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(05) Catching Fire

(05) Catching Fire 

There are those very rare instances --maybe once in a generation--when the stars would align and form such a force that would either cause the Earth's rotation and revolution to completely change course. Or would just ignite something absolutely wonderful that opposes the bitter reality. Just like how I’m annoying Liam.

"Shut up," Liam growls, glaring at me. I let out an obnoxious laugh.

"Never! I defeated you!" I yell on the top of my lungs. I have been boasting for over thirty minutes now ever since I beat his sorry arse. We’re still in the gymnasium, sitting in the bleachers with water bottles in hand. And with Liam's dignity shattered.

He huffs. Swipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, standing up.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"You're annoying," he says simply, trudging down the stairs.

"Oh, I'm annoying now?" I stand up and follow him.

"Yeah." Before I could even reach him, he’s out the door, slamming it hard. He's not a sport, obviously. And really, I don’t care. Couldn’t bring myself to. I beat him, and that was the important part.

I turn the heater and lights off before I quickly get out of the huge room. Wrap my arms around my body. The heat that flushed through my veins, spiking my muscles with adrenaline, is gone now, so I’m left bare to the nipping coldness.

I still hate him for making me wear stupid light-weight clothes.

I don't find Liam in the mini-condo when I reach it. He must be in his room, or having a stroll about the Mall, probably letting his poor ego recover. My stomach churns and growls, begging to be fed. Playing tennis and shattering Liam’s ego sure do take the toll on somebody’s body.

I waltz over the fridge and scan its contents. Liam won't be mad if I feed myself, would he? No, wait, I don't care. I don't care how he would react if I take some food from his fridge.

I’m hungry. And no one’s going to stop me.

I see some eggs, lasagna, pizza, and other microwave-able food. My eyes wandered over the contents. Thinking hard.

Until I spot a pack of cookie dough. Yes. I wrap my fingers around the cold, elongated body that squishes under my grip. Marveling at it, I make my way to the table, closing the door of the fridge with my foot. It's nearly Christmas and I’ve just defeated the great Liam Payne. Definitely a time for cookies. When I was much younger and my parents were still happy, they used to make me and Greg these delicious cookies shaped into different crazy stuff. Giraffes, stars, light-bulbs, you name it.

A small smile spread over my face as I rip the blue packaging open, placing the mushy contents on a flat plate that I’ve taken from the dish rack. I take a slender butter knife from the first drawer of the counter, and another flat metal plate. I use the plate to flatten the cookie dough. Gently, as expertly as I can, I begin to carve shapes into the thin spread-out cookie dough.

I don’t know. I just really like crafting stuff with my fingers.

Minutes later, after mixing all of my excess strips of dough and then doing the whole process of shaping all over again, I’m done with no dough to spare.

I place my cookies in the metal plate and place this inside the oven, which I heat to 180°. After washing all of the utensils I’ve used, I sit on the chair and prop my elbow on the glass table, sighing. I stare blankly at the whitened outdoors.

I sorely missed my family, no matter how annoying they may be. Mom and how she really cared for me, my brother and how he would be so bossy and annoying. And my Dad. Especially my Dad. I haven't seen him for over ten years. And of course, how could I forget Louis? He's been my best friend since forever. And it’s just so sad that I won't be able to have Christmas with them. Instead I’m stuck here. Stuck with a jerk.

I wonder if they’re thinking about me right now. Are they going frantic that I'm gone? Would they even notice?

How about Liam's family? Do they even know that they're son is here? Do they care? I shake my head. Why would I care?

The door opens, and I turn my head instinctively, my thoughts dissipating. It's not like somebody else is trapped here.

Right?

Liam enters only in his jeans. No top whatsoever. His fit, chiseled body is covered in sweat, his now flat hair clinging to his forehead. His toned bare chest heaves as he collapses on the couch and closed his eyes. He could’ve actually been sexy if he weren’t so annoying.

"Like what you see, Horan?" he remarks loudly, a smirk plastered on his face. His eyes are closed still.

"You wish, Payne," I scoff. And in all honesty I really want to tear my eyes from him, but for some shitty reason I can't. My eyes remain glued to his face, how he looks so breathless and so hot . . .

"What's that?" His head jerks up, eyes shooting open, and he looks at something on my side. "My kitchen!” He springs upwards with a speed that would've been impossible, and my eyes widen as I see puffs of smoke erupting from the oven. My cookies!

I want to jump and run towards them, but Liam grabs my hand and pins me against the opposite wall. "Stay there," he says, and he’s so close I could feel his breath skittering on my lips. Then he disappeared into the black smoke that has spread amazingly fast. I can see the outline of him pushing the windows open, the cold wind drifting inside. Lucky for me, Liam is here. Note the sarcasm.

He rips off my/his sweatshirt, and when I say rip I mean tear the fabric from the front. I feel the bitter coldness nip at my exposed torso.

"Hey!" I shout.

"Sorry. I need this, babe." He again dives into the darkness, using my/his torn piece of fabric to drive the smoke away.

After minutes, the smoke completely dissipates, and Liam closes the window. Thank heavens. I stare at the blackened cookies that he’d retrieved from the oven, disappointed.

"Yummy," Liam says. I roll my eyes at him, though I don't say anything, nor look up at his bare torso. First of all, I'm gay (no lie), and seeing a guy naked is just awkward. And second, I’m half-bareg, too, and if I look at him it would make the situation real for me.

I hear a barely audible sigh from Liam. I wonder briefly what it was for, but then I feel his presence disappear and walk into his bedroom. And somehow it does’t really matter anymore.

My cookie.

I look at them all black and burned and useless. It sucks when you’ve worked on something with so much effort and it just gets ruined. And I was kind of hoping that I would be able to at least reminisce those simple happy times of my childhood, most especially now that I couldn’t stay with my family for Christmas, back when we were a happy family and nothing in my tiny world was wrong or imperfect. But I guess not, what with the irony of my burned cookies brought, telling me that just like them, nothing will ever get back to where they used to be.

"Here," Liam ever so politely shoves a black sweatshirt into my chest, and I clutch it with a hand. I look up at him. He's wearing a plain grey tee now. Thankfully. I feel awkward as I slip in the sweatshirt with Liam's eyes trained on me. Once it’s wrapped comfortably around my body (it isn’t made of thin fabric, thankfully), Liam takes my hand.

"Where are we going?" I ask as he tugs on me.

"The carnival," he answers with a smug smile.