It was 11:23am and I still hadn't gotten out of bed. I was scared to face Peyton after her explosive temper yesterday. After she had yelled at me and stormed up to her room, we hadn't spoken for the rest of the day. I had busied myself by cleaning the house, researching all that I could on ENOV-18, and FaceTiming the girls. When the sun began to set, I made dinner using what I could find in the cupboards. I ended up making some sort of Indian curry with rice and left it at her door just like I had with lunch. I figured today would be no different; I would be the one cooking, cleaning, and making any sort of effort. I kept thinking back to what my mum had said about Peyton being in a strange home away from her family. Could that be why she was acting this way?

By the time it was reaching midday I told myself I had to get up. I crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to have a shower, seeing Peyton's towels crumpled on the floor once again. I picked them up and placed them on the rack, then spending a lot longer than I normally would have in the shower. I was actively avoiding Peyton and I wasn't scared to admit it, like I had been scared to admit that I wanted to impress her.

I changed into a comfortable matching lounge set, made up of a fluffy jumper and high waisted shorts. I tied my hair up into a bun and checked my appearance in the mirror. The bruise that I had previously been covering with concealer was a dark purplish blue and I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn't be able to mask it. I didn't bother, instead sighing at my appearance heading back down the hallway. The door to Peyton's room was open and I peeked inside, seeing the bed empty and the covers thrown messily to one side — she was awake. I gingerly made my way downstairs to face my fate for the day, and I couldn't help but smile inwardly at what I was greeted with.

Peyton was outside with Dennis, wrestling playfully with him on the ground. His tail was wagging as they both scrambled for the toy, Peyton beating him to it. She threw it down to the other end of the backyard and laughed as he chased after it clumsily. I didn't want to ruin her good mood with my presence so I crept into the kitchen and made some sandwiches for lunch. I placed them in a container and left them on the kitchen bench, walking quietly back up to my room and closing the door. I had no desire to talk to Peyton today - not after the way she had treated me yesterday.

I could faintly hear through my closed door as Peyton and Dennis came back inside. I heard the scraping of a dining room chair against the floorboards and assumed she was sitting down to eat the lunch I had made. It suddenly hit me how hungry I was, not having actually eaten anything since I woke up. I waited until I heard Peyton's footsteps walk up the stairs and into her room before making my way down to the kitchen, only to find the empty container sitting on the dining room table.

Okay...so I hadn't specified that some of the sandwiches were supposed to be left for me, but I figured she might've been polite enough to assume that was the case. There were four, after all. I sighed, placing the dirty container in the sink and walking back upstairs, planning to confront Peyton about her food intake. Her door was open and I peered inside, expecting to find her lying on the bed or exercising again. What I didn't expect was to see her rifling through a cardboard box full of my dads things. Anger surged through me, and my somewhat calm demeanour vanished completely.

"What do you think you're doing?" I raised my voice.

My presence startled her and she dropped what she was holding back into the box. It landed loudly and I heard the unmistakeable sound of cracking glass. She froze, as did I.

"What makes you think you can go through these things?" I yelled at her, storming over and snatching the box away from her.

I reached inside and took out the broken photo frame, running my fingers tenderly over the jagged edge of the glass. The photo was of my dad and me at my first ever soccer game when I was five years old. I had scored two goals and when the game was over he had put me on his shoulders and told my mum to take a photo to 'capture the start of my professional soccer career'.

"I didn't know you played soccer," she said, ignoring my anger.

"There's a lot of things about me that you don't know, Peyton," I snapped, placing a blanket back over the box. "Don't go through these boxes again."

"Well they're in my room, you can't expect me to just leave them here..."

"Yes I can, because this isn't your room. It's my home, and if you can't respect that then you can talk to the army next time they come over and figure out a way to go back to your own house!" I yelled.

She stared blankly at me, taking a step back from the box and folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"What happened to your face?"

"Maybe you don't remember, since my existence seems to inconvenience you, but you hit me in the face with a soccer ball," I rolled my eyes, preparing to storm out of the room.

"That huge bruise is from the ball?" She sounded genuinely shocked, and I thought I could possibly sense a hint of guilt in her voice.

"Yes, why?"

"I just...didn't realise it hit you that hard," she said quietly. I didn't know how to respond to that so I simply turned around and walked away, not wanting to spend another minute in her company. How dare she snoop through my dads things behind my back? I had never felt so much anger in my life.

Peyton didn't re-emerge from the spare room for a few hours, and I was grateful for that. Dennis, however, stayed upstairs with her, and I couldn't help but feel lonely being downstairs on my own. I was used to being at home by myself when my mum was at work - I always had Dennis to keep me company, but not since Peyton has come along. He was so good at sensing my sadness and never left my side whenever I was upset — could he be doing the same thing with Peyton? Was he sensing emotions that I couldn't see?

The news brought more updates on the virus, including the updated death toll which had risen to over fifteen thousand. I switched it off, unable to listen to any more. I knew it was probably important for me to be up to date on everything that was happening, but I couldn't handle it. I told myself that if it was necessary for us to know, the army would inform us in person.

I called my mum and let her fill me in on what was happening at the hospital. I was relieved to hear that she was safe, but devastated to find out that a family friend had tested positive and was now under her care in the ICU. She told me he was doing well, but I still couldn't shake the anxious thoughts that flooded my body. As I had done each day since this lockdown began, I texted my friends to make sure they were all healthy and safe.

Peyton still hadn't emerged from upstairs by the time the sun had set. I called down Dennis and fed him dinner, making myself a microwave meal to eat. The lack of Dennis' company must've drawn her from her room as she soon appeared at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the empty kitchen bench.

"Where's dinner?" she asked monotonously.

"There isn't any," I said flatly, "You can heat up a microwave meal. They're in the freezer."

"I don't feel like a microwave meal."

"Well then cook something," I rolled my eyes.

"I...can't you cook something?" she scoffed. Did she seriously expect me to cook every meal for her?

"I'm not your maid, Peyton. Do it yourself."

"Geez, fine. No need to get snappy with me," she huffed, dragging her feet to the kitchen.

I held my tongue, refusing to give into the temptation to absolutely rip her to shreds and yell at her for every single thing she had done wrong since entering my home. The hopeful moment I once had that she might possibly be a decent person had long vanished, replaced by pure rage. I turned my back towards her as my rage intensified every time I laid my eyes on her. I couldn't wait to just go to bed and write today off as a terrible day.

"Wheres the pasta sauce?" she called from the kitchen.

"There's none left, I used it when I cooked the spaghetti," I answered. My reply was met with a loud clang, followed by angry footsteps as Peyton stormed into the living room.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me there was no pasta sauce left?" she growled.

"I didn't know you were planning on making pasta!"

"Well now there's a whole packet of pasta wasted!" she yelled.

"Well, you should've checked to see if we had sauce before cooking the pasta..." I knew that my response would only anger her further, but I no longer cared. Gone were the days that I cared about her opinion of me. Gone were the wishes that she would like me.

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that, McMann?"

"How am I a bitch?" I scoffed, standing up from my couch to come face to face with her. "I've cooked every single meal, I've given you a bed to sleep in, I've let you wear my clothes and use everything in my house as if it's your own."

Once again she seemed taken aback at my sudden ability to stand up for myself. The day we first started assignment felt like months ago, when in reality it was only the beginning of this week. I was brought back to the first time I ever stood my ground; seeing the shock on her face was both terrifying and motivating.

"All you've done is complain. Like I said before, if you don't want to be here then there's the door!" I yelled, pointing towards the front door angrily.

She stayed silent and I took that as my cue to leave. I stormed angrily up the stairs and slammed my door shut, throwing myself on my bed with a thud. I burst into tears once again, sobbing into my pillow. I knew that being in lockdown alone would be terribly lonely, but I would've much preferred it over this. I had always been a big believer in everything happening for a reason. My beliefs were tested when my dad passed away, but I soon realised that if that had never happened, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I wouldn't have met my incredible friends, I wouldn't have such a close relationship with my mum, and I wouldn't have my strength. Of course, I wish my dad was still alive, but I can see some good that came out of a horrible situation. It felt like I would finally stop believing that everything happens for a reason, because what could possibly be the reason behind being stuck with Peyton Mitchell?

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AUTHORS NOTE
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have a few hours of free time in here, but between calling my family & friends and social media, I don't have much time to read or write. I'll try writing a few paragraphs here and there to get a chapter together. I have 19 chapters pre written so once I get to Chapter 20 updates will most likely get slower (if I'm still hospitalised then). Hope you're well, don't forget to vote & comment!