Chapter 8

• UNGRATEFUL JERK!
• I emerge from the kitchen holding a tray of pancakes—the only food besides eggs that I know how to cook—along with tea and sliced fruits. I cast a quick glance at the stranger, who is still sleeping like a baby on the couch. He ought to be happy that I refrained from acting on the insane impulse to leave his house last night after dropping his inebriated ass on the floor. I changed my decision solely for the reason that if only it wasn't for him, I would have spent my first night in this city on the chilly, unsettling street. Just that.
• Despite my best attempts, I was unable to move his heavy ass up to his room. Not even a muscle of it. I had to softly lie him on the couch and retrieve a duvet from his room. That was the least and also the most that I could do. Additionally, he ought to be aware that last night was my worst night ever as well. I freaking could not get any sleep due to my frequent awakenings to check on him. As if he were my responsibility. Sigh! Not even forty winks. The night was one hell of torture for me, and I am so furious at him for that. He should also be aware that I don't tolerate crap!
• I toss my wrath aside and proceed to the dining area to prepare the table. I gently place everything on the table and make my way over to where he is dozing. I take a moment to observe his exposed physical features before summoning the courage to call him. He didn't even turn once during the night. He remains in the same position in which I laid him. What a sleepy headjerk!
• "Hey!" He grunts and peels his eyes at the first call. At least he did not subject me to repeatedly yelling his name, like last night. Sigh! Wait, I still don’t know his name because he was knocked off before he could introduce himself.
• He snaps up from the comfortable couch that served as his bed and kicks the duvet away. I backed away and let him wipe off the fictitious eye logs. There wasn't even the slightest spot of one, though, according to my eyes.
• "Good morning!" He greets me while standing up.
• As if there is anything good about this morning! The punishment he meted out to me overnight still makes me feel queasy, but I doubt he has the foggiest notion.
• I breathe out an irritated sigh. "Good morning," I respond to his greetings while he stretches his muscles. That is what he gets for sleeping on one side the whole night.
• "I will order breakfast," he says, starting his way upstairs.
• "Wait,” I stop him.
• Is this guy for real? There is nothing like ‘thank you’? I mean, doesn't he remember anything at all? Like how he blacked out on me, falling on my lap? Not even how he ended up sleeping on the couch? Gawking intently at him, I honestly cannot tell whether or not he does recall anything from last night. It is difficult to read his eyes and his reaction now that he is so sober, contrary to last night when he was wasted. And I hope it is not arrogance, because, hey, that is another sh*t I don't take from anyone. I would have left him to die of alcohol last night, but I didn’t. I worked my butt off to carry him to the couch and extended my care by covering him with a duvet. And he does not appreciate any of that?
• "Yes?" He queries.
• "I made breakfast for you... For us, I mean..." Before I embarrass myself any further, I pause to follow his gaze as he peers over to the dining area, maybe to ensure that what I am saying is true. He draws his eyes back at me with a bewildered expression. Precisely, a quizy gaze, as if he does not believe I can even boil water.
• "Okay. I will be with you in a minute," he grabs the duvet and half-runs upstairs while I walk back to the dining area and serve breakfast.
• In about ten minutes, he settles across from me on the table, looking so fresh. Did he take a shower in ten minutes? That was freaking quick! I take about thirty minutes under the shower, and that is only when I am in a hurry.
• We ate breakfast in absolute silence. He is not complimenting the breakfast, and frankly, I must admit that I am getting upset. He is getting on my ass with his silence and unappreciative nature. I am well aware that my cooking skills are not pleasing. I can merely count the few times I set foot in the kitchen when I was growing up. At campus, I only survived on takeaways and junk. Even after I started living alone, I never developed a passion for cooking. I was so constantly preoccupied with a gazillion work-related things that I could not picture myself fighting with utensils in the kitchen even for a minute. So how in the world am I supposed to be good at this, right? But everything aside, I made an effort to cook for this jerk, something I never did for anyone, and I won't get even just a thank you. What kind of being is this?
• "You look scary when you stare like that."
• Well, thank God he spoke, but still, it is not what I want to hear. I am staring because he deserves the stare. "It costs nothing to say a simple ‘thank you’, you know? Or am I your maid that you were expecting me to cook for you?" I mumble, and he smirks after recovering from a little shock.
• "Ooh! Forgive my manners, please. Thank you. Nice try, but you seriously need lessons. Lots of it, to be frank!" He says. So damn apologetically. He does sound like the word remorse exists in his vocabulary. He is not even looking at me, for freaking sake!
• Not just lessons, but freaking serious lessons? Just how terrible does he find my cooking? Or is he just being a dick in the ass?