SCARLETT
NEW MATERIAL, SAME PAIN
Ihave a raging headache and eyes drier than the Sahara Desert.
My stomach sits heavy, as if I swallowed an anvil of lead and not the pitiful single slice of toast I know I need to finish. My head thuds relentlessly despite the pills I already took, and when Sebastion’s footsteps echo inside his room, proving he’s awake, a depressed sigh rolls along my throat.
I’ve got two minutes to shake off my funk, slap a little color into my cheeks, and force my lips into a smile. If I don’t, Sebastion might realize I’m not this effortlessly cheery, always happy, perfectly peppy person I pretend to be.
Oh wait…
I don’t bother dragging my eyes up from my toast. Just four more bites until I’m done. Nine at the most. I stay put, even as his bedroom door opens and the sound of his footsteps disappears again into the bathroom. He pees, flushes, washes his hands, and then wipes them on his towel.
I can tell, because the towel rail squeaks whenever we so much as breathe on it.
Finally, the bathroom door opens, and my lungs choose right now to stop functioning altogether.
I bring my shoulders high, my head low, press my elbows to the counter, and though I have my markers and notebook spread out in front of me, I can’t even find the effort to use them.
Instead, I pick up my silent phone, swipe the screen unlocked, and tap-tap-tap at nothing.
Something to keep my hands busy. Anything to give the impression I’m not on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Sebastion wanders this way, hesitating at the entryway for a single beat of my heart, but then he starts forward again and smacks the coffee machine with a kind of morning violence that speaks to my soul.
He’s large; I’m small.
He’s militant; I clean houses for a living.
He enjoys being a jerk; and besides my behavior these past three weeks, I prefer it when people remember me as kind.
His world and mine are opposites, but our cave-dwelling inability to function in any normal capacity before coffee…? I can relate to that.
“Mornin’.” He grunts out the single word and snatches a mug from the cupboard above his head.
Or, well, the cupboard in front of his face, since he’s head and shoulders taller than the average human being.
Slamming the mug beneath the coffee spout, he leaves it there to catch steaming liquid, and while he waits, he presses his hands to the counter and stares… stares… stares.
Like he thinks he can intimidate the machine into working faster.
Picking up my cooling coffee, I take a sip and inhale its delicious scent.
“We’re back to that again, huh?” Grumpy, Sebastion takes a second mug, steals the first, slaps the replacement under the spout, and brings what little piping hot liquid he has to his lips.
Turning to face me, he rests against the counter and folds just one arm across his chest while he studies me over the top of his mug.
“Not like I considered you my best friend or anything, but I thought we bonded, Princess. I thought we were cool. But now I don’t even get a response when I greet you this morning? ”
“Don’t call me Princess.” I sip my perfectly warm coffee and save my taste buds, unlike my silly soldier, then I force my lips into a smirk and hate how his eyes narrow in response.
He’s too perceptive. Too eager to test my boundaries.
“I suppose I considered your greeting rhetorical. Sounded kinda mechanical, like it didn’t require a reply. ”
He grunts again and chugs his coffee. “I say hey, I expect a hey back. Won’t cry about it or anything, but basic manners apply when we spend time amongst basic society.”
“Well, shoot. I thought we were still living amongst the apes, since you spend all your time grabbing your dick and beating your chest.” I lock my phone and place my cup back on the counter.
Setting one foot on the floor, I twist and pray this is it for us today.
We spoke, we didn’t even fight, and no one pulled anyone’s hair.
This is as good as things are gonna get for us.
If we don’t cut it off right here, we risk losing it all to our bad attitudes. “Kitchen’s all yours, Boot.”
Dammit, Scarlett!
Shoving forward and circling the island, Sebastion comes to an abrupt stop in front of me. He crowds my space and makes it impossible for me to keep going unless I want to try that knife-in-the-eye-socket thing. “What are your plans for today?”
Surprised, I drag my eyes up, over broad hips, wide shoulders, and then past the cranky lines he forces his lips into.
I lift a single brow in question. “What?”
“Your plans.” He’s still grunting. “We’ve got a whole day to waste, and doing nothing is turning my brain to mush. So, I’m asking what you’re planning to do.”
“Oh, well…” I nibble on my thumbnail and focus on this, the ten minutes of agony he experiences each morning, right after waking up, but before the caffeine hits his veins, instead of the slick, sick ache burning in my stomach.
“I thought I’d spend a couple of hours staring at my bedroom wall.
I noticed a hairline crack in the paint, and though I can’t be completely sure, I think it’s a smidge bigger than it was last week. ”
His eyes narrow to slits.
“After that, I noticed Nova owns a five-thousand-piece impossible puzzle, so I figured I could dedicate an hour or two to contemplating suicide while I gave it a swing.”
Unimpressed, his mildly perturbed scowl transforms into a definitely irritated sneer.
“Then, if I still have time leftover, I thought I could stuff my face with macaroni and cheese-topped pizza scrolls until my stomach hangs over the front of my pants, and since doing that only requires one hand, I’m free to doom scroll Reddit threads to see if anyone else solved the impossible puzzle.
” I peek at the clock on the wall and nod.
“I’d say that’ll do me for today. What about you?
” I force fake cheerfulness into my every word. “Do you like puzzles?”
“No.” He grunts. “But I can teach you some new stuff in the shed today.”
“Pass.” I step around him, my eyes clinging to the door. “But thanks for the offer.”
He latches onto my wrist and yanks me to a sharp stop. “It’s good for you to learn, Scarlett. Better to know it and not need it…”
“Than to need it and not have it?” I twist my arm and break his grip.
“Been there, done that, maxed out my credit card paying for a therapist. Thanks, but I’m good now, Boot.
Did my time in a gym, learned what I needed to learn.
I doubt I’ll ever land my stupid ass in one of those kinds of wars again, but on the off chance I do, I’d say I’m all set.
” I cross the kitchen before my headache has a chance to grow into a full-blown panic attack.
“I won’t be using the shed today, so if you wanna go beat on a bag or something, the place is all yours. ”
He turns.
I keep going.
His eyes warm the back of my neck.
I speed up.
“Scarlett…”
“Help yourself to the impossible puzzle. Anything is better than that brain mush thing you have going on.”
“Scarlett!”
I don’t stop. I can’t. So I rush into my bedroom and slam the door. Pressing my back to the wood, I slide until my butt hits the floor, then I tip my head back and groan when I realize my hands are empty.
I left my pencil case in the kitchen. And my phone.
Even if the zombie apocalypse landed on our front porch, I don’t think spending time with a dude nicknamed Tank while he role-plays all the shit Roy used to do to me for fun is in my best interests. Even if his intentions are educational. Even if my heart races every time his hand touches my skin.
Jesus, how could it not?
I’m not an unfeeling machine, and if I look past all the crass, crude, unkind bullshit he spouts off daily, I’m not too proud to admit he looks good.
In a different life, in a different time, Sebastion Jameson is exactly the kind of guy I would take a second look at. And it’s not like I’ve sworn off all men. I’ve dated since Roy. I’ve had sex. There was even this one guy I invited back to my apartment, twice, which is basically unheard of.
No, I’m not saying no man can touch me. I’m saying Sebastion can’t touch me.
Because he scared me yesterday afternoon, and then he stomped his way into a starring role in my nightmares last night.
While Roy did the things he always does, gleefully tearing my psyche apart strip by strip, Sebastion sat in the doorway.
Watching.
Grinning.
Judging me for being so weak.
And when Roy was done, Sebastion sauntered across my room and claimed his slice, too.
If he pulls my hair today, I’m terrified I won’t survive it.
Hours after I stepped into my room, several hours, I hover at my bedroom door and squirm.
My overfull bladder hurts, and my fingertips sting.
My blanket had a single loose thread a while back.
Now, I have a whole length of cream-colored string and a newfound ability to create that cat’s cradle shape I tried to achieve when I was younger.
I also mastered the scissors shape. And a star.
And when I graduated to the two-person shapes, I learned to use my feet.
Anything to get through another day in paradise.
But now I’ve reached my limit. My bladder is ready to burst, my heart threatens to give out, and if I have to spend even a minute more in this room, I might scream. So I press my ear to the door and listen for any clue as to where Sebastion could be.
He may be an ass most of the time, but I’ll give him credit where credit’s due: when a woman asks to be left alone, he leaves her alone.
No pacing the hall. No knocking on doors. Not even a flushing toilet.
He either abandoned the house and left me to my own devices, or he’s lighter on his feet than any man of his size should be.