Chapter Four - Clothes 100% Off

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"That's super toxic. Like, psychologically toxic behaviour. He's trying to get into your head. Burn it." Nat says down the phone, her voice reverberating off of the four walls of my bedroom, so loud it's almost as if she's right here with me, lecturing me for what I'm sure has been an hour.

After getting over my initial trauma of the 'return of the belongings' incident, and following the hour and a half where I shamelessly cuddled on to an inanimate object trying to understand what sort of game he is playing, I speed dialled my two girlfriend in the hope that they can give me some direction on how to deal with this. Seemingly, I forgot that these two are practically Jekyll and Hyde; polar opposites in looks and personalities.

"Maybe you should call him and see what he has to say. There might be a reason; maybe he wants to apologise." Alena suggests more timidly than our other friend. Neither of them are forceful, they'll support me no matter what, but while Nat would try to smack delirium out of you, Alena would prefer to just encourage you with a supportive smile. I sigh, sweeping a second coat of polish over my fingernails, nodding subconsciously at the voices that escape the speakers of my phone that lays beside me.

"Absolutely not. He had his chance to apologise. Besides, if he wasn't such a humongous prick, he'd have nothing to apologise for! You do not message him; you do not call him." Natalie retorts, her voice menacing. I sigh again, knowing that she's absolutely right. But Alena's suggestion is just so tempting, and what better way to initiate conversation than calling about his jumper that accidentally ended up in my possession.

"Chaps, I don't like Adam, but maybe an apology will help you get some closure." She's hardly finished talking before Nat is interjecting.

"I am telling you, any contact regarding this will just prove to him that you're still caught up. He'll know he's found his way under your skin and all this work you've done getting over him for the past four months will be completely for nothing. Chaps, you're not stupid. You know that." Natalie says. I groan, knowing she's boxed me in. She's completely right in what she's saying.

"You're right Nat. I'll leave it." I hear a humph of satisfaction from the phone and can't help but grin at her childish tendencies. "He just couldn't have picked a better day." I find myself mumbling.

"Why, what happened?" She asks.

Alena laughs and answers for me. "Hendrix, what else?" The pair chuckle as a frown finds my lips. Alena proceeds to explain the happenings of my rather eventful Monday. "After Hendrix doused her in smoothie, Chaps did what Chaps does best and went full murder mode on him. So of course, after a full blown fist fight in the cafeteria, the both of them got a weeks' worth of detention."

Nat laughs obnoxiously, then turns her conversation to me. "I thought after all this time, the two of you would've just fucked and got it over with. The sexual tension is suffocating." My scowl deepens as I shoot a nasty glare at the phone, as if Nat will feel the burn on her side of the line.

"Natalie. There is no sexual tension involved. This is simply a man and a woman who hate each other so much, we swear to be nemesis till death parts us." I claim haughtily.

They don't seem convinced, erupting into a crescendo of groans and scoffs, but I ignore them. "She slapped him with pizza after he complimented her boobs." Alena proceeds to inform, triggering a bark of laughter from Natalie. I scrunch my nose up at the pair of them and their insolence.

"Yes well, when you're both done laughing at my expense, perhaps you'll help explain how I'm going to survive the next twelve weeks." I continue then to explain the ultimatum Elijah and I received from the principle and Mrs Ford, and how it involves a robotic baby that will monitor our behaviour. How quickly it's demands are met, how careful we are, if we rock it and soothe it. Basically, by use of a point system, it records our abilities in parenthood. Of course, our grades rely too on the essay and report, but that doesn't mean I'm any less stressed.

"It's simple isn't it?" Alena says blankly, followed by a pregnant pause. "You get over yourself and start acting like an adult. This is for your future Charlie, get a grip on yourself girl." Natalie seconds her statement but not before adding her own spin on the subject.

"Or you could sleep with him and make an actual baby. I don't know how you resist! He's just so – ugh, wow." I roll my eyes and grimace.

"I thought you'd decided you were a lesbian?" I ask her sharply, not at all fond with her fawning over my arch-enemy.

"I am! Well, I think I am. But regardless, I'm allowed to appreciate the packaging." She tells me. I can't help but laugh, shaking my head. "Anyway, duty calls; I have a date."

Alena finds her voice before I can. "A date? Like a proper date?"

"Well, if a proper date involves two hot people getting their end away in each other's naked company, then yes. A proper date." I snort with laughter, hardly able to reciprocate her goodbye as her line goes dead.

"I better go too." I ask Lena why, but the line stays silent. It's only the ticking of the time that tells me she hasn't hung up. "I've just got some stuff to do." She eventually answers, albeit unconvincingly. Alena is the worst liar, and I know she's lying now. Only, before I've got time to probe her, she's hurrying out a goodbye and hanging up the phone.

With my nails freshly painted, and my mood exceptionally lifted thanks to my two reliant girlfriends, I trudge downstairs in the search of some food only to be pleasantly surprised when I see my dad sat at the breakfast bar, piles of paper to either side of him, glasses perched on the end of his nose while he looks at his laptop screen with scrutiny.

"Hey Charlie." He said without shifting his eyes from the screen.

"Hi Craig." I muse, resting my head on his shoulder as I inspect everything laid out in front of him. "What'cha doing?" I stretch out melodically.

"It's classified," he taunts, taking a hand and covering my eyes playfully. My dad works in forensics for the police. His job hours are very antisocial, usually as and when a case needs him, so it could be any hour of the evening, or twelve hours each day for a fortnight. Ezra has always idolised our father, which is why he's training to explore a similar field. My dad has a fantastic relationship with all his children, but I'm his baby girl, and I love when he's at home. I bat his hand away and plant a kiss on his cheek.

"What's for dinner?" I ask as I take to exploring the cupboards.

"Shit, with sugar on." I shoot him a look which only evokes a grin from him. "I'm not sure. Your birth-giver is still working, and I don't think I can be bothered to turn the oven on..." He trails off.

I look at him, arms folded with a brow raised. "So, a takeaway then?" I ask.

He groans melodramatically. "Fine, you've twisted my arm. Go find out what Ez wants and keep in mind that I want Indian." I roll my eyes at his behaviour, sticking my tongue out at him as I walk past, jogging up the stairs to Ezra's room.

"Ezzy," I bellow before I've even reached his door. "We're ordering Indian, what do you want?" When no response comes, I knit my brows together. Much like me, my brothers aren't one to turn down food, much less a takeaway. "Ezzy," I say softly, knocking on his door. I'm almost certain I hear a sniffle from inside the room and take it upon myself to let myself in, praying to the Lord above that he's wearing pants.

I'm exceptionally pleased to learn that he's completely dressed, less so when I recognise the puffy eyes and blotted face of someone that's being crying. He turns himself away from me, wiping his eyes with haste, but the evidence has already been identified.

I scramble over to him, crawling over his bed to engulf him is a hug. His body racks slightly as he fights back a sob. It takes a moment, but he reciprocates, hiding his face in my wild mane of hair as I pat him supportively on the back. "What's wrong Ez?" I coo.

He shakes his head against my shoulder, sniffing slightly. "I just miss her." He mumbles in a voice so broken, it near pulls tears to my eyes. "I'm sorry." He adds.

"Don't be sorry Ezra. I know how you feel." He pulls away, rubbing a rough arm over his face before plastering a fake smile on his face. "Look at us eh, emotional singletons." He laughs, barely. I wish I were better at emotional support, but the reality of the situation is, I suck at it.

I never have the right words to say, or know how I am supposed to act. So after a moment of seeing how uncomfortable I am, he laughs again, dragging his arm across his face to wipe it clean of tears. "What's up?" He says.

"We're getting Indian, you want anything?" I ask him.

He sighs, pretending to ponder. "Chicken bhuna, lamb bhuna, prawn bhuna, mushroom rice, bag of chips, keema naan,"

"and nine poppadums." We complete in unison, quoting from the show, 'Gavin and Stacey'. He does smile now, a real one, wiping his eyes again.

"Alright Smithy, come down when you're ready." I ruffle his hair and clamber off of his bed, flashing him a quick grin before I leave.

It aches my heart to see my older brother that way. Out of all five of us, Ezra is certainly the most casual – treats everything like water off a ducks back, so to speak – but he's truly heartbroken.

Frankly, I never liked his ex. She was a high and mighty princess. She was demanding, materialistic, entitled. Ezra is the entire opposite to that, and I know they always say that opposites attract, but the pair of them just weren't compatible in the slightest.

Consequently, I wasn't exactly thrilled when they began renting an apartment together - a two bed one, because despite it never having been explicitly mentioned, I could tell the pair of them were looking to get one cooking in the oven, if you catch my drift.

When they broke up, a result of too much time together and all of these problems finally being unavoidable, I was particularly pleased, but not at the expense of my brothers emotions. He's clearly taking it hard. He must've really, truly, loved her.

Once back downstairs, I commit to the liberty of ordering Ezra, my dad and I an Indian, making sure there will be enough left over for my mum when she returns. It's not very often she's at the office this late, not unless she's got a particularly finnicky case due to go to court. My mother is a divorce attorney and she has a strangely twisted enjoyment in watching people have to split their assets with their other half, usually in an unamicable ordeal.

She often jokes that she's got a private account away from my dad, filled with money that he'll never get his grubby hands on should they divorce, but I do sometimes wonder if she's joking. I know that my parents will never separate though; if you can manage through two and a half decades of five children without tearing one another's heads off, I'd say you're meant to be.

My heart plummets then as I realise that I'm going to have the torturous experience much sooner than I'd like, partnered with a certain dickwad that certainly is not my other half.


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