Manic Attack

IX. Kipling It Real

With every spoon I plopped into my mouth, my outlook towards the day brightened. Slowly, my thoughts were clearing up. My drowning heart was fighting to break the surface of sorrow while my craving for ice cream only kept increasing. The gray clouds were finally beginning to clear from above me. I looked up from my empty bowl to find Moseby stabbing at the frozen dessert. Repeatedly, with merciless force and a murderous look in his eyes. He seemed to be in a little world of his own, a very sadistic little world might I add.

"What are you doing?" I almost spluttered as his hand kept shoving the spoon in and out of the soft scoops. His cup was a sloppy blob of pink and brown. With every incessant stab he inflicted upon the precious bowl, I felt a prick in my chest. My favorite dessert did not deserve to be treated that way.

"I'm being the catalyst here by melting this ice cream faster."

"You want to melt it?"

He nodded, spoon jerking up and down. "I can't have it any other way."

If there was anything that I hated as much as crying children, it was melted ice cream. There was a reason it was called 'ice' cream and not just 'cream'- because it was supposed to be consumed frozen!

"You could've ordered a milkshake then. It would've saved you all that effort." And that ice cream from being annihilated.

"Nah, I don't like milkshakes."

This man was, by far, the weirdest I had ever met. He stopped pressing his spoon up and down, then proceeded to stir it gently and set it aside- under the late noon sunlight that fell on our table from the glass door behind us. He clasped his hands over the table, a content smile blooming on his lips while I tried my best to suppress a cringe.

"Do you swim?"

"Huh?" I blinked, zoning back to his face. "Not really, I'd rather sit alone in an inflatable splash pool than take a dip in the real one."

He frowned. "Why not?"

I shrugged, dabbing my lips with a napkin. "You could say I've had...experiences."

"Oh, okay." His smile wavered.

I sighed. Disappointment did not suit those aqua blues. "Back when I was fourteen, I was by our club's pool. I heard a little girl ask her grandmother if she could pee in the water because the washrooms were full." Moseby propped his chin on his fist, placing his elbow on the table between us and urging me to continue. "The old lady allowed her to do it. Since that day, I've sworn abstinence from pools and any other form of a public water body."

He shook his head in grave concern. "That's tragic."

I bit back a laugh. "Tell me about it. I'm sure your club doesn't have inconsiderate grandmothers sitting around."

"Oh, no grandmothers at all. I swim at home."

An embarrassed flush crept its way onto my cheeks. Of course, Edward trained at home. He was the only son of Bernard 'Filthy Rich' Moseby. Public swimming pools were as alien as economy class tickets to him and his family. I watched in disgust and horror as he dipped a spoon and put it into his mouth, eyelids drooping half-shut in a dreamy stupor. I peeled my eyes away before I burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" He had found his way back to reality.

I hid my smile behind a fist. "Nothing."

He snorted again, a pink spot marking the corner of his lips. "Yeah, right."

I let out a helpless laugh. "I'm sorry. You just looked like you were about to make love to your sundae."

Moseby looked amused, betraying the sheepish smile that had deepened his dimples and reddened his cheeks. "Strawberry sundae and I are an endless love affair."