FAKE

one

Sunshine pours in through the blinds in front of my window, waking me from sleep. I sit up and look around the room as my eyes adjust to the light.

When I can see clearly, I quietly get out of bed, stretching my arms. I pull on my sweatshirt over the tank top I had worn to sleep last night. It's long enough that it half-way covers the pair of running shorts I had also slept in.

I step out of my room and close the door quietly behind me, remembering that the not dead Ross was in the guest bedroom.

I arrive at the kitchen and pop a bagel into the toaster before tapping the Start button on the coffee pot. A habit has kept me putting in the coffee grounds and water the night before I need the coffee, so that I can get it faster. As I stand in front of the toaster, I lean forward on my fore arms, waiting for my breakfast.

A pair of arms snake their way around my waist.

"I suggest you go sit down before I kick you out." I hiss menacingly. He chuckles, for some reason amused by my threat, and retreats to the kitchen table.

"Feisty as usual." He comments, only making the walls I had built around myself stronger. He would not, could not, break them down. If he thinks he can disappear for two years, then come back and expect me to throw himself in his arms, he can go screw himself.

My coffee pot chimes, signalling the hot drink is ready for me. I pour it out into a mug and take a gulp right away. Most think it's gross, but I like my coffee black and strong.

"You want any?" I ask him. I suppose he is a guest in my household, and I should be remotely kind. Ross shakes his head, making his messy hair fall into his eyes.

"I'll take care of myself. All I needed was a roof over my head for once." He declines my offer. The toaster reminds me I have a bagel, and I carefully swipe it out of the machine. Once again, it is consumed plain, just like my coffee.

"So where have you been hiding?" I ask him. I know he won't tell me directly, because he has not and will not ever change. But it's worth a shot.

"Places."

"Elaborate."

"Odd places. Nice places. Cruddy places." He still refuses to give a straightforward answer.

Just keep digging, I tell myself.

"Where?" I ask.

"All over."

"All over where?"

"The country."

"Where in the country?"

"The states."

"Which states?"

"The ones in America." He deflects each question I shoot at him with ease, almost sounding bored.

He's impossible.

Completely impossible.

I might've built a fortress to protect myself. But he is safeguarded by an unsolvable maze that everyone attempts to explore.

"Who knows you're alive?" I ask him.

"Just you."

Whoa. A direct answer.

In two words. I think bitterly to myself.

"When are you going to tell your parents and siblings? Not to mention all the fans-"

"I've got it under control." He cuts me off.

"Your situation was under control enough to where you had to pretend you died?" I ask, hoping that I will hit a nerve.

"Yes. It was." He retorts stiffly, still not seeming bothered or worked up by me pestering him.

Ross leaves the kitchen, then returns with his jacket.

"I'll be back tonight.. I've got some business to take care of."

And the mystery man continues his secretive streak.