Chapter - 12

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"I spy with my little eyes, something green." I smiled wickedly as I looked over at Bryson. We were in the living room of our apartment, seated on the beige couch, and playing my favorite game: I Spy.

“The plant.” Bryson pointed out a fake plant that was in the far left corner of the living room.

“Nope, try again,” I replied as I kept a grin plastered on my face.

Groaning in frustration, Bryson scanned over the room for something green. His eyes started the hunt at the white front door that was on the wall opposite of us and to the right. He looked away from that and then focused on the black entertainment area that was a few feet to the left of the door. When he didn’t see something green there he focused back on the fake tree that was located to the left of the entertainment center. However, he knew that was not it because he just guessed it. So, Bryson’s eyes started to dance around other parts of the room.

He was clearly not liking this game, which made me feel as if we should stop playing. After all, I really don’t wanna make him upset with me. He as my key to getting my memory back … that much I was sure about. So, making him angry towards me was not the wisest idea ever.

“We can stop if you are getting tired of playing this game,” I commented with a sad face.

“Good, I really hate this game,” he spat with annoyance seeping in his voice.

With narrowed eyes directed at him, I became fumed. “Just because you don’t like something, doesn’t mean everyone in the world feels the same way!” Crossing my arms over my chest, I huffed.

Bryson had been so infuriating for the past few hours. At the ice cream shop he was nice to me but when we got here things changed. The second we walked into the apartment he dropped his keys in a red glass bowl that was by the front door, walked in and went to the refrigerator. He got himself a Coca-Cola then plumped down on the couch while mumbling about how he hoped there was a football game on the television.

I asked him kindly, as I stood in the doorway, to show me around. He just shrugged his shoulder and started pointing at random doors while going “closet”, “kitchen”, “hall that leads to our rooms and bathroom”. Once he was done vaguely explaining where everything was he turned his attention back to T.V.

I knew he was being rude, but I figured he was just stressed ... probably about me, which did make me feel bad.

Don’t ask me how I got him to even play this game because it involved a lot of whining...

“Damn it, Elle. Why are you being so immature?! I didn’t mean it like that,” Bryson told me as he slammed his aluminum coke can on the glass table that was beside his side of the couch.

I stood up and kicked the couch wishing at that moment it was his head. However, in doing so I hurt my big toe. “Ouch!” I shouted in pain.

“See! Immature! You’re such a dummy, Eli.” Bryson rolled his eyes.

“Did you just call me Eli? My name is Elle. Now who is being immature?! Bratty Bryson!”

Bryson sighed in irritation. “When you were thirteen, did you have a bed time? ‘Cause you are seriously getting on my nerves, Elle.”

“I’m getting on your nerves? You have been a complete ass to me ever since we got here!”

“Oooo, you said a bad word,” Bryson joked. “Be careful what you say. I might have to tell your mom.”

I stumped my foot on the hardwood ground, only to realize I stumped the same foot that I kicked the couch with. “Ouch!” I cried out.

Bryson started to laugh at me while pointing in my direction. His eyes started to water as his laughter got out of control.

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