363 days before.
A man was in my kitchen this morning.
I don't know who the fuck he thought he was, eating my cornflakes. I brush past and put on a pot for tea.
"So, you the brother?" His country accent is drown out and irritating. His brown hair was a bit greasy and his eyes red with hangover.
"Fuck no." The pot whistles and I pour myself a cuppa. I don't even want to talk before my tea, much less do I want to talk to this douche.
"Ay, a British boy." The guy laughs arrogantly and sips his coffee. Who the fuck does he think he is? I choose not to respond with anything and continue my journey throughout my kitchen to get milk for my tea.
"So, your not the brother, what are you?" what the fuck is with this guy and small talk?
"The roommate, I don't fucking know." He could at least put a shirt on. How does he even know about Ben?
Then again, Grace must have gone boo-hooing to the first guy she saw, making him pity her into sex.
"Roommate, huh?" The douche ran his tongue over his perfectly straight- and slightly yellowed -teeth, "I bet you get some."
"Some what?" I sit my mug on the counter top and add another spoon of sugar, stirring it at a rather slow pace. Watching as the crystallized sugars dissolved into the steaming liquid.
"You know," he did a few hip thrusts into the air and made a,what I'm thinking was supposed to be an orgasmic face, but ended up being one of bad constipation.
"Oh, no. God, no. You got it all wrong. We don't-" a strained chuckle leaves my lips, "We don't fuck."
The man wears an almost hurt expression. "What? Seriously? You live under the same roof as that" his hand goes out to the direction of Graces' room. "And your not on it every-fucking-night?" I shake my head no. The stranger scoffs.
"I'd be hittin' that ass every chance I could get. The way that girl can bounce-Mmm." Even his hums are disgusting. He is disgusting; he disgusts me, talking that shit about her.
"Lay-off man." My jaw clenches as do my hands involuntarily. My anger is boiling and I can't seem to tame it. I don't understand why I'm feeling this way, or why I'm even talking to this little shit, but i feel the need to defend Grace. For some reason, I don't want him even thinking about her, much less fucking her or talking about the way she moves. Even though, I can only imagine how she looks undressed and under me, whimpering for me to fu- no, I can't think this way. Not now; hell, I shouldn't be thinking about Grace at all.
"Man, the way she moves," he licks the tips of four of his fingers. I know he's trying to start something and it's working. My anger has risen and is about to boil over, I'm having to restrain myself from knocking this douche out.
"Stop." I look at the ground and try to control my breathing.
"The way she rolls those hips is just-" he's crossed the line with me.
"That's it." I move around the counter over to the man. My height gives me a few inches of an advantage and my fist comes up about to hit him in the jaw when a small voice stops me; somehow making its way through the blood pounding loudly in my ears.
"Harry." She squeaks. My arm retracts, spinning around. Grace stood in a button down shirt and what looked like nothing else, her hair was a mess. My head rolled back and my arm fell to my side. Of-fucking-course. I look at her bewildered eyes.
"Grace." I say. Lover boy over there replaces his smirk with a scared feature.
"What the hell are you doing?" her voice was just above a whisper.
"Nothing. Just defending you from this douche."
"Harry!" Her voice grows an octave higher. What am I even doing?
"Whatever," I mumble. I shake my head and go grab my cuppa, taking a sip. Cold. I groan and put my mug in the microwave. I can hear them whispering to each other. Shouldn't this be some one night stand, why is he still even here? When I turn around i find the guy and his tongue down Graces throat, but his eyes on me, staring me down as they kiss. I wouldn't even call that kissing, though. it's more like he eats her face off and she pretends to enjoy it. My jaw clenches again as I look at them. If I were him, she would enjoy it. I may not be perfect, but in not sloppy like that. That's just, for lack of a better word, gross. I feel a pang of jealously strike and the microwave beeps for at least fifteen seconds before I actually open the door and taking out my tea. The man, I don't even know his name, finally closes his eyes. As I walk pass them toward my bedroom, I notice Grave attempt to pull back from him. The guy pulls her head back to him forcefully. I would punch his ass out if I could. Instead I shake my head and go into my bedroom.
From where I am, I can hear their conversation.
"What a douche." I hear him say.
"Anders, why do you have to be like that?"
"Like what? He obviously likes you, I just want him to know that your mine."
"I am nobody's, and Harry does anything but like me. I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me." That hurt. Why did that hurt? It shouldn't.
"Darlin'" he laughs. Then muffled words.
"Get of me!" Grave yells and I sit my mug on my side table, cautiously listening. I hear yelling. I feel like I should do something; help her. But I don't. I don't because I feel like if I do, it will show that I like her. No. I don't like her. I never have, nor will I.
After a few minutes I hear the door slam shut, the. A frustrated scream. I'm hesitant to go out there. When I do, Grace is leant against the counter her head down. The large shirt that once adorned her body was now gone. She only had on her underwear. It would have been considered kind of sexy, if I liked her. Which I don't. The moment her eyes meet mine, Grace runs into her room. Cheeks tearstained. How can she be so sad about him? He was a one night stand, right? Did she actually think that douche was going to be her "boyfriend?" Could she be that inexperienced? Of course she is, that was her third time having sex. I still can't believe she told me that.
I laugh at the thought.
360 days before
We had pizza for dinner. Afterward, Ben was cleaning up the kitchen and it was just me and Grace in the foyer. We can't even make eye contact as it's been three days, much less speak-it's not like we did much of that anyway. I have no reason to talk to her. I haven't spoken to Ben since that day he wanted to me to talk to someone. That doesn't count yesterday when he ranted about Grace and when she came home with that guy. I don't consider that actually talking, just speaking. Or this morning when he just plainly said "your shutting people out again."
"Why did you defend me the other day?" I actually jump when she talks.
"What are you talking about?" i avoid any type of eye contact (more tha. I have lately). I hear her shift on the leather couch.
"Two days ago. That asshole I slept with. You. Defending me. Doesn't ring a bell?" her tone is interrogating. I hate this. Why did I do that? why would I defend someone I don't care about?
"No." I snap, standing. Suddenly the room is all to hot, her heated glare not helping. Graces face hold confusion, not as much as my mind, though. I can't think straight and Grace is the main reason.
"Don't start something your not going to finish, Harry." Grace stands as well.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I am about to run out this freaking door, I can hardly breathe.
"It means, that I will win this fight. Whether you like it or not." Her voice is steady, strong. Unlike mine when I murmur that I had to get out of there. My feet carried me out of the compound quickly. Before I knew it, I was half a mile down the road. I hadn't leveled my breathing with my pace ending up hunched over, hands on my knees with my face down. Hot air blew out of my mouth in heavy breaths, my cheeks puffing out with each exhale. I hear brief quick footsteps approaching and I take off again. I need to get it out. I need to not feel anything but the ache in my legs and the lightness of my head. That's when I hear it: my name. I mentally curse as I turn around.
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