Chapter 8

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Chapter 8

The sun from the small window illuminates the whole room and instantly as if it's my alarm, I wake up.

I feel groggy and energy drained, and then the events of what I've done yesterday hit me.

I left him. I sigh as I try to imagine what he is doing at the moment.

Probably sleeping. I tell myself. It is after all only six thirty in the morning according to the unkempt clock on the wall.

I can't help it when I automatically take another whiff of his scent from his t-shirt only to realise that his scent is somehow beginning to fade. I sigh again as I relive the memory of yesterday morning. His arms holding me closely as we made love--well to him it might've been just casual sex, since I had after all been there for that.

I touch my lips absentmindedly as I remember his scorching lips upon my own, and everywhere on my body.

And his tongue. I can almost feel it licking and nipping at my neck; moving down to my collarbone; trailing between my breast and teasing and sucking. I can almost feel that same tongue down to my navel; to that line of my pelvis, between my thighs.

I shiver and squirm suggestively, already feeling my insides moist up.

I should stop this. It won't do me good. I am the one who left him. There is no point in trying to torture myself with these explicit thoughts.

Last night I promised myself to clear my thoughts of Jeremy. Now I'm not doing myself any good by bringing these memories up. I remind myself the first step I have to do, and that is job hunting.

For a third time this morning I sigh once again. I have a feeling that there's a lot of sighing to come, at that thought I sigh.

I remove Jeremy's clothes from my body and then fold them in a neat pile before placing them on the bottom drawer which is empty due to my limited clothing.

Before I place them in the drawer, I take one last final sniff of his overwhelming scent. I am relishing in the aroma of vanilla, detergent and his cologne and also my sweat in the mix.

This is the last I will do this. I promise myself while closing the drawer. I then take out my long tee which I use as nightwear, since the tee reaches my knees. I finally get rid of the underwear from last night as I put it in my plastic wash basket. I put the corset in the drawer along with Jeremy's clothes and close the drawer, just as I lock away those treasured memories I shared with him.

I move toward the broken long mirror near the mattress but I refuse to stare at my reflection, instead I shift it to one side. It reveals a small metal container. It's decorated in mattered flowers and the paint is almost disappearing. The container has all my treasured belongings.

By treasured, I don't mean expensive stuff. No, just small things I have come to inherit from the eighteen years of my life. Inside it includes a photo of the fraud foster home where I spent dark twelve years of my life. Why I keep this photo? I don't really know.

Also in the container, there is a small number of jewellery I came to find from the streets; a fallen earring; a forgotten necklace or bracelet; and rings. I also keep my saved money, from all the pawning of these intricate treasures I found.

I just simply go to a pawnshop with a gold ring or necklace and I come out with thirty or fifty if I'm lucky. I've managed to hide this money from Greta all this long. I've never used it before.

But today with my plan on set, I'm finally going to.

"It's not much, but it's something," I mutter to myself as I place it on the secret pocket of my jacket.

I then tiptoe out of my room to the hallway. I faintly hear the snores of Greta coming from the room across. Good she's still sleeping.

I go to the bathroom and risk using her hot water as I take a five minute shower. The water feels so good, it reminds me of the shower I took at Jer--no don't start with him.

I turn the shower off immediately only to then start brushing my teeth.

I towel dry my hair since I don't have a hair dryer and then keeping the towel on my head, I run to the kitchen.

As I enter, I stop in my tracks instantly. Why?

Well, because there's a six foot four figure of man leaning against the kitchen counter as he engulfs on his cigarette.

He has dark floppy hair which reaches his eyes and instantly I think; bed hair. His eyes themselves look dark from where I'm standing and as they lock with mine, I almost cower away.

His expression shows an element of surprise at first as he takes me in and his dark eyes travel down all over me. I now wish I wore something more than this stupid t-shirt. After he has assessed me--more like undressed me from head to toe with his eyes--he finally meets my eyes while casually taking a puff of his cigarette.

"Who are you?" He frowns at me.

I stare. Am I not the one who's supposed to be asking him that? Since I was the resident of this so-called apartment. But with his tone, it's as if he's the owner of the place.

I scowl at him, my anger flaring, "Who are you?"

That makes him smile for some odd reason. His lips twitch into a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I asked first."

The nerve of this guy.

"Well I am the resident of this place, so I deserve some explanation." I retort.

His eyes narrow. "So you must be the servant girl she talks about."

I blanch. Anger rises up my throat as his words sink in. Servant!

"And so you must be one of her boy toy she plays with." I counter angrily.

He blinks suddenly, his eyes murderous as he dare takes a step towards me. His nostrils are flaring.

His eyes are in slits as he stares coldly at me and from this close I can faintly trace a colour in them. But they're not a warm blue gray from Jerem--I swallow. Stop. Why am I suddenly comparing him to Jeremy?

"I won't be insulted by a servant girl." He puffs smoke right onto my face and I resist the urge to cough as I internally choke on the tobacco that's now hitting my lungs.

"I'm not a servant." I hiss. How dare he? How dare he judge me?

He lifts an eyebrow. "Feisty one aren't you."

He smirks as he moves closer to me, invading my personal space and I back up immediately. This makes his smirk increase and then he laughs a cold chortle.

At this rate, my heartbeat has long since spiked up. All my instincts tell me that this man should be feared, they tell me to run as far away as I can.

"Ah, not so feisty then." He chuckles and grabs the hem of my t-shirt with one hand as he pull me towards him. The other finds an ashtray and dabs his cigarette.

I jerk away from him immediately, and I manage to break free his hold. But as soon as I move away, he has taken hold of both my arms.

Adrenalin has spiked in my limbs, and at this case my instincts tell me fight not flight. I thrash away from his hold, trying to free my arms but his grip is stronger.

"Let go of me." I whisper in a raspy voice. I intended to shout at him but as usual my voice betrays me.

He pulls me flush against him, and I feel the rigidness of his chest muscles but they have nothing on Jer--goodness must you bring up his name again.

I wriggle away, trying my best to free my arms. My brain seems to have shut down on the little self-defence I came to know from years of living in the streets.

He frees my arms, only to pull me closer as his hands move to the hem of my tee toward the back of my thighs. Suddenly, he grabs hold of my ass.

I squeak out because I'm not even wearing any underwear.

"No underwear." He says approvingly, his voice is somehow softer than the harsh way he was earlier.

"Ugh!"

I use my now free hands to punch and slap his chest but he feels nothing. And so thinking my thrashing won't work, I stop.

This surprises him as his intense icy blue eyes glare down at me. He stops groping at my bare ass but his hands remain there. I look up at him, trying to ascertain his change of mood. Then he closes his eyes, his eyebrows still scrunched up when he finally lets go of me.

He takes his lighter from the counter, and lights up another cigarette.

"Don't just stand there, gaping. Make me breakfast, servant girl." He commands.

This, this man. Who does he think he is? And to, to just touch me like that!

Suddenly it isn't fear that I am feeling towards him now. It is downright rage and hatred. For some reason, I hadn't been afraid when he had touched me. Why? I really have no idea. Something had told me he wouldn't have taken too far, even if I hadn't stop he would have stopped somehow.

Why am I having this inclination towards him? And why am I obeying his order now by making him breakfast?

I glare at him while he just stands there sucking on his cigarette like he owned the damned place. I didn't like this man, stranger or not. He gave off bad vibes.

He smirks when he sees me turning the stove on and I begin to make eggs. I feel his intense gaze on me the whole process of making breakfast.

"That smells good." He says appreciatively at the food. His voice mere inches near my ear and suddenly, I feel his whole rigid front against my back. I tense and momentarily stop breathing, anticipating his actions. In my head I'm screaming; Back off! Back off! I know that if I yell this out loud, he will just do the opposite and so I stay silent.

The tension is thick as neither of us says anything and then finally I feel him move away from me.

I breathe out a breath I didn't realize I've been holding.

Minutes later I give him a plate of bacon, eggs with toast. I watch him gorge himself, moaning on each bite. After five bites, he looks up and I look away immediately as I finish nibbling on my toast.

"Aren't you having any eggs and bacon?" He asks confused.

I glare at him, "Like you said, I'm a servant and servants don't feast on their master's food."

He blinks again as if I've struck him, but quickly as the expression came he changes it to a frown. However, the frown is not aimed at me for once. That's when Greta makes an appearance.

"Leyla, make me some too!" She demands already. Not even a good morning, how are you today, Leyla?

I sigh as I start by beating the eggs. I eavesdrop on their conversation while I make her breakfast.

"Did I sleep last night, I don't remember much?" Greta asks him.

"You passed out." He replies. I can detect a detached cold tone in his voice, as if he couldn't care less.

"I did?" She seems horrified. "So we didn't...?" She trails.

I turn over her eggs on the pan and then I move to a cupboard, sneaking a glance at them.

"No, we didn't."

I catch his eyes as he says this and he gives me an inconspicuous wink. I dart my gaze away immediately.

"Oh." Greta seems to be disappointed.

I take out a plate from the cupboard and I serve her the eggs and leftover bacon from before.

The plate in front of her alerts her to my presence and for the first time since she came in the kitchen, she gives me a knowing smirk.

"Where did you go last night?"

I start to blush but then I frown. Why does she care, she has never been bothered about my whereabouts? Maybe it's because of this guy sitting next to her that's making her put on an act.

It's too late to be bothered about being polite because of guests; he already knows I'm no one to you. I think.

"I went for a walk." I say acting to be distracted as I move to take her guest's finished plate.

I still don't know his name. I realize.

"All night?" She's skeptic.

"Yes." I say indifferently.

She frowns at me, not believing a word and I couldn't care less. She's never cared about what I do before, so why prolong the acts?

I notice that her guest has been watching over our charade with passive interest. His eyebrows arch upwards with amusement.

I give them both blank stares as I move to the kitchen sink and begin to clean the pots and pans.

I'm glad I've managed to rid the attention from me by moving out of their presence because now they pick up where they left off in their conversation.

"Do you want to do this again?" She asks him.

This surprises me. Not that I cared about her relationships before, but in the time I've been in this place long enough to observe her, she has never been with the same person twice in a day. She usually dumps them or they leave in their own accord the morning after.

I then realize that they actually didn't pull off their arranged night stand, so this might be why she wants to see him again.

"Hmm," is all he says and from the corner of my eye, I watch his form getting up from the chair and he does it so elegantly.

Elegantly? Where am I getting this from? Comparing such delicate word to this icy cold ghost of a man.

"I don't know." He continues. "I'll be caught up with stuff this week."

A simple excuse, even I detected rejection in those words.

"Aw," is all she says. "I'm sorry I passed out, I usually don't..." She trails again.

He doesn't say anything and I imagine him giving her a smile or maybe a stiff nod.

"I'm going now."

As he says this I finish with the last pot. I wipe my hands in the dirty dish towel and then I face them.

They are moving away from the kitchen to the hallway and I leave the kitchen too, intent on heading over to my bedroom.

But as soon as I step out of the kitchen, I'm met with an appalling image that will forever be engrained on my mind.

They are locked in an embrace. Not just a casual embrace but a full on, groping of private parts while their mouths eat each other. All I see are tongues ravishing each other, and Greta's nightgown slowly rising up to her thighs almost revealing her ass.

I look away immediately but not before I catch blue orbs opening and locking me in a gaze. One of his eyebrows has risen up as he takes in my surprised expression and then I watch as he gives me a snide look before winking at me.

That's twice he has done that!

I move away from the hallway quickly, almost running. I shut my bedroom door before I flop myself on the mattress. I begin by rubbing my eyes rapidly in an attempt to rid of the image I've just witnessed.

The audacity of this man!

Who does he actually think he is? And has he been trying to be flirty with me the whole time?

I snort to myself. Yes, he might be attractive in his own dark way. I can only admit this. But it's his arrogance and the I-own-the-damn-place sort of attitude and the rude way he behaved by touching me, that's a turn off for me.

He is definitely going in my bad books.

I wonder where Greta met him. Probably one of those over-the-top clubs she always goes to.

Well, I am glad that I am never to see him again. I'm not stupid like Greta. She might have not taken his too-soon-exit as a no but I had. And that told me that he had no intention of ever being with her, even with their goodbye kiss or whatever it was I saw in the hallway. Ugh, that image will haunt me forever.

Anyway it isn't my business what she does, and even if she sees him again it wouldn't matter to me. I have other important pressing issues to care about.

Issues like finding a job and trying not to think about Jeremy Lawson at every given moment.

I am quite glad for that whole breakfast, and pondering over Greta and her guest had quite taken my mind off him. Otherwise, I would have been wallowing in regret and self-pity.

I get up from the mattress and then take out my best-looking clothes I owned. All I have to do now is get dressed and go job hunting.

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