Breathless Behaviour

11

Camilla looks back at me with those hazel eyes that show nothing. "And what if he doesn't listen to me?"

Elliot should, he always listened to his grandmother, she's all he had left. "Make him. He wouldn't want to lose his job for someone who isn't worth it."

⸻𖤓⸻

I hear her before I see her, her footsteps distinctive from everyone else, telling me where she stops without having to look up. She walks in and I can feel her eyes a heartbeat later, can feel her surprise leaking out of her as she sees me sitting on a chair, eating breakfast.

I can feel it like a second skin, her eyes, her attention but I don't look her way, at her.

After my talk with Camilla- I lied, I wouldn't fire Elliot, I couldn't do that just because of what might happen with a girl who was bound to leave, who meant nothing but I also couldn't allow for it to happen, for things to get complicated- I had returned to work because even when the day was almost over, all I had to do wasn't and I could either leave it for another day or finish now and not worry about it another day.

I had worked until I could hear the whisper of the wind between the trees and even then, I wasn't tired. My body hummed with energy, to do more, to finish everything but by one, I found my way back to the house, into a cold shower and to an empty bed, not knowing if Camilla had talked to Elliot or not about that girl that smelled too strongly.

Taking a sip of my orange juice, I see Aldo perk up from where he laid at the entrance, head twisting and tail wagging as he sees her, padding to her, my gaze flickering to Elliot in time to see him lift his head at the sight of her, his smile growing and eyes glimmering as he sees her. "Good morning Lexi," he draws out, chirpy.

My jaw hardens at the nickname, how he talks to her, how his words turn softer.

What did he see in her?

Looking up as I set down my glass, my gaze trails from her red shoes up to her slim legs up to a shirt that doesn't belong to her but fits her well. A shirt that clings to her, my eyes flickering up her neckline, seeing a golden necklace around her neck, up to her jaw, her lips, cheeks, eyes.

I look at her and she's nothing interesting. Maybe those blue eyes and golden locks made her stand out from everyone, made people give her another look but what were looks if she was shallow? Simple? Self centered?

What was a pretty face when her insides were ugly?

Eyes meeting mine from across the kitchen, pink stains her cheeks but she looks away quickly, Aldo between her legs, stretching as her eyes flicker to Elliot. "I- uh, morning," she breathes out, her voice like honey, still thick with sleep, etched with something else.

Images of a morning threaten to flash across my head at it but I only look away from her before they do, saying nothing, not even that she took ten minutes more than what I had yelled at her through the door.

By now, she should be waking up on time, without having me to waste my time and knock on the door, pulling her from her sleep. She should be up and ready to work by the time the sun peeked up from the horizon but she's not and I wondered if maybe I should wake her up earlier or even better, make her sleep closer to the animals so they would wake her up.

Picking up my fork to eat, I'm aware of her still standing mere feet away, unmoving and still watching me, puzzled by the sight of me joining them for breakfast.

In all the days she's been here and even before, I've never done this. I've sat at this table but always alone, every day of mine too busy, hectic.

So sitting here, with them, it was different. But for a reason.

I sat here for a reason.

Taking a bite of my scrambled eggs, I see Elliot shift, sitting up straighter. "Come sit," he says when she doesn't move an inch from where she stands, still looking at me.

Did she want me to pull out her chair? Say please. Serve her food and feed it to her?

Chewing, I looked up in time to see her shake her head of whatever she was thinking before stepping around Aldo and heading to the table, to the seat across from me but even five feet didn't stop whatever she sprayed on herself each day to fill the air around me.

It didn't stop that sweet and spicy scent of hers to fill my lungs and linger.

I hate it.

How it smells. The thickness of it. The sweetness. How it reminds me of something, somewhere.

"Do you bathe yourself in that awful perfume?" I ask after I swallow. For it to linger, for her not to smell bad, she had to.

She looks up at me as she sits, the blush still lingering on her cheeks as a little frown forms between her brows. "What?"

My hold on my fork tightens at that single word, of how it just falls so easily from her lips. "I can smell you before you even step in a room." And hear you and feel you like if something tied me to you. "It's too much."

The frown deepens, lithe fingers pinching her shirt, bringing it up to her nose but it's not her who speaks but the boy I had forgotten was here, who most definitely was entranced by her. "I don't think it's awful. I think it's sweet," Elliot says, eyes on her.

How Camilla didn't see it was beyond me.

Ignoring him, I keep my gaze on her. "Stop wearing that perfume." It was going to drive me crazy. To smell it for weeks, so strongly, too sweet, deceiving.

I should send her back, tell Peter I can't babysit his daughter, that my life was complicated enough to add a nineteen year old who smelt like temptation to the mix.

Her frown drops, that blush nonexistent, whatever had glazed her eyes the moment she saw me gone. "Uh, let me think about it," she says as she fixes the plate in front of her.

And for some reason I wait, a second.

Lithe fingers moving, scooping up an assortment of fruits to her plate.

Three seconds.

My attention draws to her picking up a fork. Stabbing a sliced piece of watermelon as I wait.

Four seconds.

Blue eyes meet mine. "No." She bites her fruit, lips lifting slightly as she does so. "Thank you," she adds, smiling at me.

Even when people pissed me off, I've never killed them. I've been tempted but I didn't. I knew how to control my emotion, my temper yet all I want to do right now is throttle her.

I want to snuff her out. Smother that smile of hers. Each comment. Everything about her.

"Excuse me?" I ask, words tight in my throat.

She chews, swallowing. "I'm good with this awful smell," she gives me another smile.

"It wasn't a request. Stop dousing yourself in that perfume," I bite out.

Gaze on me, she raises her perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Or what?"

Or what?

So far, I've been far too nice. Peter asked me to show her how life really was, I could do that, make it miserable for her.

About to answer, my attention is drawn to a figure that stands at the threshold, panting heavily as he holds onto the frame, looking at me with wide eyes. "Sir, we have a problem."

Notice how he doesn't say her name? Details are important.