You and Me (Plus Everyone In Between Us)

Big Ole Wad of Cereal

I couldn't sleep because I was still thinking about the competition.

Not my performance. No. Ray's performance. I couldn't stop thinking about it, because she was somehow watching it for the last two hours, rewinding every moment and then pausing to analyze it. Somehow, Ray had missed out on the revolutionary invention of headphones.

"Can you please round this up so that I can sleep? Or at least put on some headphones?" I finally asked, pulling my head out from under the covers.

"I review my performances," she said dryly. "I'm not trying to get eliminated."

"I'm not sure if you heard, but the competition was hours ago," I said. "There's not much to do except hope and pray."

"Whatever," she scoffed. "I'll be finished soon. I left my headphones at the studio."

I huffed and left my bed and into the extensive hallways of the mansion. Everything was silent, even though nobody was sleeping.

I had to admit. I was scared too. But whatever happened, happened. I think the judges liked me enough to sway people to vote for me.

I found my throat quite dry so I made a path down towards the kitchen on the clear steps, walking slowly this time.

The lights were still dimly lit, so someone was probably still awake. Maybe we would have a conversation.

When I came downstairs, I kid you not, Andre was there.

He froze in the middle of eating a bowl of cereal. He was wearing red plaid pyjama pants and a tight white shirt that compressed his, well, chest, revealing tattoos that snaked up his muscled arms.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I shout-whispered.

"Eating cereal," he clearly remarked, jutting his chin at the cereal. "Duh."

"Okay, but why here?" I wondered frustratedly. "Don't you have your own house?"

"Three actually. I have my own house, the one my family lives in, and my vacation cabin in Banff," he smirked. "But this house is special. It has so many memories. Sometimes I come back to clear my head."

"Can't you clear your head in like Banff or something?" I joked. "Why would you need to come back here?"

"I have a love-hate relationship with this house," he admitted. "There's trauma and good memories in here too."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh," I mumbled. What was I supposed to say to that? "I really believe you're following me. First, you spill coffee on me, then you show up where I'm staying. Are you tracking me?"

"What if I was?" he asked, eyes lowering on me. I leaned back.

"I would call the police on you," I muttered, staring back at him. "No one's above the law. Not even pretty-boy Andre."

He snorted out a laugh. "So you think I'm pretty?"

My eyes widened. "No!" I frantically deflected. "I mean, you're not ugly, but I mean—

My words fizzled out as he began to laugh. "Ezra thinks I'm pretty!"

I huffed in frustration. "It's not like it's the first time you heard it before. That's probably the least raunchy thing someone has ever said about you."

He snorted out a laugh. He seemed to laugh inwardly like he was trying to get it over as quickly as possible.

I walked past him into the cupboards and grabbed a glass of water before filling it with the tap. Andre had taken it upon himself to pour cereal into the bowl, and then milk (the wrong way).