Be Rude but Love Me | ✔

CHAPTER 11

I hear the lamp crash on the wall behind me and the sound resonates through the silent house. I am still crouching down on the ground when someone reaches for me and takes my arms gently. Warm fingers wrap around my wrists as I am pulled up in a standing position.

I am still a little dazzled by what just happened and someone shakes me mildly to bring me back to reality. Finally, my eyes focus on the face before mine. Yann's. Yann's worried face as his forehead creases and he looks at me. He suddenly grabs my face between his two large hands and I find myself staring into his blue eyes. They're beautiful.

"Did I hit you? Are you okay?"

I can only stare at him for a moment as I try to make sense of what he is saying. Is he speaking Mandarin? I didn't know he could speak Mandarin. But then again, I don't know anything about him. Or is it German?

"Fuck! Say something, Tracy."

It's not the expletive he uses or the use of my first name that breaks through the fog in my mind. It's rather the desperation in his voice. It is such an unusual tone to his voice that it brings me right back to reality.

I finally recover the use of my voice and say, "Are you trying to kill me, Yann? Because that's twice in three days."

His face is clearly displaying concern and my brain reacts oddly at being graced by something else than his wrath or his impoliteness. He doesn't really seem to have heard my words as he palms my cheeks with worry. My arms are hanging at my sides, flaccid and I feel like a statue. A light sheen of perspiration is traveling down the side of Yann's face and I now notice how labored his breathing is.

"I'm fine," I say when he keeps looking at me, worry still etched on his features.

My body, now freed from its shocked and fearful state, relaxes against Yann's touch as I know the danger is now gone. However, the disquiet on his countenance has not gone yet and my head seems to be a ball in his hands as he inspects it, moving it left and right with little care in his moves. He is probably too concerned about my face to think about my neck.

"You're fine." Those two words are coated with relief and Yann's stature goes from tense to lax.

To my not-so-great surprise, Yann frowns as if breaking himself out of a trance. His hands retire from my face hastily as if my skin is scathing his palms. His jaw clenches in ire and with three steps backwards, he distances himself from me.

"I thought you were upstairs," he says, voice hard. But he's not mad at me, it seems. More like at himself.

"That would explain the lamp that flew right past my face."

Surprisingly, my voice is calm. It's not edgy nor accusing the way it was three days ago as I shouted obscenities at him. I then realize I am acting like Ellie, I am trying to calm him and the placating tone of my voice lets him know I am not mad at him. Where did that just come from?

The change in his demeanor is undeniable and I feel less awkward now that he's regained his habitual persona. His labored breathing is loud and I watch as he turns around and runs one hand through his hair, hunching the front of his body. With bowed head and sagged shoulders, he resembles a poor and lost soul left alone in this vast and callous world.

Taking tentative steps towards him, I ask, "Are you okay?"

He doesn't answer and keeps avoiding my gaze. Looking around the living room, I realize what caused the crash earlier. The TV is on the floor, the screen broken and wires poking out where the framework is broken.

"Did you do that?" I ask even though I know he did.

He still doesn't answer me. His breathing is louder, as if he's taking deep breaths in and out to calm himself down. I go to stand in front of him. My hands reach out to touch him but as he flinches and sends me a dark look, I let my arms fall by my side again.