Fortitude

5-Familiar

Taji

"Are you okay," I asked, walking up to the short human who looked like she'd seen a ghost. I racked my brain trying to recall her name so that I'd at least have something to refer to her with.

The day had started out rather too dramatically. I'd totally forgotten that I'd made an appointment with an interior designer. My week had been hectic trying to balance between shutting out gossip and catching on the developments made when Mark was in charge. I gave myself the day off to get my apartment in order. Looking at the curly haired girl, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I'd seen her somewhere before.

Rehema.
Ruby.
Rihanna.
Something.
Jeez!

"Yeah, which floor exactly?" She asked.

"Oh, my bad. I should be the one leading the way,"

Why are you shaking so much.
She's a human being just like you.

I had never in my entire life hosted any other female other than my sister and my ex. Partly because I was always living with hawk eyed people. Mostly because there wasn't any need to. I was never the casanova type of guy, the thought of relationships was always freaking me out. Despite the bipolar, which was dying down after three seasons of therapy, I just wasn't into it. My elder sisters always thought that I was gay. I froze at any opportunity to converse with a female, especially one as gorgeous as the one walking behind me. I'd eventually say something dumb each time. This, however was just a formal visit and I told myself not to make a big deal out of it. That, was a lie.

"Uhm, would you like a cup of tea?" I asked closing the door behind me, trying hard not to be flippant with my words.

"Yeah, sure, if it's not a bother,"

I'd made sure I pushed aside the boxes into a line earlier on, in an effort to make the living room look more welcoming rather than a run down storage closet.

I scurried round the island to prepare the tea then went to pull out two mugs and two plates from the cabinet. I unwrapped the foil covered pancakes that I'd made the previous day and heated them up in the microwave. I leaned back on the counter, facing her, as I waited for the milk to boil, phone in my hands, trying to look busy.

I glanced at her to take in her features. She sat at the edge of the sofa with her legs crossed at the ankles.

She's uncomfortable.
Say something.

The light pink blazer she had on added formality what I guessed was a white tank top underneath and blue jeans. She had these cute with white ankle socks brought to life by multi coloured polka dots. Her eyes darted uneasily around her new surroundings till they eventually landed on my boxes.

She had very readable facial expressions, which I was sure she didn't know by how she furrowed her eyebrows at my dysfunctional apartment. She then leaned back onto the sofa, probably cursing herself for having to be the one to deal with my junk. It felt kind of rude letting someone else clean up after me, but I simply lacked the willpower to do so. The sound of something steaming pulled me back to the kitchen to rescue my pouring milk as it crashed onto the cooker a bit too loudly.

"Crap, crap, crap," I whispered under my breath, turning it off and rummaging through the counter top to find a cloth to wipe my mess with.

Why did I go for the open plan apartment?

I made no attempt to look up, extremely embarrassed at the reality show I was acting out in front of my guest.

Guest?
Designer.