Monday, February 11

Our usual routine continued every day. Even visiting his home became a troublesome chore. I have to walk five miles just to get his mocha, and instead of drinking his, he'd always steal mine.

This was the third day I visited the Boyce household, and ever since I got there, there was a sense of depression and lifelessness in it.

It was quiet, with no sign of life except his. It must have been lonely, but why should I care? He said he had siblings. I hadn't even seen any of them for the past three days I was there though, so I’m assuming they’re either adults or gone for the most part of the day.

"Jeez, you're late. And what with that outfit?" he takes my cup, carelessly downing it as I entered the devil’s tavern.

"Why do you always take my cup?”

Normally I’d keep my cool, but lately, I’m becoming more irate, “Aren't you scared to get gum disease or cooties sipping from my straw?"

He shrugs purposefully slurping to get on my nerves. "Does it bug you?"

I scowled, "Yes!" obviously it did, and it was my drink. A girl gotta have her share of coffee if she's forced to spend her morning with this loser.

He reached for the second cup, and slurped that down too. His life’s calling must be to annoy me.

"That's why."

I just had to ask.

"Anyway, what's wrong with what I have now?"

I mean it’s just cleaning his house, does it make a difference if I throw on a hoodie and leggings or an oversized t-shirt and jeans when it’ll be dusty anyway?

"You're visiting my house at least make an effort to dress nicely. Like a skirt or something."

Skirts were totally out of the question, I'm not risking myself by wearing that when he's around. Even though it was mandatory at school, I wouldn't wear one for the sake of wearing one.

No. Non. Nada. Nuh-uh. Ie. Ani. The list goes on.

“Well,” he slumps onto the sofa, “get crackin’. Unless of course," he wiggled his brows, "you’d rather do something else-”

Nope.

Not happening.

I turned away pulling my hair into a messy bun when suddenly, something tugs on my blouse.

I blinked. It was the miniature version of Brett with big eyes and chubby cheeks.

I smiled back at him.

"Hey ugly girl." he snorted and I frowned. What a rude squirt.

I hated him already.

Brett laughs, mocking me. Two more brats appear, tugging on both ends of my blouse, twins - a female and a male.

"You gotta be kidding me,” I rubbed my eyes, “there's more?"

"Mikey is the brat who called you ugly,” he points at Brett junior, “and that's Tamara and her twin Harry. "

Kicking his feet up the sofa’s armrest he says, "didn't I say I have siblings, as in with an ‘s’?”

Well, I assumed one or two siblings but three? That’s a nightmare.

“The other two ran off, leaving me with them" Great. That adds up to a total of six Boyce siblings and his father and cousin. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a crazy ex-girlfriend out to seek revenge.

He picked up the remote with his toes, easily flexing it towards him. He must be a ninja.

A mobster ninja.

"Kids are really cute and fun to be around,” I commented, but in truth, I think they were a living nightmare and brutally honest. But I wasn't going to say that out loud. “I always wanted siblings."

Surveying the trio, I concluded that they all looked alike, the little girl Tamara looked like Brett if he was a girl, her twin brother Harry a slight carbon copy of his brother Mikey. All seriousness aside, they would have looked like sweet little angels had I not known they're probably corrupted by the crook over there.

I glanced at Brett who was sprawled on the sofa.

"Well, you're in luck. Daycare’s closed. Congratulations on birthing three rug-rats."

My belly lurched. “I so did not birth them!”

Now that I think of it, where are his parents?

"My mother left my father long ago,” he began as if it was common knowledge, reading my mind. “My dad is obviously busy, would rather have his children take care of themselves than a nanny because he feels that, and I quote ‘independence starts at home’."

Well he’s not wrong. I know what it's like to carry my own weight. My parents couldn’t expect me to drop school and everything just to travel back and forth. Besides, I had enough of having no permanent address. I prefer Rose County. It's been my home ever since. But that's enough about me. I'm pretty much surprised about that. Isn’t there a stereotype that rich kids were spoiled to the core? I mean sure their house was quite big, a little fancy, but it wasn’t over the top as I thought it would. I never even seen their maids! If they even had one. Though I recall Mr. Boyce saying a maid found his stash of porn… I mean a stolen picture under his mattress.

My heads spinning just thinking about it.

"I've tried staying late here,” he must be pulling my leg, he probably hired these kids to pull pranks on me, “and not once had I seen any of your siblings until today!"

"They mostly live in the daycare.” He shrugged yet again, “my workaholic of a father practically lives in his office, and the other two brats live wherever their feet take them."

I mean if I was related to him, I could see why. I felt kind of sad for him though.

I know what it's like to live alone, but that’s because I’m used to it, added that I had a great support network across the street. But to leave minors… deprived of love and affection from direct family… no wonder he’s so cold. It may explain why he’s so bitter. But who was I to judge?

The more time I spent with him the more I knew about him, not only the bad sides but also the good ones, or was I just barely scratching the surface?

"Since they left them to you, shouldn't you be taking care of them?" I inquired. I guess I sounded stupid because he laughed as if it was the stupidest question he ever heard.

"That’s why you’re here, to help me" He flips himself over facing the other side of his sofa,

"Good luck," he waved a hand, "you're gonna need it."

How rude.

“What do you mean I'm going to need it?”

Silence.

"Hello?" I tried again, but he was faking a snore, tuning me out.

I stood their mouth agape. When he refused to move, I shot him daggers of a glare, as if the gesture would burn a hole in his back, but to no avail. Tamara tugs on my shirt again

"Hungry" she’s balling my shirt on her fists, a cute little grumble resounding inside her small belly. She’s such an angel.

"Okay,” I say, pulling her up against me and made our way to the kitchen. “Let’s get something to eat."

Setting little Tamara on the countertop, the two other Boyce siblings was already climbing up the ladder of their high chairs when I arrive.

Searching every inch of the kitchen with no luck whatsoever, I resigned to the fact that there wasn’t anything edible other than sugar and water.

I wondered how they’d survive anyway. If there were any instant noodles, they’ve must have eaten all of them because they left its disposable cups on the sink to rot. Pots and plates were unwashed, milk cartons all dry, and the fridge was a nightmare.

I’m scrubbing the sink, rambling on as I blocked out any thoughts on what the dried out bile was against the stainless steel. If only Jason was here, so I could rub it on his face that I wasn’t the most hopeless human being on the face of the earth.

A chorus of fists pounding and stomachs rumbling came flooding around me. Tamara’s crying, apparently her twin punched her arm in a knuckle punch challenge. The boy who called me ugly, Mikey, is resting his chin over his palm looking as bored as ever.

"You guys must be starving,” I say, tossing a hand cloth over the counter and he gives me a nasty glare. Yup, definitely Brett’s carbon copy.

“Where’s the food?”

Waving my hand around I reply with, “My thoughts exactly”

“Well?” The boy was curt.

“Well, what?”

“We want food!” He groans, chanting it over as he pounds his fists on the table. The other two joins the chorus babbling the same three words over and over.

What a cheeky bunch.

Wrestling the apron off my neck, I glance at my phone. The Boyce manor was located around a residential compound five blocks from the next town. Homes with white picket fences lined both sides of the road and the closest store was three blocks down.

I’m not sure if the kids were allergic to anything but I was assuming they’d probably like bread all buttered up with chocolate spread. I mean, you can’t go wrong with that combination. I don’t think instant noodles was a healthier choice either, so I opted for the easiest and budget-friendly items I could buy: loaves of bread, chocolate spread, and peanut butter and jelly just to be on the safe size.

When I got back and got them settled, I realized, it was a bad idea.

Okay to be fair, I made sure that they had a healthy dose of peanut butter and jelly by bribing them a spoonful of Nutella per three slice (who knew they had a monster of an appetite!)

Really bad idea.

To my horror, it only took them a good fifteen minutes to ruin the whole house. Crayons were scattered across the floor, drawings on the wall and the beds… oh the beds… they’re animals, heathens!

Their energy didn’t seem to expire. They’re still bouncing on the beds, screaming. The neighbors are throwing rocks on the window, yelling, “Keep it down!”

Hours went by and I don’t know how it happened by I ended up becoming a human horse, all of them refusing to get off my back unless we went on a little tour around the house. Huh, little tour… not!

We climb upstairs, crawled in all rooms, down the stairs again, around the backyard, back inside again…

We then played this game they apparently made up called warriors versus zombies where they had these plastic swords they’d stick up my zombie ass making ‘pew’ ‘pew’ sounds all the while attempting to save their princess.

We re-enacting the tale of sleeping beauty. I was supposedly a witch who poisons a girl with an apple. Then I had to wrestle them, except Tamara into a bath because they decided they wanted another round of Nutella but started a food fight instead. Mikey catches me off guard with a plastic tarantula and I fall in the tub face first and soaking wet.

By then I’m fuming with rage, they must have been guilty because they were cautiously peeking their heads through the door as I sat in the tub, burying my head between my legs.

Mikey arrogantly apologizes and they offer me a dress, which was surprisingly my size.

By three, we’re all beet. Tamara fell asleep on my chest while the other two curled against my sides. The last thing I remember was reading them a story about a prince cursed to be a frog, whose only hope is to find a princess who’d break the curse with a kiss.

I was wearing a vintage gown, barebacked with diamond sequins plastered delicately on the gown's neckline, lower hem, and waist. Floral sequins clipped it's the frilly kilts. My raven hair is curled and pinned up with a few wisps floating on the sides of my face. As for makeup, detail didn't matter much as I was wearing a mask much like those seen in masquerades.

I stood under the spotlight of a dark ballroom, hands covered with laced gloves both intertwined by someone’s bare ones. Following his hands, my eyes met a stunning half-masked man in a sturdy Americana. I couldn’t make out his face except for the ebony threads of his hair combed back with gel and eyes as blue as the sea.

This time a smirk rode his lips as we glided across the ballroom to a soft tune, probably Yiruma. He gives me a twirl and I couldn’t help but feel enthralled by how coordinated we were.

As the tune peaked to its climax, our bodies collided. The heat his body expelled was vaguely familiar. Our eyes met those glassy eyes of his locked with mine. Our faces drew closer, and just as our lips touched…

My eyes flew open. Brett's face was inches away from mine. I blinked, hoping I’d just imagined it, but I wasn’t.

He retreated by the footboard, crossed his legs under him. "They were troublesome huh?"

"Runs through the blood I believe."

"I'm surprised you managed to calm them down." He says those sapphire eyes looking somewhat soft, "It's rare, but you're the only one who got them to like you."

"Hearing that from you scare me a lot." I chuckled, stroking the bangs off Tamara's forehead, smiling to myself as to how cute she looked sound asleep.

He shrugged, "You'd make a good wife someday."

Caught off guard I dragged myself up against the headboard, accidentally waking Tamara. She was crying and I instinctively hugged her close, lulling her back to sleep.

"You're a natural at this." He teased, leaning back on both his hind arms behind him.

For some reason I made the mistake of staring at his lip, flushing as memories of the dream came flooding in.

"Did you just kiss me in my sleep?"

"You really want to know?" He cooed, eyebrows jerking up and down.

"A part of me says yes and another says I shouldn’t"

"Go on a date with me then." He pitched in, right off the bat.

“What’s that got to do with anything? It’s a simple yes or no question!”

"I'll tell the whole school you have an affair with your teacher"

There he goes again with the blackmailing. If it wasn’t for Jason I could care less as to what he does, but someone’s career is involved here, and I wouldn’t want to risk it.

"Fine," I sighed. "But only because you forced me into this. This date doesn’t mean anything. Heck it shouldn’t even be a date"

“Oh? Then what is it then?” He’s grinning from ear to ear, satisfied to have his way yet again.

“Lunch!”

“Lunch?” He echoed back with uncertainty, “a lunch as to what?”

“Acquaintances, what else could it be?”

“I don’t know,” he’s straddling over me, like a tiger driving its prey on a corner.

I’m shrinking into a ball with Tamara against my chest, his weight as he preyed on, sinking on my sides. His face was so close to my ear, I could feel his heavy breathing tickling my neck. “I still have your underwear”

He pulled back, laughing so hard he fell back on the floor.

“Stupid pervert.” I muttered slapping the obvious blush on my cheeks, “give it back.”

“Finders keepers love,” he winked and fell back down laughing,

“Finders keepers.”