▲ Chapter 2 || You Look Like A Greek God ▲
"And this is your room," Marisa states, pushing the door open to reveal a small, cosy bedroom.
The walls are a soft, cream colour and there is a big window that lets the bright afternoon sunlight lighten the room. Standing centre of it is a queen-sized bed draped in a cream quilt and accessorised with hundreds of colourful, decorative pillows, and sitting at each side of the bed are two wooden bedside tables with old-looking lamps sitting on each of them.
"This is lovely, Marisa," I smile, dragging my suitcase next to the bed as my eyes dance around the room. Marisa brings the other suitcase next to the one I'm holding and props it up onto its wheels.
"There's also an ensuite," she informs me, opening the wooden door and flicking on the ensuite's light switch. "Is there anything you need?" she spins on her heels to turn back to me, "Any toiletries, food...?" she trails off and raises her eyebrows questioningly.
"No, I'm good, thank you," I smile.
Satisfied, she departs the room, allowing me some time to settle in. I flop onto the bed and sink into the mattress, breathing in the fresh coconut scent of washed sheets.
Staying in this house will be a breeze. Well, with one monumental exception, that is - Blake. However, that might not be such a problem if I can somehow get him to open up to me. It'll be hard work, I imagine.
For the next ten minutes, I begin to unpack my suitcases, placing all my clothes into the wooden chest of drawers. I then put my makeup bag and toiletry kit in the ensuite, a laptop on my bedside table, speakers and my favourite perfume on top of my chest of drawers, and a tired me plopped on my bed.
Once my heart beat has slowed to a normal pace and I don't feel like I'm going to pass out any second, I sit up and grab my laptop. I haven't done much work over the week, which means that I have a fair amount of homework and assessments to complete, especially since it's four weeks till the end of school and our teachers have ever-so generously decided to make all assessments due within the same week.
I hear muffled talking outside my room and freeze as I try to make out what they were saying. I could see two shadows under the door.
"I mean, she could've been in the other spare bedroom. Why choose this one?" I recognise that voice as Blake, and he sounds very irritated.
"Don't do this here," Marisa hushes, "I understand you're upset, but this is the only room with an ensuite. It's more practical. You have the main bathroom and she has the room with the ensuite. I thought you would've liked that. That way, you're not in each other's ways in the morning."
"Bullshit," he scoffs, "You knew I'd be annoyed, which is why you didn't bother telling me what room she's in until I find out now - when she's here."
Marisa gasps like she's never heard Blake swear before, "Mind your language!"
"Really? You're really gonna complain about my language right now when there's a much bigger problem to discuss?"
"You used to be such a nice, well-mannered boy, but you're changing, Blake, and I don't like it."
"I've been like this for a while now, mom, and yet you only seem to notice and care about my behaviour now."
"I've always cared, Blake. But things have been difficult for-"
"They've been difficult for all of us," he snaps, "That doesn't mean I detach myself from my family rather than care for them."
"That's so hypocritical of you!" Marisa almost laughs, "You never talk to Jay or I anymore even though we've trying so hard lately-"
"Well you're a little too late to try now," he sneers, "You lost my trust the moment you weren't there for me when-"
"Go to your room!" Marisa snaps. It sounded like she was about to cry, "Go to your room and don't come out until you're ready to apologise."
"I'm not ten anymore, you don't get to tell me what to do."
"Yes I do while you're living under my roof!"
There's a long silence between the two of them, before I hear Blake sigh, "Screw this fucking family."
I watch as one shadow from under the door disappears and the sound of the front door slamming shut follows shortly after. I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding in. That was intense. I hope everything's going to be okay between them.
A tense silence settles on the house and I watch as the shadow stays by my door, frozen in place. Eventually, I hear a knock at my door, "Come in!" I call.
Marisa pokes her head into my room, smiling a sheepish smile, "I'm sorry you had to hear that."
"That's alright. Are you okay?"
Marisa sighs, "Not exactly, but we'll figure it out. Fights like this in our house aren't uncommon, but we do end up reconciling. Blake's fine when he's not in a bad mood."
I nod my head in understanding, "Good luck with it all."
"Thanks," she breathes, "And again, I'm so sorry Bronte."
"Its fine," I smile, and she shuts the door
I sit there for a moment in thought. So Blake didn't like me being in this room. I wasn't sure if it was because he was jealous of me having this room, because he seemed far too angry to be upset over something like that.
I need to stop thinking about this. It's none of my business.
I avert my gaze to my laptop screen and clear my head of all my curious thoughts. Immediately, I get to work and by the time I'm finished, it's 7pm. I wriggle my sore, cramped fingers and hop off the bed, relieved that all the urgent work is out of the way. I head into the ensuite to take a much-needed shower, being sure to lock the bathroom door. I then undress and get scrubbing. Minutes later, I step out of the shower and into a cloud of steam, wrapping a towel around my body. When I swing the door open, I almost scream at the sight of Blake in my room.
"Oh. Hi Blake," I greet him, my heartbeat still fast.
"Dinner's ready," he mutters, and then his eyes travel down my body to which I realise is only covered by a small towel.
Oh Goodness.
He stands up from my bed, a cocky smirk on his face as he walks to the door. Just as I think he's about to leave, he turns to me, "You look like a drowned rat." And then he slams the door shut.
"W-well you look like a greek God!" The words die in my throat and I smack my forehead at my pathetic comeback. Damn, I couldn't even insult him.
So befriending Blake obviously isn't going to be a breeze, but I was sure that I could do it. Everyone should have someone that they can turn to when they are feeling sad.
"Think happy thoughts," I hum to myself, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
I just hope he's happy. I really do.
▲ ▲ ▲
The following morning I wake up, determined to start the long day ahead of me - Day number one of my mission in befriending Blake. Stepping out of bed with a bounce in my feet, I get dressed and head over to the kitchen where Marisa is tipping a spoon of sugar into her coffee and mixing it. At the sight of me, she grins.
Marisa was right. The fight between her and Blake was quickly resolved. Before dinner, she had a chat with Blake and, though there was a little shouting, it worked out in the end. By the time dinnertime came around, her and Blake were fine. The only tension at the dinner table last night was between Blake and I. He made a few rude comments to me, though I just played them off.
While having dinner with them, I've noticed that, though Blake is respectful to his parents, he never reveals anything personal to them. I wouldn't be surprised if they had no idea about the reputation Blake has at school. He wouldn't get away with any of it if they had suspicions of him.
"Hey Bronte! Awake already?"
I smile and shrug in response. Just like my father, I'm an early riser, "I'm an early-bird."
"Ah," she nods, "How are you liking it here so far?"
"I love it. Thank you so much for letting me stay."
"You're such a darling. We're happy to have you here." Taking a sip of her coffee, she slings her handbag over her shoulder and walks past me, "I have to go to work now. Make yourself at home. We have a pancake mix in the pantry if you want to make some. Oh! And please wake up Blake for me," she says hastily as she walks to the front door.
My eyes widen nervously. Wake him up? Is she trying to get me killed?
Befriending him was one thing, but waking him up was at a whole different level.
"Thank you, and sure thing," I comply.
"Thanks Bronte so much!" Marisa calls over her shoulder. "If he doesn't wake up, just spray water on him. I do it all of the time. It's funny," With her high-heels clacking against the tile floor, she opens the front door and struts out of the house.
I pause for a moment, cherishing the quietness of the house. The past 24 hours have been a little crazy to say the least, but a moment of silence is enough to power me into moving on.
I decide to get the hard part over with. I tiptoe down the hall and head over to Blake's room. Nervousness bubbles within me as I grow hesitant.
What if he gets angry and shouts at me?
What if, Bronte? If course he'll shout at you, idiot!
Ignoring the anxiousness thriving within me, I knock on his bedroom door.
Silence.
I knock again and, once again, hear nothing. Gingerly, I push open the door and peak my head into the room where I see Blake laying peacefully on his bed, fast asleep.
My eyes curiously wander around his bedroom. He doesn't have a lot in the room besides a surfboard standing in the room corner, a football lying on the floor and two posters; one of a motorbike and the other of some blonde, voluptuous model who lays on the hood of a black Lamborghini.
I tiptoe over to Blake, who is sprawled on the messy white covers, "Hey Blake, wake up," I whisper, to no avail, "Wake up," I say, more loudly this time, though he doesn't even budge. I pinch him and he stirs ever so slightly in his sleep.
Minutes pass by and nothing changes. Blake is still slumbering peacefully in his bed. I can't believe I'm actually considering Marisa's suggest. Without giving my plan much thought, I jog out of his room and return with a random old water sprayer I found in the kitchen.
I know I'm going to regret this, but I've always wanted to do this because I watch it all the time in movies. I'm almost certain it won't wake him up, anyway. It's not as if I'm throwing a bucket of water onto him, either. Marisa does it to him, anyway. It should be fine.
Clearing my thoughts, I spritz the spray onto Blake's face a few times. To my surprise, less than seconds later he shoots out of bed with a loud yelp. I step away in surprise. To be honest I didn't think that would work.
Blake's hands shoot over to his tightly closed eyes and he begins to rub them fiercely. "What the fuck!" he shouts, yelling a series of other very colourful words.
My stomach drops at his enraged reaction. I did not expect him to be this angry.
"My eyes!" he then shouts, still rubbing them furiously. My eyes widen in realisation and I quickly lift up the bottle. On it, is paper tape with 'Window Cleaner' written in permanent marker.
My head darts over to Blake instantly, "Oh God," I whisper to myself. "Oh Blake! I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I can get you some water to wash your eyes out if that helps. You weren't waking up so I thought I might try wake you up with water and..." I trail off and watch on anxiously. Fortunately he doesn't seem to be in pain anymore and just sits there, blinking furiously to clear his vision, " I didn't realise that it wasn't water because it was a plain bottle but I just assumed, so..." My words die in my throat when I see Blake's cold glare. His eyes are bloodshot red and his nose is flared in anger.
He closes his eyes and lets out a breath, "Run," he whispers.
"What?"
Run isn't in my vocabulary list.
"Run," he sneers, standing up.
I stumble backwards, panic rising within me. Blake throws the bed covers off him angrily. His hands are balled into fists, his jaw is clenched, and his eyes hold a sadistic glint.
He was furious.
I let out a yelp and immediately turn and dash out of his room. I dive into the nearest room, which happened to be the laundry, before closing and locking the door behind me. I sink down against the door and let out a deep breath.
Well that was a disaster.
▲ ▲ ▲