2 | Defiance Discipline Dream Repeat

51 Weird Questions - Zander's POV

I nodded off on the sofa after Alexander left for work, and when I woke up again, I had slept through my first class and the morning break. My goal is to make it to lunch. That gives me time to drink my coffee in silence - relish the silence. There's rarely a quiet moment on the farm, mainly because Bella makes a din. I can tolerate the animals, and her brothers playing like wild animals naturally fall on deaf ears. Bella is so fucking obnoxious about it, too. She's an obnoxious little brat. I'm wavering whether she needs to up her dose or someone scaring the hell out of her and roughen her up a bit. I lean toward the second option.

I look up from my phone, hearing someone blunder over the safety gate - that gullible woman from the bridal boutique. She doesn't look as put together today as she did then. Her hair is badly ruffled, and her face even worse. The smudged eye makeup and dark circles make her comparable to a panda.

''You look awful,'' I comment.

She flinches at my presence, but like a hungover person, her reaction delays a few seconds. ''I feel awful,'' she grunts. ''Do you know where everyone is?''

''School or work. It's just you and me, darling,'' and with a smirk on my face, I eye her up and down. Above the sink, there's a window utilised as a shelf for random clean dishes, and when she reaches for the mug on top, her short skirt rides up, and her underwear shines through her sheer tights. ''Your knickers have a fetching blue colour.''

She wrenches around to glare at me with her panda eyes. ''What the fuck!?'' she squawks. ''Don't you have a boyfriend?''

I smirk. ''He's told me to smile and say nice things instead of just staring coldly at people because that makes them feel uncomfortable.''

She turns back around in a huff. ''That wasn't nice. You made me uncomfortable.''

''Well, you can't please everybody. At least he will be happy with me.'' I snicker and watch her serve herself the coffee I made for myself without even asking, and it angers me. ''If my trousers ripped, I'd appreciate it if someone told me because I don't want to show my ass to people like a stripper. Why do you wear underwear that barely covers half your ass underneath sheer tights and a tiny skirt?"

''None of your business!'' she squawks again, glaring at me as she makes her way around the cluttered table.

''Imagine how many men you made happy when your skirt rides up, and you flash your ass for them,'' I mock. "And what about the bruise matching your blue knickers?"

''Fuck off!'' she snaps and begins to gulp her coffee. My coffee, really. "I have no bruise," she claims, but I saw what I saw, and her rosy cheeks just confirm my exemplary eyesight.

''It was only a question and the truth. If you want to live on the edge and show off your ass to random men - you do you. I have no interest in your ass. Nothing about your body appeals to me," I tell her nonchalantly.

''Shut up then, and don't make my headache worse!''

''Are you ticklish?''

''What's wrong with you?''

''I'm trying to get to know you better since you've been showing up more often lately."

''You ask weird fucking questions and make me uncomfortable,'' she grumbles and continues swigging her coffee.

"You're such a foul-mouthed lass. Does my mum approve of that?" I mock. "You're gonna shit yourself when you drink your coffee that fast."

"You're a cunt–"

"I'll tell my mum you said that, and you might get a second bruise," I snicker.

"You are insane. I need to head to work.'' She pushes back on her to stand, and hungover as she is, she loses balance for a second.

I waited for this moment. ''Finally,'' I groan.

She totters out, almost knocking her head onto the floor as she makes it over the safety gate, and I get some peace again... But not for long. She's soon back - too soon. On the other side of the gate, slanting against the threshold, she looks at me, woebegone. ''I can't drive safely in this condition. Can you drop me off at work on your way to school?''

''Yeah...'' I drawl. ''But can you write me a note for my teacher then?''

''How old are you? 8?'' she sneers.

''My teacher treats me like a kid, so if you wrote me a note, I won't have to rot in detention."

''Sure, but I will write the note when I sit in your car,'' she says suspiciously.