She is Homophobic || FreenBecky [Completed]

Chapter 15

The whole Mr. Worrapon drama finally settled down, and Freen managed to move on. I didn't play a big role in her recovery, though. I just advised her to focus on things that brought her joy, which she actually did.

I believed that things would finally calm down after that. However, peace was short-lived as Professor Kim roped me into helping Freen with decorating for an upcoming event.

I'm studying law, and this isn't really my expertise. But Freen insisted on having me help, so I couldn't really refuse.

I arrived at the venue to find Freen busy putting up decorations on the stage all by herself. It seemed like no one else wanted to lend a hand, probably because of her reputation for treating people poorly. Yet, strangely enough, she still had a horde of admirers, mainly captivated by her looks, wealth, and intelligence. It's baffling how they can be so blind.

"What should I do?" I asked, my tone conveying a mix of reluctance and determination.

A smile lit up Freen's face the moment she spotted me. She descended the ladder and approached me, leading me backstage where various props lay strewn around.

Were we supposed to clean up all of this? Seriously? Is this my reward for being kind to her? Maybe I should've just stayed out of this mess.

"Don't worry, more people will join us soon," Freen assured me before leaving me behind backstage.

So, here I am, stuck wondering what exactly I'm supposed to do. Haul stuff onto the stage? Do I look like a stagehand? I didn't sign up for law school just to help decorate a stage. Seriously, what the heck?

After pondering my life choices for a few minutes, I decided to take charge and organize the items needed for the stage, including table decorations and arrangements for the ballroom. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of event was happening here that required a disco ball.

My phone suddenly rang, snapping me out of my contemplation. It was my brother.

"What's going on?" he asked as soon as I answered.

"Organizing stuff," I replied tersely.

"Becky, seriously, what are you doing with your life? Are you even working?" he chided, prompting an eye roll from me.

"I'm always working, Richie. What do you want?" I shot back with a hint of annoyance.

"We're ridiculously wealthy, Becca! If you go anywhere in England, people will recognize our family name. You don't need to work," he argued, his frustration palpable.

"I never said we were poor, Richie. I just choose to work. Besides, that's Mom and Dad's money, not mine," I retorted.

"It's the same thing, Rebecca Patricia Armstrong!" He exclaimed. "After this semester, I'm picking you up. Got it?"

"Whatever, Richie," I muttered before ending the call.

If he's so eager to spend our parents' money, he can do it without dragging me into the mix. I'll earn my own money using my brain.

"Hey, Armstrong," a guy greeted with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows while lifting a box I had prepared. "I'm Saefan."

"Satan?" I quipped, raising an eyebrow in return.

His vibe was off-putting. He seemed like the type to flirt with anyone who crosses his path.

"Saefan," he corrected with a chuckle. "Wichai Saefan. But folks usually call me S." He winked at me, which only deepened my distaste.

Unfortunately, he failed to notice my reaction of disgust.

"I'll stick with Satan," I muttered under my breath, returning to my work.

***
After a considerable amount of organizing, I finally finished my tasks and emerged from backstage.

I spotted Satan engrossed in a conversation with Freen, who appeared equally engrossed in his company.

Deciding to give them their space, I bravely climbed a ladder on my own. Just then, another guy approached, accidentally bumping into the ladder and causing me to take a nasty tumble.

To my dismay, he didn't even attempt to steady the ladder; he simply fled the scene, leaving me nursing my injuries.

"Seriously?!" I cursed through gritted teeth as pain radiated through me. "Ugh."

"Call 911!" Satan's panicked voice echoed, drawing a glare from me.

Freen removed the ladder from on top of me and dialed someone on her phone, her hands trembling as she waited for a response. When she got through, she urgently explained the situation and requested immediate assistance.

"The paramedic are on their way. Stay calm," Freen assured me, keeping her distance to avoid aggravating any potential fractures.

I scanned the area for the guy who caused this, but he had vanished. He probably fled, assuming I wouldn't remember his face.

Paramedics arrived and helped me onto an ambulance that rushed me to the hospital. Freen accompanied me, despite protests from other professors. It wasn't her fault, but guilt weighed on her.

"Why the tears?" I inquired, noticing her teary eyes. "I'm not on my deathbed, you know."

"I'm not crying, you dolt. These are tears of joy," she retorted, wiping her eyes.

Right. Because trembling hands always accompany feelings of relief. I rolled my eyes.

Since she was right beside me, I extended my hand, which seemed to steady her nerves. She shot me a concerned glance, and our fingers intertwined.

"I'll stay with you," she pledged, her gaze drifting outside as the hospital neared.

I stifled a smile and nodded, and she squeezed my hand reassuringly. Upon our arrival, she let go, allowing the nurse to take over.

But her worry was palpable.

I'm sorry for causing you concern, Freen. Next time, I'll take better care of myself.

a/n: I'm not going to update my Seducing My Ex's Girlfriend for the meantime. So, yeah. I hope you're also reading this. T.T

PS. I'm re-writing the ending of SMEG that's why :)