Hello Monday

Part 10; 7:09 pm

Three... Two... One.

It has officially been three hours since he called me a spoiled, selfish brat who has a brain but not a heart. Douche. Unfortunately, my EXISTENT heart did not let me curse at him, so he should thank my SO VERY EXISTENT heart.

It has also officially been three hours since I kept stealing glances at him. Thankfully, he sits opposite the windows so the moonlight illuminates his figure. I did not find him more attractive during these three hours, however, I found him to be a very quiet sleeper. And hopefully a heavy one, too.

Looking at him, I do a mental checklist. Eyes closed? Check. Slow, constant breathing? Check. No signs of him waking up any time soon? Check. Step one of chicken plan? Check.

Soundlessly, I stand up and try to tip toe to where Monday is. Just as I am taking my first step, my legs give out for having folded them for a good three hours. Before I could reach the ground, though, my hand shoots out to grab the window sill. Fortunately, I am able to steady myself and prevent my face from being crushed by the floor. Unfortunately, my instincts made me use my right, damaged hand, nearly making me howl in pain. I make an effort to numb the pain by giving it a quick massage, grimacing in the process.

I quickly peek at Monday, praying that he is still in the same position, sleeping. He is. He has his head leaned on the wall behind him, the most comfortable sleeping on the floor could get. I let out a breath of relief.

Shaking my legs to make sure they don't give up on me again, I slowly take one step at a time approaching Monday. Up close, I can see his facial features clearly. He is as average as average can get. His eyelashes are long but not too long, thick but not too thick, curved but not too curved. He has a hooked nose that looks like it was broken once and pink, chapped lips that looks like he needs an introduction to chapstick. Like every other men who skips shaving, he has a five o'clock shadow that accentuates his scruffy look. Perfectly paired with the man-bun. See? Average.

What? I walk very slowly, giving me plenty of time to observe him.

I squat on his left side and think about how I'm going to go about my plan. One hand to hold open his jeans pocket and another to fish out the keys. I reach out my left hand to pry open his pocket, making sure to check that he is still asleep. When I see no reaction from him, I extend my right hand to pluck out the keys. I am so very close to reaching the keys, just ten more centimeters... eight... five...

I jump in surprise when Monday grabs my wrist. Mind you, the injured one. Out of two wrists, he just had to take the injured one. I cry out in surprise and in pain. I try to pull my wrist from his grasp, but being the stubborn man he is, he doesn't let go.

"What do you think you're doing, princess?" he grunts.

"Let go of my hand," I say, looking down.

"I bet your mama taught you not to steal, right?"

"Please," I whisper, looking up at him with tears in my eyes. The pain is beginning to become unbearable. He is applying force in all the right places to trigger the sharp pains on my wrist.

Looking at my tear-stained cheeks, his hard expression softens. He carefully releases his rough grip and looks at my wrist that rests on his hand. Under the dim moonlight, I can barely make out the darker shade on my wrist. I swiftly pull my hand away before he could grab it a second time.

"Just give me the key and I will leave you alone, promise," I plead with him. My pride can be set aside for a while.

He smirks, "Why in the world would I want you to leave me alone, princess?"

"Should we go out together, then?" I play dumb.

"Why go out? In here is nicer than out there." He is impossible. I'm trying to make a negotiation and he's not helping at all. I am so very sick of whatever game he is playing. Just so he knows, he's playing the game alone because I quit.

In the middle of one of my iconic sighs, Monday takes me by surprise when he grabs my injured wrist, again. Not prepared for the sudden jerk, I lose my balance and fall face first on his legs. His jeans covered legs. My face must have scratches by now.

Monday, not having the slightest feeling of guilt, laughs out loud, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you fall." The gentleman didn't even help me up.

I push myself up and pull away the hand he grabbed with force. "I'm good," I say through gritted teeth. My irritation flares. I can practically feel the anger coursing through my veins. In cartoon terms, I would have steams pouring out of my ears and nostrils by now.

"But really though, is your wrist okay? It looks like it needs attention. What happened?" I sigh at his obliviousness. You happened, I wish to yell at his face. I hope he's normally not this dense.

My face lights up as an idea pops in my head. Before I could say anything, though, Monday bursts my bubble, "I cannot, however, take you to the clinic."

"Then why ask? It's not like you can do anything about it," I say while pushing myself away from him to create space between us. Being too close to him distracts me from devising a proper escape plan. It's not because of his distracting body odor or anything (if you must know, he doesn't smell like anything), rather it's because his carelessness is starting to rub off on me.

We stay quiet for a bit, the silence quieter than words. So I present my wild but reasonable guess, "Is this about money? Is that what you want?"

He rolls his eyes, "Money, unfortunately, doesn't solve everything, princess."

Too curious to feel hurt over the nickname he so kindly gave me, I urge, "Then what do you want? Maybe I can help you." To further persuade him, I add, "Please."

He pretends to think by making a show of tapping his chin, "Say we're talking about money. Can you even give me that?"

"Yes! Definitely. The school keeps an emergency stash downstairs. If you help me get there, the money's all yours," I lie through my teeth. There is no money and even if there is, it wouldn't be mine to freely give him. My conscience wouldn't allow that; that's called stealing. No matter how much I dislike the school, I don't intend to steal from them.

"Interesting," he pauses for a few seconds, "Okay."

I open my mouth, about to come up with a counter-argument when I process what he said. Did he just say okay?

I open and close my mouth, finally settling for, "Yeah, okay. Great. Cool."

He stares at me with a strange look, "Right. Okay. So where do we need to go?"

"The cafeteria," I respond immediately. The cafeteria is the only place with a payphone. Dr. Sanders told me to call the number if things were to go south. I'm assuming that's now. I'm hoping that whoever is on the other side of the line will be able to help us.

I don't know what Monday will do when he finds out that there is no money downstairs, but that is an issue I will take care of when the time comes.