It all started with a game

Chapter 9

I was used to this kind of thing, everyone did it when they first came over, whether they were my friends, Alexia's friends or one of my mother's work partners, everyone was fascinated by the size of our house. It was far too big for four people, but everytime I make that point my mother goes on a long rant about how the house was supposed to be meant for five. And ignoring the fact that I was never going to live with Kavinski under any circumstances, this house is still too big for five. She thinks having Kavinski live with her instead of his father would magically shrink this place by a hundred acres.

Alexia spent months begging for mother to downgrade and get a smaller place. I had tried a couple times to convince her but the conversation usually ended in a 'why can't you be more like Kavinski' so, needless to say, I've given up. As lonely as this house is, the shot at a smaller place is not worth hearing that.

Alexia even tried to get Malik to convince mother to move but he was no help. He never is. Mother won't listen to a single thing he says. I'm fairly certain he only stays with her because he knows full well that if he leaves, mother will never let Alexia see him again.

I set her bag beside my bed, my eyes landing on the picture frame beside my nightstand, which I must have forgotten to put away. I knocked the picture down quickly, so fast I'm surprised the glass didn't shatter.

I headed back to the kitchen, leaving the miserable frame in my wake.

Instead of looking around, like most people usually did, Beatrice seemed to have no interest in the house and had already sat on a stool with her head laying on her book as she used it as a pillow. Her cheek was squished against the hardcover, her whole face wrinkled up like pudgy shar pei.

"Morning, sunshine," I laughed.

She groaned and, without even opening her eyes, attempted to reach out for me. Her hand landed on my face as she quickly inspected it to make sure it was truly my face and then proceeded to slap me. Clearly she was too tired to even try to actually slap me considering her hand barely made contact with my skin before flopping back down to her side.

"Is there a reason you've drank four Red Bulls?" I questioned, pulling two glasses from the cabinet.

"I didn't sleep much." She readjusted her book for more comfort.

I poured water into each glass. "Let me guess, you stayed up all night reading?" I figured considering the book she was carrying around today was not the same one she started yesterday.

She paused, her eyes glazing over as she stared at the back door. I took a drink, watching her as she took a deep breath, her face quickly morphing from her distant stare to a look I'd seen far too many times. But as awful as that look is, it was better than the one she'd had prior. She smirked, looking me up and down. "I was having hot sex with the mafia boss while he held a gun to my head and begged me to moan his name."

What did she say?

I never thought the spit takes in movies were realistic but now I have to reevaluate that decision because at the moment I was leaned over the sink with water dripping out of my nose and Beatrice sat on the floor giggling her head off, clearly pleased with herself.

Her and red bulls clearly don't mix.

"Yes I was reading," she managed to get out, as soon as she finished wheezing.

I wiped my face, finally settling my coughing fit, although my eyes were now watering from the fact that I just had water come up my nose. Not a pleasant feeling. "About a mafia boss holding a gun to your head?"

Her lips curved up as she sat back on the stool. "Hm, no, just about hot sex, the mafia boss was just my imagination."

And I thought readers were supposed to be innocent.