Love Triangle

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cook couldn't study Saturday so it left us with Sunday to wrap things up for the exam. When I arrived to his house, he did not guide me to the dinning room but lead me upstairs to his bedroom.

"Uhh..." I trailed off.

"I'll keep the door open," he reassured, a smirk on his face.

Is he teasing me or should I be afraid? Those are the questions. Against my judgement, I follow him into the room. If there was a word to describe Cook Atwood's room it would probably minimalistic and chic. As if when the decorators decorated this house, they decorated his room as well. His room was the epitome of greys, blacks, and whites. There was a big king size bed in the middle with black linen bedsheets and designed black stripped pillows. The only other furniture was a longish white black desk with his mac desktop on it. What offset me the most was the one long wall in his room which was covered with four big sliding mirrors. I wondered how much closet space one needed? And those mirrors. Waking up every day facing all of those mirrors. Could it be intimating or a form of appreciation and narcissism? American Psycho?

"Is your room always this clean?" I asked.

"Nah I just cleaned for three hours before you came," he said while walking towards the open glass windows.

"Really?"

He scoffed, "No. It's always this clean."

"What I meant was that... it's chic and big... and modern." I was stumbling on words I couldn't find. I did not want to offend him. It is a room. His room. It may seem impersonal to me but it may be personal to him.

He laughed again, "You hate it. I can see it in your eyes judging me. What is the mirrors or the lack of clothes and posters on the floor? Did you expect me to be this scummy and dirty prick you imagined me like?"

To that I was shook. I might have imagined that. I didn't care most of the time to be offending Cook but even I know my boundaries. "I'm sorry," I said and I actually meant it.

He nodded his head, "I'll go grab another chair."

As he walked towards the door, he stopped, and told me to make myself at home. Whatever that meant. I think he said it to make me uncomfortable.

I sat at the far edge of the bed with my backpack resting by my foot, making myself small in this big room and wondered how I got myself into Cook Atwood's room in the first place.

***

We sat for what must have been two straight hours in front of our textbooks, solving different problems. I thought about how my incompetencies for solving mathematical equations may stem from my inadequacy of solving my own problems in life.

Cook was asking me a question but I think I might have gone to lalaland.