his chest.
“I feel awful,” I told him. In fact so awful, I was going to be sick.
I got up and ran as best as I could up the stairs and into my bathroom, puking my guts up into the toilet. When I was sure I was finished, I washed my face and brushed my teeth twice before brushing my hair thoroughly, making sure there were no traces of puke in it. I left the bathroom and unsteadily changed into my white silk cami and matching shorts pyjama set, trimmed with lace, occasionally tripping over. The only saving grace to the shame of being sick with Caleb in such close proximity, was how much better I was feeling.
I came back downstairs to find him in the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I looked at the food contents surrounding him.
“Making you something to eat. It should help you feel better.” He spread butter carefully over a piece of toast. I walked past him into the kitchen grabbing the medicine box from the cupboard. I found a packet of headache tablets and swallowed two with a glass of water. My aim was to prevent the headache before it had a chance to creep up on me. I sat down at the island in the middle of the kitchen, and Caleb handed me a plate with the two pieces of golden toast on it.
“Thanks.” I took the plate from him. It actually smelled really good. I bit into the warm bread and before I knew it, I had eaten the whole thing. Caleb watched me the whole time, but it didn’t deter me from shoving every last crumb into my mouth. “Hungry?” he asked.
“It would seem that way.” I got up leaving my dirty plate where it was. I was in no fit state to be washing dishes. I went back through to the living room and lay down on my back on the sofa. The alcohol had given me a newfound confidence and I blurted out, “Why don’t you like me?” There was silence, and eventually Caleb came through and sat on the armchair in front of the kitchen. “Who said I didn’t like you?” The look on his face said that he had no clue what I was talking about. I pulled myself up straight into a sitting position.
“Oh come off it. One minute you’re brushing me off, the next you’re saving my ass but you’re obviously not happy about it; probably because I interrupted your plans with Tamara or some skank just like her,” I went on. “And then you’re ignoring me, then you’re saving my ass again, then you’re mad at me. So go on, tell me what your problem is with me? Because if you’re going to work with my dad, we either need to get along, or stay well out of each other’s way, and -” I left the sentence hanging in mid-air.
He looked up at me through his thick lashes, “And what?”
I couldn’t believe what I was about to say next.
“And I can’t bear the thought of staying away from you.” I looked away from him. “There, I said it.” I felt like a weight had been lifted just speaking those words at last. Obnoxious or not, I knew it was true from the first moment that I met him. I didn’t understand him, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
He got up and sat down opposite me on the coffee table, his knee brushing against mine. He settled his legs on either side of mine, and I became acutely aware of how little I was actually wearing. My eyes scoured his body. He wore a tight white vest and black jeans and I could see for the first time that a tattoo ran from above his chest down over one shoulder. There was an eye covering his shoulder with a tigers open mouth around it, coming down from just below his
He sat me on the couch, switching on a nearby glass-standing lamp and the room instantly filled with a warm glow. I dropped my head in my hands.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
I looked up.
He was standing over by the open plan kitchen, his back against the counter with his hands crossed over his chest.
“I feel awful,” I told him. In fact so awful, I was going to be sick.
I got up and ran as best as I could up the stairs and into my bathroom, puking my guts up into the toilet. When I was sure I was finished, I washed my face and brushed my teeth twice before brushing my hair thoroughly, making sure there were no traces of puke in it. I left the bathroom and unsteadily changed into my white silk cami and matching shorts pyjama set, trimmed with lace, occasionally tripping over. The only saving grace to the shame of being sick with Caleb in such close proximity, was how much better I was feeling.
I came back downstairs to find him in the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I looked at the food contents surrounding him.
“Making you something to eat. It should help you feel better.” He spread butter carefully over a piece of toast. I walked past him into the kitchen grabbing the medicine box from the cupboard. I found a packet of headache tablets and swallowed two with a glass of water. My aim was to prevent the headache before it had a chance to creep up on me. I sat down at the island in the middle of the kitchen, and Caleb handed me a plate with the two pieces of golden toast on it.
“Thanks.” I took the plate from him. It actually smelled really good. I bit into the warm bread and before I knew it, I had eaten the whole thing. Caleb watched me the whole time, but it didn’t deter me from shoving every last crumb into my mouth. “Hungry?” he asked.
“It would seem that way.” I got up leaving my dirty plate where it was. I was in no fit state to be washing dishes. I went back through to the living room and lay down on my back on the sofa. The alcohol had given me a newfound confidence and I blurted out, “Why don’t you like me?” There was silence, and eventually Caleb came through and sat on the armchair in front of the kitchen. “Who said I didn’t like you?” The look on his face said that he had no clue what I was talking about. I pulled myself up straight into a sitting position.
“Oh come off it. One minute you’re brushing me off, the next you’re saving my ass but you’re obviously not happy about it; probably because I interrupted your plans with Tamara or some skank just like her,” I went on. “And then you’re ignoring me, then you’re saving my ass again, then you’re mad at me. So go on, tell me what your problem is with me? Because if you’re going to work with my dad, we either need to get along, or stay well out of each other’s way, and -” I left the sentence hanging in mid-air.
He looked up at me through his thick lashes, “And what?”
I couldn’t believe what I was about to say next.
“And I can’t bear the thought of staying away from you.” I looked away from him. “There, I said it.” I felt like a weight had been lifted just speaking those words at last. Obnoxious or not, I knew it was true from the first moment that I met him. I didn’t understand him, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
He got up and sat down opposite me on the coffee table, his knee brushing against mine. He settled his legs on either side of mine, and I became acutely aware of how little I was actually wearing. My eyes scoured his body. He wore a tight white vest and black jeans and I could see for the first time that a tattoo ran from above his chest down over one shoulder. There was an eye covering his shoulder with a tigers open mouth around it, coming down from just below his
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