Blues

15. Retribution Blues

His body indurates, his eyes widening and his lips nearly disjoining in utter shock. He raises his hand to brush his cheek, as if unable to apprehend what just took place. He humorlessly laughs once, before he clamps his mouth shut, dragging a deep breath into his lungs, and I have a feeling he's been holding his breath for long. His eyes latch me immobile in my place with a cold, imperturbable look, and my heart commences a sprint in my chest. I acted on impulse, unable to conciliate my demons and my unstoppable temper. Both of them were battling with my vacationing logical side, and as usual, the wrathful part won. We keep an eternal staring contest, and his expression never falters or morphs into another. He looks like a werewolf before shifting, on the edge of flaring up. He parts his mouth to talk this time, and his voice comes out toneless. “I hope you have an explanation for that.”

I stand my ground, refusing to let his intense gaze intimidate me. Instead, I stare back, cocking my head to the side, and recalling what my co-worker told me. It works just fine to rejuvenate my anger anew. “I just received a call from my co-worker telling me that I'm fired. I hope YOU have an explanation for that.” I fold my arms, and uncontrollably, my feet being to tap on the ground in vexation.

I witness it, realisation sinking in, and I ascertain that a part of me was expecting, or rather hoping that Brenda was wrong, and the thought clobbers me so hard like thunder impinges in the coldest of nights.

I was starting to trust him.

I don't know what's happening to me. My life has become crazier ever since I met him, and I have no single clarification to it. A lot of off-putting events are befalling my life, and I'm becoming more sullen. Does he see the impact his presence has on my life?

And to make things worse, I was beginning to confide in him. What an idiot. I never learn.

He shifts on his feet, looking around the room and examining his paintings as if it's the first time he chances upon them, but I know that he's evading my gaze, and what a fool he is, I'm not someone who takes avoidance well. I grab the painting palette from the table, before slapping it flat across his hard chest. “You don't get to ignore me, asshole.” 

That works, making his head whip to leer at me. His lips press into a straight line, his eyes saturated with indignation. “What the fuck was that for?” He yells at me, before looking down at his blue-coated tee, scowling.

I advance toward him, ready for a fight. “You don't get to yell at me, either.” I yell back, looking at him with feral anger.

He scowls back, gritting out, “Jesus, you're a fucking savage. Next time you'll grow a dick and a pair of balls.”

It stings, but I cover it up so well. He wants his comment to spark a reaction, as if he could deal with my anger if It really actuates. I won't give it to him, though. Instead, I plaster a sarcastic expression on my face, smirking. “Well, I'd only compensate for your lack of skill in that department.”

His eyes glint, but not in anger as I presupposed. He cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow teasingly at me. “I assure you that I'm very successful in that department, Candy. Wanna give it a try?”

My eyes widen momentarily, before I catch myself, fixing a repulsed look on my tomato-red face. “No, thank you. I'm not one of the sluts who let you use them for one night and get rid of them.” I spout, trying to camouflage the hurt I felt yesterday when he abandoned me in the hallway like I'm nothing but one of them.

His smirk deepens even more. “Careful Candy, or I may just assume you're jealous.”

I vent out an aciduous laugh, raising my eyebrows in a bantering way. “Then your ego needs a quick-fix diet as soon as possible.”