In Between Times (Complete Novel, Mastered May 12th, 2022)

CHAPTER EIGHT

PARRISH:

I wake up to a piercing noise coming from the kitchen. My gaze leaves the view of the couch, and I look around. My eyes catch black hair bobbing around in the kitchen, and I sigh. My new roommate, Oliver, is in the damn kitchen blending something in the blender. What an asshole.

I had to get a roommate if I was going to do this shit on my own. I don't want to lean on my dad for help anymore. I'm a twenty-year-old man, I shouldn't need his help. I also don't know if I can handle living with this guy, either. Not if he's going to be blending shit in the blender while my ass is asleep five feet away. I pick up my phone from the side table next to the couch, and look at the time. It is four o'clock in the morning.

When he stops the blender, I look at him as I sit up on the couch, pulling my blanket up over my head like a hood, and around me. I'm kinda cold.

"Hey man, it's four in the morning. What the fuck are you doing?" I try not to sound like a dick.

He looks over at me, shaking around the thick black curls on his head with his hand. His expression is unreadable as he pours his slushy-shit in a cup.

"Oh man, sorry. I didn't know you were sleeping on the couch." He sounds apologetic, so I relax my shoulders a bit as I lean back further into the couch.

"Yeah, I don't have a bed. What are you doing up so early?" I ask.

He brings the cup to his mouth and sips on his drink. "I'm going to check out the gyms around here, maybe get a membership so I can work out regularly. You wanna come?"

My eyes connect with his black t-shirt and plain white gym shorts. What the hell, this dude is going to the gym at four in the morning?

I shake my head. "I can't afford a gym membership right now. I usually just go for a run around the apartments, and I have some weights in that bin over there," I say, pointing at a clear bin of weights near the couch. He sighs.

"Okay. I'm going with a friend of mine. He should be here in about thirty minutes to pick me up," he says, as he looks around the apartment.

"Damn, you have a lot of stuff. Are you unpacking anytime soon?" he asks this in a stuck-up kind of way, but he looks nothing like that type. He has tattoos branded on his arms. He wore a leather jacket yesterday when he signed our joined lease for this apartment. I only picked him out of the others, because I refuse to live with a female. He's the only guy that showed up.

"I'm probably going to throw most of this shit away, or sell it on eBay. I'll try to get most of it situated while you're gone," I say, not knowing if my words are genuine or not.

"Alright, no rushing you. I'm just a little bit of a perfectionist. I don't like clutter. We both just recently moved in though, so I'm not complaining or anything."

I swear I saw his eye twitch as he said that.

Fuck, I'm living with some OCD freak. He better not try and organize my shit while I'm gone. That won't fly by on my pony ride.

"Do I need to get my ass up and do something with it? You look really agitated about it," I say, my tone cautious.

I'll do it now if it means he won't touch it later.

"The sooner the better," he says, his expression smug.

Is he fucking with me? Are we going to start labeling our stuff, like putting our name on the shit that belongs to us?

"You look scared dude. I didn't mean to freak you out or anything. I was just letting you know I'm not a slob, and I'd prefer not to live with one," he says in an amused tone, as he rinses his cup.