Be Rude but Love Me | ✔

CHAPTER 11

"I know you didn't mean to. I know you have anger issues," I say as Ellie's words replay in my mind.

His stare turns even darker. "Don't act like you understand, Graham. Don't act like you know me."

"I'm not," I say softly. "I'm just saying I'm not mad at you."

He scoffs. "As if I cared."

I step towards him, glaring at him and holding his murderous gaze. "You should. Because if that lamp had hit me Yann, trust me, I wouldn't be chit-chatting with you right now. So piss off already."

I bump his shoulder in anger as I stalk past him and into the kitchen to retrieve a broom and a dustpan. Back in the living room, I find him picking broken pieces with his bare hands and cringe. I think of how sensitive and thin my skin is. A blade of grass could hurt me.

"You shouldn't do that," I tell him as I proceed to pick up the big junk that is now the TV and move it across the room so I can take care of the debris. "You'll cut yourself."

"You shouldn't care, Graham."

I shrug. "I don't want to have to take care of you after that."

"I can take care of myself."

I start to swipe the broom across the floor and gather the shards. I make a small pile in the middle of the living room and go to the staircase where the lamp crashed. At the base of the stairwell, I make another neat pile and once I'm done, go get the trashcan.

"I was going to take care of that," Yann says.

I ignore him and dump the contents of the dustpan into the trash. "Sorry, but somehow I can't picture you with a broom."

"Are you always that judgmental?" He questions and I detect a faint annoyance in the words.

"I was merely stating what I think," I say. When I'm done, I turn around and leaning on the banister, I cross my arms over my chest and look at him. "Wanna tell me what that was about? I leave the TV on that interview and go upstairs for two minutes and you manage to break it."

He doesn't reply immediately. He's leaning against the doorframe, a perfect imitation of my posture. "Anger issues," and he shrugs.

I shake my head, "I know it was your anger issues. What I don't understand is what got you so angry that you would break a TV and throw a lamp." When he remains silent, I add, "I think you kind of owe it to me since you almost gave a concussion and knocked me out."

Then, he says, "You don't like me, do you, Graham?"

I must say, I am a little befuddled by the abrupt switch of topics here. I frown at him to ask him where that question just came from but by the look on his face, I can tell that our previous topic has been closed and won't be revisited. At least, not today.

"No, I don't." I answer truthfully. "Why do you ask?"

But he ignores my question and asks one of his own. "Do you try to figure out people you don't like?" I can tell that's genuine curiosity in his voice instead of the derision I would expect with a question such as this one.

"That's not what this is about," I say.

"Just answer the question, Graham," he says.

"No, I don't."

He pushes himself off the doorframe and starts to walk away. "That's what I thought."

I call after him. "You don't like me either," I remind him and he stops, barely craning his neck to the side to listen to me. "And yet you said you were trying to figure me out."