The Art Of Seduction ✓

|02| Punish

W a r n i n g. 

Swearing ahead.

the girl in the picture is what I picture Amber to look like.

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"To expect life to treat you good is foolish as hoping a bull won't hit you because you are a vegetarian." 

Roseanne Bar

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THE IDEA OF making Kaden eat his words sounded good in theory. But it definitely didn't sound as good when the sound of a drum beat came on. I groaned pushing my face into the silky texture of my pillow. It didn't muffle the sound enough, I pulled my warm blanket over my face as though that would make a difference.

It didn't.

After tossing and turning for several minutes, I opened my eyes. My eyes rested on the blue clock in my room. The needles of the clock glowed yellow. 

03:15

I groaned again. We've got school tomorrow, couldn't his drumming wait? Who played at night anyway? 

The urgent beats drummed faster and faster. I closed my eyes, in a weak attempt to fall back asleep. Who played the drums in this forsaken hour? and worst of all, why was I the only one who'd wake up? 

I envied my parents whose room was far from mine and further from Kaden's.

Finally I couldn't take it any more. Having just risen from sleep, I was far from attractive, with my hair curly and messy, wearing an unflattering but comfortable light cotton pyjama's. It didn't matter, because this was my bloody annoying neighbour. My fingers touched the latch on the window, turning it open and pushing the wooden frame out as I glared at the distorted shadow across my room. 

Kaden Nowell next to never closed his curtains, I wasn't surprised to have a clear view into his green coloured room. I wasn't able to see him play, but I could see a shadow of him from his window. I picked up my phone from it's charger and I dialled his number.

It would be ridiculously stupid and very futile to shout at him with all the ruckus he was making. The sound of the drums stopped. 

"Is this a booty call?" His voice sounded like the crackle of fire on a cool summers day. I could hear the amusement in his voice. This wasn't the first time it's happened. Every time I called, he always thought of a fresh quip. 

"Go to sleep," I demanded. It was pointless telling him to stop playing with his God-awful drums because I've tried before.

"Not now, sweet pea."

"Fuck you."

"I thought I made myself clear at school, I'd never fuck you."

"You're so fucking immature you know that." I heard him move from his drum set, sticks hitting the clash loudly. I scowled moving my phone away from my ears. Then I see him, he wasn't wearing a shirt.

The idiot probably thought he was attractive or something. "Oh shut up sweet pea, are you bitter about the dare I turned down today? Wondering if I regret it?"