FAR AWAY FROM HOME (PAUSED)

𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎

        Nathaniel. R. Miller.

••••

I want to crunch his nimble fingers with my fists like it was chips. But I can't. Rather, I keep my fingers curled into a fist as the tailor or fashion designer - whatever he is, I don't care - uses a tape to inspect my body in the guise of taking my measurement.

"Alright. We should have his size," he states in his accented voice and steps away from me while hanging his measuring tape across his navy blue vest and black shirt. Finally.

I dust off the imprint of his fingers off my shirt as I step down from the uplifted small circular floor I was on. Being displayed like a peacock and assessed like an artifact for the past hour has got me irritated.

"Indeed? That's perfect." I hear dad's overly excited voice call out behind me as I walk towards the blue one armed couch offered to me. How irritating. I want to crush his voice. This time the vocal cords producing it.

My eyes are on my silver iPad I had abandoned to get measured by the stuck up tailor for the suit I would be wearing on a wedding day. It's relatively silent so I'm at peace, knowing there's been no disturbance.

The instant I sit down, I grab the iPad and scan through for any latest update because it's the only thing that's keeping me from dying of boredom and being arrested for violence.

Nothing.

"Do you like this style?"

"It's cool," I answer without looking up and going to my coding site. The tune being played in the speakers is horrifyingly tasteless.

"Do you want it adjusted?"

"Sure." I scan through different projects I'm currently working on looking for any error that will make me busy so as to block out this annoying tailor's voice.

I find nothing. It's times like this I hate the fact that I don't leave room for errors.

"But sir," I snap my eyes up to glare at the tailor who's narrow lips are pressed together, his onyx eyes hardened from annoyance. His gelled black hair with a streak of silver in it and well ironed attire, not to mention his character shows that he's used to having the upper hand.

I am glad to see him like this.

"I will handle it." A curt voice states and I shift my eyes to see Dad remove a tie he was trying around his neck. He turns to back the mirror he was facing and looks at me.

I raise my brows at him. Let me see you try. He takes in a breath before looking me in the eye with what I suppose is meant to be a warning eye. I want to scoff at his show. Is this for his friend or the tailor?

"Nathani—"

"Nate." I correct him.

He blinks at my correction but continues. "Do comply. This is one of the best designer shops and it won't be fair wasting their time."

"I clearly answered."

"But you didn't even see what you were agreeing to."

I shrug, feeling suddenly bored. I'm not interested in having a conversation with him anymore. "What else then?"

His face actually brightens up, and a smile forms on his lips. It's sad, really. How easily he gets hope. The instant he rolls his head to speak to the tailor, I bend my head back down to my iPad.

"Which colour?"

"Blue or black?"

The annoyance in their voice -  both the tailor who asked for the colour and Dad who gave me options - makes me smirk.