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He brushed past me and carried the bags through, dumping them on my battered kitchen counter.
The muscle-man body would explain his capacity to go at it all night long with whoever he was banging, more often recently than before. Sometimes it was an all-nighter.
Jealous much, the devil on my left shoulder whispered.
Not really. I liked sex, and sex with Adam had been good. But going about it all night or jumping at each other like wildcats had never been my thing.
He was walking around my cramped living quarters, looking around, picking up my stuff and examining it. I didn’t like him in here.
He picked up the framed picture of my parents. “This your mama and papa?”
I nodded and moved further into the kitchen, standing behind the counter. Common courtesy was to give the man something to drink, but all I wanted was for him to get out of my place as soon as he could.
“What are you?”
“Ugh?”
“Papa is brown, mama is white.”
“Oh.” That was a weird way of putting it. Was it because English clearly wasn’t his mother language? “My dad is Indian, and my mum is English.” Was.
He came to stand in front of the counter, still holding my frame, and squinted at me. “Is that why you’re so pretty?” His gaze flicked from my breasts to my eyes. “You have pretty eyes.”
“I guess….” It was suffocating inside my tiny apartment, with his colossal body blocking the air to my lungs. He was standing too close to me. My tiny body was way out of proportion to his large one.
“You have green stuff in it.”
He leaned over the counter and put himself closer to me. His gaze flicked from my eyes back to my cleavage.
“Prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
I knew the specks of green in my eyes were as rare as a good day in my life. When brown eyes were so dominating, I had the luxury of having brown with a sprinkle of green. Yet I had a distinct feeling he wasn’t talking about my eyes. My voice was frozen in my larynx. I cleared the croak creeping up my throat. “Thank you for helping me. I’d better get started on dinner before Adam comes home.”
“Okay.” He put the frame down on the counter and made his way to the door. I followed him so I could lock it behind him. He stopped and twisted, making me almost bump into him.
“Everything still okay with your man? I thought I heard something last Tuesday.”
I felt my brown skin going hot. Had I yelled so loud that everyone had heard? I was the epitome of politeness, but I had been so damn mad at Adam. It was a miracle that I hadn’t hit him with my laptop. If he hadn’t gambled my inheritance, I might have. Except now, even my old laptop was one of the only luxuries I could afford.
“I had some friends over. Sorry about that.” The lie slipped out easily.
He squinted his eyes at me. I didn’t think he believed me.
“If you need any help, you call me, okay?”
I nodded, hoping he would not be the person I had to go to for help.
CHAPTER THREE
DIVYA
Icleaned up after my microwave dinner. There was a time in my life when Friday night announced the beginning of the weekend to be celebrated. Now it just found me alone and sad, lacking in any kind of joy. Nothing more depressing than spending weekends alone while the rest of the world seems to enjoy theirs. Frustration whirled inside me as I busied myself with cleaning up. I was so tired of this pent-up anger, pain, and frustration that I wanted a holiday away from myself. I really wanted to go back to the person I was a year ago… but yet again, today had not been a simple day.
I needed to move on. Find a job I could manage while studying, which would hopefully pay for my studies, my apartment, food, utilities, and help me pay off the mortgage to my parents’ home … Perhaps I could even move back to my previous apartment. I loved that place, and it came with the added advantage of nicer neighbours. Another thing I had given up, to adjust to my new financial situation after their death.
A job that would solve all my problems. Easier said than done. Finding one that could cover all my expenses was nearly impossible. Leaving aside the time, I would need to follow a four-year BS degree in fashion. My eyes coasted to my Mum’s sewing machine in the corner. Fashion had been my dream since the time I was in my teens. A dream I was adamant about fulfilling, especially after I started researching my Indian heritage. I loved that side of fashion even more. I wanted so much to bring about a collection that combined Indian ethnicity with the cutting edge of the Western world. Just like the beautiful couple that my parents had been, my Indian dad and my English mum. It might remain just that now. A dream.
I was up to my elbows, scrubbing away at pots when the doorbell rang. Drying my hands, I went to open it while shrugging off my annoyance. Nine was late to make a house call. But then again, I wasn’t open to any house calls. At nine in the evening or morning.
