A Little Girl's Broken Tales

22**

When I woke up again, it was because of the delicious smell of waffles wafting up. I shook off Alex’s arm and scooted to the end of the bed. “Where are you going?” his sleepy voice asked.

Oh damn! That sexy sleepy voice was going to be the death of me. It was that type of deep and raspy voice, the type of sleep voice. It was gorgeous and doing things to my emotions. I took a deep breath and turned around. “Uh, I’m hungry,” I said and then cleared my throat.

He yawned and then got out of bed. “You shouldn’t be moving around too much,” he said with a hand over his mouth covering his yawn. “How are your ankles feeling?” he asked as he walked to my side.

My legs were dangling off the side of the bed. They still hurt, burning by some hidden fire, but it hurt nonetheless. I gave him a wavering smile. “It hurts, it feels like a fire,” I said and frowned.

There was no natural way that a sprained ankle could hurt so much. There was something in my room that hurt it this way. I discarded those thoughts as Alex stood in front of me in a clean pair of jeans and a white shirt. “Come, let me get you cleaned,” he said and carried me without any agreement from my side to the bathroom.

I brushed my teeth and hair and then did my business while he waited outside. It was embarrassing to go while knowing that he could hear everything with his extra sensitive hearing, but he swore he wouldn’t listen while I did it.

“Done,” I called out.

He opened the door and carried me to the basin while I washed my hands. “Let’s grab breakfast,” he said and carried me downstairs.

It was the first time that I saw the place. It looked like a normal two bedroom house. Yet, the entire house was wooden –the flooring, walls, furniture and even the decorations. I raised my eyebrows at it, but cleverly kept quiet about my opinions on the matter.

“Ah, if it isn’t our very own suicidal girl,” Antoine said teasingly as we walked into the golden kitchen.

All the countertops and cupboards were of a light wood and the chairs at the granite island was a washed out, chipped white.  Narrowing my eyes at Antoine, I didn’t notice the other occupants until Alex spoke. He had effectively cut off my reply to Antoine.

“Morning, Antoine, Vasya and my beautiful Alyona,” he said charmingly. After he placed me in one of the white chairs, he walked to Alyona who wore a tight fitting white dress which showed off all her curves. She flaming red hair was neatly tied in a fish braid that hung over her left shoulder.

I felt a pang of jealousy hit me as he cradled her cheeks gently and brushed his fingertips across her cheeks, right before he leaned in and kissed her. I bit my lip and turned away from their sickening sight. With a deep breath, I glared at Antoine. “Who said I was suicidal, huh?” I snapped.

He grinned and hit Vasya’s back with a hearty laugh. “You owe me a hundred pounds!” he said.

“What?” I said, upset that they were talking about a bet in front of me and ignoring my question. “What bet did you make?” I asked when no one cared to answer me.

Vasya walked passed me and handed his money to the grinning Antoine. “He bet that you would get feisty and angry if someone said that you were suicidal. Of course me believing that you were a lot more rational, I said that you would pretend to be calm while plotting ways to kill him,” Vasya said with a smile.

I started laughing. “That sounds like such a ridiculous bet!”

“Wait until you hear the other one,” Antoine said cryptically and smirked before he placed a stack of waffles in front of me with ice cream and syrup running down the sides.