Chapter 7

• THE HEAVY EATER AND THE HEAVY DRANKARD
• I inhale deeply and slowly swallow the pizza in my mouth. His presence is sending unsettling chills my way. I can't criticize him for believing I am the weirdest so far, but he should know that he is the weirdest.
• "You want some?" I ask while trying to hold back my anxiety and awareness, doing my very best to dodge his eyes. I hate alcohol, but the same alcohol is making me love his eyes even more. And I don’t want any temptations. I am a mess from the heartbreak and all that has happened to me, and he is a mess from the alcohol he has consumed. We are two very bad combinations. A slight mistake and the temptation will strike us like two total fools.
• Instead of responding, he simply grabs a piece of pizza like a young child being forced to eat, and he nearly throws the empty glass on the table. Instead of scowling at his behavior, as I should be doing, I find myself watching him as he puts the piece in his mouth and takes a mouthful. After savoring the sight of his lips as he chewed the delicacy, my eyes are drawn to Adam's apple as he shovels the pizza down his throat. My!
• "What's your name?" I'm startled by his husky voice.
• I blink a few times in an effort to push the mesmerizing image of Adam's apple from my thoughts. "Ellie," I mumble softly, darting my gaze at him and meeting his.
• "Ellie? Just Ellie?" He inquires, his eyes not blinking as he scans my face.
• "Ellie Marie," I stutter, being cautious not to accidentally utter my last name.
• Everyone would probably be inquisitive as to why a whole Miss Riccarford would appear to be so flummoxed and disoriented, and I am definitely not ready to explain myself to anyone. Heck! If he finds out who I really am and why I am here, he may even throw me out of his house. I don't intend to stay at his house past tomorrow anyway, so this is solely my secret. He doesn't need to know. No one does.
• "Just, Ellie Marie? No surname?" He asks.
• Surname, huh? As long as I am hiding from my father, I don't even want to have his name attached to me. Throughout this time, I should try to live as just me, Ellie. That is what I want. To enjoy the euphoric glee of simplicity.
• "Yes. Just call me Ellie," I say.
• He stops talking once more and then immediately reaches for the bottle and takes a sip directly from it. I observe as he tightly closes his eyelids as the liquid passes down his throat. The sensuous action of his tongue licking his pink sugar lips after gives me a sense of déjà vu.
• ‘Oh, come on, dear self! You never loved your two-year-old boyfriend as much as you are for this stranger. Avoid temptation. Avoid this sin. This is dangerous!’
• I agree with my intellect this time, without a doubt. Its description of him as a sin perfectly depicts him. He is just like a righteous sin, and I cannot allow myself to be drawn into it. He is a temptation that I need to avoid.
• "Haven't you had enough to drink for today? I mean, how many bottles have you drowned so far?" I ask as he sips on his favorite drink. It ought to be his favorite. I am starting to sympathize with his intestines. He in general as well.
• "Not much," he says, gulping the rest of his dear alcohol in one go and throwing the empty bottle on the carpet.
• I was hoping he would say more, but it looks like the only response I will be getting to my lengthy sentences will be those two annoying gibberish words. He inhales deeply and lets out a protracted sigh from his mouth as he looks up to face the ceiling. He runs his palms through his face but plunges them when I speak.
• "How much is your ‘not much’?" I query furiously as he parks himself in a figure-four posture, his left arm resting behind me on the backrest.
• "Just a few bottles."
• What kind of answers is he giving, huh? It would be better for him to just tell me not to ask a damn thing. Jeez!
• I fix a long, intense gaze on him, and our eyes remain locked on each other without anyone attempting to pull away from the stare challenge. He appears to be in turmoil. It seems like someone is drowning their sorrows in alcohol. However, what could a man like him be so troubled about? Matters of the heart, maybe? perhaps, work?
• I thought I was bearing the problems of the entire nation, but him? It seems like he is carrying much more weight than I am. What could that possibly be, though?
• Anyway, I break the eye contact, opting to mind my own business. He has his own problems to deal with, and my own cup is overflowing. I can't manage to incorporate his into my list. What for anyway, given that we will part ways tomorrow? We should both carry our own cross and bear the weight of it individually.
• I slouch my back on the backrest, but my head ends up resting on his arm.
• Shit! I slowly bring my gaze to his, and we make eye contact once more, in as much as I wouldn’t have wanted. It's not like he had stopped ogling me. We are so close. So dangerously close that I can smell his potent pheromones and alcohol combo as we inch in closer and closer. Pulled by an irresistible magnetic force,.
• These sexy, icy, with a tinge of vulnerability, bottomless orbs, these alluring lips, the seductive, rich scent...
• "Who are you?" I speak as our lips brush, realizing I haven't had a chance to ask his name.
• How odd, right? This isn't like me at all. I hope I am not going insane. What if.…
• "Ouch!"
• As his face falls on mine, I scream and wrench my face away. His entire body collapses on my frail self, despite my best efforts to hold him steady.
• What the heck!
• I jerk backward, and he lands on my thighs. My spine tingles, and I shudder.
• What on God's name…
• "Hey!" I call while I pat his face; fear and worry causing me tremors, but the only reaction I get is his breathing. "Hey! Hello! Stranger? Hello! Stra...hello?" I give up trying. The helloying isn't working at all.
• Goodness me! What kind of mess did I just run into, huh? I should probably drop this crap on the floor and run out of his damn house. I have enough on my plate. I don't need to babysit a drunkard, for heaven's sake!