When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 8: 08 - I’ll take my heart attack cold and loud, thank you

He didn’t show up the following day. Or the day after. I wasn’t entirely sure where etiquette stood on

stalkers but since we didn’t exchange phone numbers, I couldn’t exactly call to find out why. To be

honest, it was a good thing for him because I went to my tutoring job and while I didn’t know his specific

tastes, I was willing to bet he wouldn’t be a fan of standing in the sun for ninety minutes since I wasn’t

going to take him into the house with me. Not in a million years, not ever. News that I brought an

unknown boy to the Davidsons’ home could very easily reach my parents since they were part of my

parents’ close knit circle. He didn’t know it but he chose to perfect days to not show up. Or maybe he

did and that was the point. I couldn’t know for sure. Unfortunately, the one thing I was sure of was that

his absence wasn’t a sign he had given up. I definitely hoped to God it was but I wasn’t big on lying to

myself. I needed my facts straight in any given situation. It was one of the lessons my mom had

drummed into my head growing up. He was probably just occupied with more pressing matters. As a NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

criminal and heaven knew what else, there was no way he was short on those.

Despite that theory, I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder every time I stepped out. I couldn’t shake

the feeling I was being watched and it only got worse as the day progressed. I was beyond relieved as I

stepped into my house, safe from the malicious gaze that had followed me around. If it turned out to be

Masked Idiot, he was going to get it from me. I had been jumpy all day. Me, cool, calm and collected

Avy.

Unfortunately, I got held up finalizing plans for the debate and working out the kinks for an interschool

quiz. Another last hurrah before graduation. The quiz was between my school and our long-time rival,

Westler High. For some reason, both schools had been rivals since the beginning of time.

Unfortunately for Westler, since my sophomore year when I started representing my school, we’ve

continuously been beating them. The quiz was a last ditch attempt to salvage their dignity following the

three-year thrashing they had received. Not that it would amount to anything more than another

thrashing since as I wasn’t going to lose.

My mother was less than pleased with my lateness. It had been tense between us since the fighting

arena turned late dinner escapade and with the whole listicle elope-with-your-boyfriend thing but since I

had a rock solid reason, she settled for a scowl as opposed to pulling out a trick from her patented

Bring Your Child To Tears handbook.

A tense atmosphere descended during dinner and I focused on not making any blunders. It was the

kind of silence that told you loud and clear that the other person was looking for any excuse to pick a

fight. I was determined not to give her one. Luckily, Olly stepped into the diffuse the tension with a

recount of her soccer match. I wisely kept my opinions to myself, remaining silent till the end of the

affair. I definitely wasn’t going to give my mom a bone to pick. I even politely offered to take care of the

plates although it wasn’t my day.

With a sigh of relief at having avoided a confrontation, I trudged upstairs with my mother trailing behind

me. We parted ways at the head of the stairs.

“Good night, Mom.” I smiled.

“Good night.” She waved me away with a dismissive flick of her wrist. Avy, one. Mom, zero.

I shut my room door behind me and fell back, propping myself against it.

“Okay. I’m good,” I muttered softly, releasing my breath on a sigh before straightening up and reaching

for the light switch. “That wasn’t so bad. I just have to be on time for the rest of the week. I can do that.”

I flicked the switch, flooding the room with light. I automatically squinted, waiting for my eyes to adjust

to the--

“Ahhhh!” A terrified scream burst out of my mouth as I violently jumped back.

There wasn’t much jumping room behind me so I ended up smacking my elbow against the door.

“Ouch! Shit!” I cussed quietly, rubbing my elbow.

My eyes, however, remained fastened on the figure lounging on my bed.

“What is it?” Mom called out in a voice tinged with just the littlest bit of apprehension and irritation.

My eyes widened in horror as my brain blanked out for a full second. Oh sweet baby Jesus.

The absolute last thing I needed right now was for her to come investigate. I had a boy in my room. On

my bed. That wasn’t going to go down well. Thankfully, my brain kicked back in with a lie.

“Nothing! Cockroach!” I yelled back, fervently praying she missed the quiver in my voice. “Flying

cockroach,” I embellished. Please don’t come here. Please don’t come here. Please don’t.

I strained my ears for any indication that she was coming to confirm for herself. All I heard was a hiss

followed by, “Grow up, Avyanna. Jesus Christ, it’s just a roach. Act your age, will you!”

The contents of my stomach plummeted in despair.

“Sorry, Mom,” I called out. “Good night!”

The greeting went unanswered for obvious reasons. She wasn’t pleased with me at the moment. At

least she wasn’t coming to check things out for herself.

Despair quickly turned to anger as my gaze once again found the boy lounging casually on my bed.

“I. Will. Kill. You.”

“That threat’s pretty old. Uninspired. Lazy. Recycled. You can do better. Spice it up,” he said, lazily

brushing lint off his clothes. And onto my bed. Did he just imply I was an uncreative plagiarizer?

I arched an eyebrow, staring pointedly at the movement of his hand.

“I’ll crush you in a trash compactor and make soup out of your remains,” I adjusted. “Better?”

“Much.” He sneered, lips curling back to reveal a smile with too much teeth to be anything but

threatening. “And what is with you and making soup out of things?”

“What the fuck are you doing here this late?” I bit back. “Besides trying to give me a heart attack.”

“Heart attack?” He rolled his eyes. “Being a little dramatic, aren’t we? Besides, last I checked, heart

attacks involved less screaming and more... quiet dying.”

“Really, doc? I had no idea. Thank you for the lesson.”

“Is that sarcasm I hear?” His lips tugged into a wry grin. Like he couldn’t help himself. “Let’s not forget

who the scary big bad is here, shall we? You might want to be a bit more polite.”

“Scary big bad?” I arched a brow. “And I’m supposedly the uncreative one who recycles outdated

phrases.”

Even my grandma wouldn’t say something as dated as ‘scary big bad.’

He scowled.

I rolled my eyes dismissively and flew into action. In three seconds, I was by the bed, slapping his feet

off, then the rest of him.

“Let’s not make a habit of this,” I warned, staring pointedly at the bed.

“What would ‘this’ be exactly?” He fixed his shirt and straightened to his full height. “The heart attack bit

or laying on your bed?”

“Both,” I snapped. “Now get to work.” I inclined my head in the direction of the bed.

“What?” he asked, wide eyed with confusion.

“Fix it,” I expanded.

“You’re joking,” was his less than brilliant comeback.

“Not even a little.”

He arched one incredulous brow. I stared back flatly.

“You can’t be serious.” He scoffed.

I steadily met his gaze.

The first time he was in my room, he did the exact same thing and I had to fix my bed afterwards. I

wasn’t doing that again. He made the mess, he should to clean it up. I didn’t even like the idea of him

sitting on my bed, much less lying on it. The last thing I was going to do was encourage his behaviour

by cleaning up after him. Besides, our stalking agreement clearly needed ground rules. The first of

which would be no snitching and no sneaking up on me. The bed rule could come in second.

“Come on,” he sputtered. “You can’t be serious.”

I arched an eyebrow, maintaining my unyielding position. I was Avyanna Johnson. I wasn’t going to

lose a stare-off.

“No,” he declared, eyeing me as though I had lost my mind.

“No,” he repeated, though it seemed like it was more to convince himself than me this time.

I, for one, didn’t see what was so abnormal about having the person who scattered something fix it. In

fact, as far as I knew, that was how the world worked.

“It was perfect before you came in and laid on it. It’s only fair that you fix it,” I countered.

“Wh... wha... no. No. No, I...” he sputtered, shaking his head in denial.

“No, I’ll get right on that?” I supplied, a saccharine smile on my face.

“No, I won’t,” he refuted vehemently. “I’m... I’m not doing that. I’m...”

I arched one perfect eyebrow, tilting my head to the side as I waited for something remotely intelligent

to come out of his mouth.

“I’m the bad guy here.”

I couldn’t not roll my eyes. He couldn’t have come up with a dumber response if he tried.

“Really? I thought you were the tooth fairy. She breaks into people’s rooms and usually heads straight

for their beds too, you know?” My voice was laden with enough sarcasm to drown a small village.

“I’m... a criminal.” He stumbled over the last word, like it was hard for him to label himself as one which

was mind boggling given all that he had done so far. Between the illegal fight club, stalking an innocent

girl and breaking and entering, he was racking up quite the rap sheet.

He wore an expression that made it clear he thought ‘I’m a criminal’ was reason enough to not fix my

bed. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t see what one thing had to do with the other.

“I don’t need the reminder. Trust me, I couldn’t forget that even if I tried. Now, get to laying the bed.” I

nodded at the bed, an unyielding look on my face.

“What kind of girl are you?” he hissed, exasperation coloring his tone.

“The kind whose bed you’re about to fix.”

He scoffed. I stared him down.

“Fine,” he huffed, finally understanding that I wasn’t going to budge.

After making sure he was doing exactly what I wanted, I turned away.

“I’m going to take a bath. Feel free to not be here when I get back.”

He flashed me an acidic smile, radiating total displeasure. With my back to him, I smothered a reluctant

smile. He wasn’t so bad.

“You’re still here,” I needlessly announced on returning to the room.

To be honest, I hadn’t expected him to leave. If he decided to show up today despite knowing how late

it was, then there was no way he’d leave so quickly. It was why I had taken my PJs with me and

dressed up in the bathroom.

“Where you watching me from afar today?” I asked as casually as I could, taking seat at my dresser.

My eyes latched on his image in mirror, watching him like a hawk for any slip-ups. “That wasn’t part of

our agreement.”

“I wasn’t.” His denial was simple, straightforward, sure.

I glanced over my shoulder so he could properly see my exaggerated eye roll before going back to my

night-time hair routine. “Oh please, I felt stalked. It had to be you.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” he staunchly refuted. “What are you doing anyway?” he asked, curiously eyeing me.

He didn’t seem to be lying but if it wasn’t him, who else could possibly be stalking me? I shuddered to

think I had unwittingly picked up another stalker.

“Night-time hair routine.”

“Meaning?”

I exasperatedly rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it.

“Black hair isn’t like white hair. African-Americans have to take care of their hair carefully or it’ll go wild

on us. Also, black hair doesn’t grow as long as white does. Ours needs the encouragement. And

thanks to the curliness, we can’t be careless with their hair down. It tangles horribly. Apart from a lucky

few obviously.”

“Ohhh.” He nodded slowly in a way that made it clear he didn’t understand it at all.

Cue another of my infamous eye rolls.

“What next?” he inquired, curiosity coating his expression.

I heaved a sigh, debating whether or not to answer. It couldn’t hurt.

“I’ve just finished spritzing it with a water based hair strengthener that combats breakage and split

ends. Now, I’m going to apply some oil on it to lock it in,” I expanded, shaking said bottle of oil in air.

What I didn’t mention was that I was also sampling the product for a review I had to write for the

magazine. He wasn’t a girl. Chances he’d be interested in that nugget were slim to none.

“Weird,” he concluded, proving my point.

Cue yet another eye roll from yours truly.

I hurriedly finished with my hair and booted up my laptop. The game soon took over the screen.

“I don’t get you.” He frowned, hovering over my shoulder, eyes trained on the laptop screen as I began

battling a game character.

“I’m a complex being and your understanding is decidedly below average. It is to be expected,” I replied

offhandedly, my gaze never flickering from the screen.

My fingers flew steadily across the keyboard, pressing the keys as fast as most experienced pro-

gamers. I had my mom to thank for that. She inadvertently helped me get a high w.p.m. by having me

type some of her office documents when I was much younger. She’d die if she found out this was how I

was using the skill.

“You’re the most...” He clenched his jaw in anger, swallowing the rest of his statement between teeth

clenched so tight it couldn’t not have hurt.

“If it makes you feel better,” I graciously threw him a bone, “you’re also a contradiction.”

I could feel his gaze on my neck.

“You’re stupid but not totally senseless. Slow but not dumb. A criminal but not a brute,” I elaborated and

shrugged, taking my gaze off the screen for a moment to glance at him.

“Excuse me?”

I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the game.

“You have relatively okay manners for a hardened criminal,” I added.

“I’m not a hardened criminal,” he refuted.

“Fine,” I shook my head, “you have okay manners for a regular criminal.”

“I’m not...”

“A criminal?” I cut him off. “Because that ship has sailed, bud. Need I remind you that not only are you

stalking me which is a crime, you broke into my house, another crime. You also have a job that is

illegal. If I can even call it a job. Basically, you’re a poster child for criminal.”

He scowled.

“I thought you said you didn’t need to be reminded of it,” he muttered petulantly.

“You brought it up.” I shrugged, driving my opponent in the game to the ground with one of my patented

attack combos.

“Anyway” I carried on, “as I was saying, you seem almost normal if I overlook the unprecedented levels

of idiocy but you indulge in a predominantly male hormone-driven inclination to exert dominance

through violence more than most normal people.”

“That was both compliment and insult rolled into one.” His tone made it clear he was stumped.

“Walking contradiction,” I summed, as my opponent collapsed on the screen and then disappeared

leaving behind a hovering box. “Once you overlook the idiocy,” I added, unable to let the opportunity to

take shot at him slide.

I clicked on the box, smiling brightly at the content before I logged out and shutdown the laptop.

“I’m sure there was a compliment in there. Somewhere.” He frowned.

“Whatever makes you feel better.” I smiled, meeting his gaze.

He perched on the edge of the table as soon as I put my laptop away. I eyed him up contemplatively. I

had laid enough groundwork. It was time to do some proper fishing.

“You’re a rich kid, aren’t you? Old money rich,” I asked in an uninterested tone, like I was only asking

for the sake of making conversation. I had been planning this since he left after the panty incident but it

wasn’t going to work if I came off as too eager.

“Why do you think so?” he countered immediately, a suspicious light entering his eyes.

So he wasn’t as stupid as I assumed but no matter how good he was, I was better. I didn’t ask the

question out of the blue. There were indications that led to it and whether or not he wanted it, I was

going to get the confirmation I needed.

“Because it shows.”

“How?” His frown deepened. Ah ha!

He was a rich kid. If he wasn’t, he would have laughed in my face or said something with a similar

implication.

“You have good manners. I’ve been less than... polite to you on multiple occasions and you haven’t

once raised your voice or even tried to hit me which honestly, would’ve surprised me less given what

you do for a living.” I gave a half shrug and let my gaze stray to his fists.

He scowled.

“You haven’t though,” I continued. “Not because you don’t want to. I know you do because sometimes

you start to reply, to say something insulting only to stop before you actually follow through. That tells

me that someone taught you to have impeccable manners. Only old money does that.”

My eyes narrowed, watching him like a hawk.

I could tell I was right. He was a rich kid. It certainly narrowed my search but... what the hell was a rich

kid doing at a grimy illegal fight club?

“I could just be a decent human being.”

“A decent being who is also criminal, that’s original,” I mocked. “Let me guess, you also didn’t commit

any of those crimes. Or wait, you did it but you’re a criminal with a heart of gold. You did it because you

didn’t have any other choice.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? And funny too?” He sneered.

“I do. To both. I also quite enjoy having the last word,” I answered candidly. “Anyway, what really gave

you away is that Patek. It’s an old one. My guess is, family heirloom. Last time, it was a Swiss. Before

that, it was a Rolex. No matter how much your... ‘business’ pays, it’s not enough to afford this.” I tapped

the wristwatch as I got to my feet.

He scowled. I took it to mean I was spot on.

“Now, I just have one question.” I turned to face him, meeting his gaze squarely. “Why is a rich kid

involved with an underground fighting circuit? As a fighter?”

He averted his gaze, looking everywhere but at me.

Well, well, well, look who’s hiding something.