Sunday was always in a hurry, it would leave as early as it would arrive. It might be a first that Sunday was boring Preston to death or was it instead his wayward thoughts? The feeling of guilt was foreign to him. There might be a time or two when he experienced it but only with his parents. His classmates? Never. In school, no party was innocent. They were all liars, manipulators, and sinners. The gray-blue-themed building was their Temple of Sin.
Multiple times he backspaced the message, feeling weird in his own skin. When was the last time he texted anyone apart from Ty? As he was about to chuck the phone on the bed and go watch a movie, his hovering thumb decided that it was more courageous than Preston's mind. Screaming in the pillow did not help in the least. When the day passed and he did not hear back from Alastair, he had to make do by beating the pillow with his fists. It relieved some of his frustration. The half of Monday passed too, but the ticks under the message did not turn blue.
Time at Richard's was a blur. He would not be able to retell what happened at the old man's house even if someone put a knife to his throat. Wishing Katie a half-hearted 'good day,' he left.
When he reached the familiar black door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. By the time he entered the kitchen, his transformation into a jittery mess was astounding. The house seemed empty but he knew better. Paranoia gripped him; anytime Alastair would walk down the stairs, sit still on one of the stools and stare at him creepily as he did on a few instances.
With an irritably mistrustful brain he took over his kitchen duties. Since no one was by his side to disturb him, he was done with preparing two-third of the food fairly early. Reluctantly, he had to slow down for the last one-third to pass the time. It read fifteen to 7 PM when Preston finished. The man still did not show up. Having enough of the tantrum, he marched up to the bottom of the stairs.
"Mr. Cabot. Mr. Cabot! ALASTAIR!" The stubborn mule did not even make a peep, forget about answering like a polite person. "AayLaustaaar," he tried a last time in whale language.
He heard a sound, not the one he expected. "Alastair, the house phone is ringing." With bated breath, he waited before sighing. Distancing himself from the living room as he confidently walked backward, he refused to let Alastair win another round and stew in guilt. "Let it RING, Let it RING, I am angry and on the BRIIINK," he repeatedly sang the skilfully composed lyrics and went to put the dishes on the table. It stopped and Preston was slightly disappointed. Five seconds later, the sound began to echo through the quiet house a second time. Losing the momentum to sing, Preston ignored it unceremoniously. It stopped after a full ring before ringing yet another time. The third time was not the charm. It was annoying.
For fuck's sake! He mumbled before going near the steps once again and hollering - "Alastair, the house phone is ringing."
In reply, he received silence. He wanted to march upstairs and pull on the man's ear and drag him by the organ to answer the phone. The touch of the phone on his hurting ear would remind him of his rude behavior, but he knew better than to intrude in someone's private space. Reaching the conclusion that the man really was not present in the house and it could be an emergency for the house phone to ring thrice, he decided to be a selfless person for once and answered the call. "Hello?"
"Stop yelling in my house and stop with the damn singing. It is awful. I have started to think I adopted a child - a big baby."
"Your baby!" was what Preston ended up exclaiming over the phone when all he wished to say was a harmless "You are a baby." While the latter was not a smart retort he would take anything over the utterly stupid words he spilled. Needing something to blame it on, he blamed the flurry of emotions he had been experiencing since his first encounter with Alastair. He cursed having to spend time in close proximity with another human.
There was pin-drop silence on the other end before a cackling entered his ears. He threw the receiver on the phone. Why did I say that? Oh, Lord! If embarrassment was a person, Preston would be him.
The phone blasted again, indicating another call. He weighed his options. Ignore or smash it to bits? Recalling his prying the day before yesterday, he squared his shoulders and picked up. "The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please call back later and only if someone is dying."
"I didn't say a waaard," Al said in a sing-song voice.
It was a lost battle. He must change techniques. "Your food is getting cold. If you don't come down, I am eating it all."
"I'll surely call the school." Woohoo!
"And what proof will you have? The eaten food inside my stomach?" The line went quiet. Preston moved the phone to check whether Alastair disconnected, realizing after that it was an old telephone. Putting the receiver back, he queried - "Are you there?"
"Yes, the food in your stomach. I'd demand a stool test if needed."
"Disgusting!" Preston screeched, his nose wrinkling in an adorable manner. "You make me sick. Eww."
Alastair laughed heartily at the reaction he received. The time he took to contemplate between speaking his mind and being a gentleman was worth it. He was proud of his choice. "Okay, so what about my word over yours?"
"Oh please, I can always call Will and he will have to believe me." That was a lie but Alastair did not need to know that. "Did you forget I come from money?"
"I had no clue, but I deduced it myself."
"Fuck you!"
"You would love that, wouldn't you, my baby?"
Preston's cheeks went red. He was not used to any type of flirting jokes. Especially to be the one on the receiving end, he was manifesting that the ground would open up and swallow him. "It was a slip-up."
Alastair was thankful that Preston did not freak out over his joke. In case he made the matter bad, he eased up on the teasing, settling on a simple "Right."
Preston was about to put the receiver down when he caught the music playing in the background on Alastair's end. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Who is your favorite singer, Mr. Cabot?"
A pause and a curse later, Alastair murmured "The Arctic Monkeys."
"Now you are lying, Mr. Cabot," Preston emphasized.
"Alastair."
"What?"
"After hearing what you have already heard, it would be weird if you continue calling me by my surname. Call me by my name."
"So Alastair, I repeat my question from earlier. Who is your favorite-"
"It's Taylor Swift, alright?"
"You mean to say you are a Swiftie?"
"I can taste your condescending tone, Preston. And you are the one to speak? Don't think I have noticed your ringtone? You are a Justin Bieber fan yourself. You are a Barbarian, remember."
"We are Beliebers, not barbarians!"
The banter continued for another half hour. Among all the chaos passed an apology. Alastair could make out the sincerity in the boy's words, he was apologetic. To hold Preston responsible solely for the whole fiasco was unfair on his part, but it was what it was. Life is unfair too and we have to live with that fact. His misery was his own, Preston just gave him an easy out. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he listened to the boy talk. For once, he did not step back when it came to a banter. It was about being a Swiftie, being a Belieber and cold food that he was warned about and he still chose not to pay heed to it. Preston chose violence and ate all the olives from the pasta, heating up the rest of it. Despite effort from him, Alastair put his foot down when Preston asked him to come down for dinner. Alastair was content and he sought to live in this delusion for some more time.
✯--☆◍••◍✯✿✯◍••◍--✯
*Gasp* Are they bonding?
You would love that, wouldn't you?
*Throw an evil smirk here*
~ April "Devil" Skyes 😈