The Stepfather (MxM) ✓

Chapter 6

Pity.

Had I ever mentioned how much I hated pity?

That scrunched up little expression people got on their faces that just screamed poor you.

It gave me chills.

But instead of seeing that from Alex, like I had expected, he just looked at me curiously. As though I was more than some hormonal angsty teenage rebelling for the sake of it. But instead like I was some puzzle he was hellbent on figuring out.

I didn't want to be anyone's puzzle.

My cheeks flushed as I ducked my head to hide myself from Alex's gaze, the doe eyed idiot who was probably was wondering why the hell my expression resembled a constipated duck.

"If you're just here to confiscate my weed, can you please leave now? I'd rather wallow on my own."

Regardless of my words he walked closer to me, head tilted to the side in a way that was way too familiar to me.

Instinctively, my hands flew up towards my face as I flinched and waited for the impact of a calloused palm or a hard fist. After a few moments of nothing happening, I glanced through my fingers to note that Alex was regarding me with a different kind of curiosity now.

This time it was closer to pity.

He sat down against the wall beside me, looking at me the entire time.

"Did you think I was going to hit you?" he asked, voice far softer than before – almost like a bewildered child.

Alex sat against the wall with his legs crossed, elbows on his knees. I sat with my legs sprawled out. I didn't respond (did I really need to?) and rested my head back up against the concrete wall.

"I wouldn't hit you, Sam. That's just wrong," he continued, oh so softly as though he would scare me off if he dared to hitch his voice that little bit.

I could feel his intense gaze on the side of my face, almost burning a metaphorical hole in my skin. My silence was more than enough to give away the fact that I didn't want to talk. But did people ever catch that hint?

"You're really pale," he murmured, eyes still on my face. Which, yes, was getting a little bit creepy at the time. I rolled my head to his direction, my expression devoid of all emotion.

"I've lived in England all my life, what did you expect?" The way that I spoke completely contradicted my expression, seeing as I practically sneered the words at his obvious observation. Well, perhaps I was being a little unfair in that regard. There were plenty of people in England who were far more tanned than I was, Alex was just making an observation. He was probably trying to change the subject.

This guy had taken my weed and that was not okay with me.

Shit, he was probably going to search my bags when we got home.

"You're like a porcelain doll," he proceeded in that same murmur, disregarding my previous comment.

"And you're like an arrogant prick."

Maybe it was a bit of a school-boy response, but in my muddled mind it was the only thing I could manage.

How...unexpected it was that he knew the exact wrong thing to say to me. It was probably just a harmless mistake, no malice intended. But I couldn't help but think it was a subtle jab at something that meant a whole lot more.

Which was why I promptly stood up and stalked off in the opposite direction.

"Sam!" Alex yelled after me, his scrambling off of the wall pretty damn obvious. All I felt like doing was shoving my hands into my pockets and making haste away from that area.