Bad Taste (Part I) // Colby Brock

18 - Rebecca

          One foot crossed over the top of the other as I lounged back on my couch, a pizza sitting on the coffee table, waiting to be eaten. I hadn't had a pizza in forever — my body showed that, as I looked better than ever — but I had missed it so much that I just had to get one. Secretly, I was celebrating Jax and the others' amazing designs. Jax had texted me just after I returned home, telling me about how they planned to send the designs to my mother and friends within the next month, or just as soon as they could. The delicious heat wafted up from my pizza when a breeze blew in from the balcony — I had the door open since my apartment was hot, and outside was cold — creating perfect relaxed pizza-eating conditions.

But before I could even get my hands on the pizza, there was a knock at the door. My blood boiled. Who dared to disturb my dinner time?! Whoever it was was about to get a solid kick to the balls or vagina and a very unpleasant door slam in their face, possibly into their face if they were hunched forward in pain. My boots had never been so loud as I raced across the apartment, eager to beat somebody up for the fun of it, but the moment I opened the door, the hole in my chest closed up and my stomach fluttered — although maybe I was just hungry because I hadn't had my fucking pizza.

The feelings inside me turned fuzzy at the sight of those blue eyes in person, on my doorstep, and I got furious at myself for it, so I sounded just a little hostile. "The fuck are you doing here?"

Colby was in the hallway watching me, his eyes strangely comprehensive and hesitant, but the hostility of my voice made his posture completely change to the guy that I knew, the asshole to match my bitch. "Standing, clearly" — he sniffed the air — "and pissing off the bitch, apparently."

I scowled at him. "A pizza is waiting for me, I don't have time for you, so if you'd fuck off, that'd be great."

As I was closing the door, he stepped forwards, and I paused.

"You don't want to know why I'm here?" he asked, confused and annoyed.

"I did ask, didn't I? You really have lost all your fucking brain cells. Not sorry, I don't talk to morons."

I tried for the door again but this time it was his voice that stopped me.

"I apologise."

I stopped, frozen behind the door slightly. I couldn't see him and he couldn't see me, but there was some sort of connection. I could feel that he was nervous, unsure of what he was saying. He'd never apologised to anyone in his life, I guessed, barely hearing as he shifted his weight for a second.

"I'm not apologising for being an asshole, but I do apologise for kicking you out the way I did."

I frowned and pulled the door more open. I worried that he'd take it as an invitation but he stayed in the hallway, watching me. I got the feeling he was actually sorry.

"I shouldn't have grabbed you," he continued.

I scoffed. "It didn't hurt. You're pretty weak." That was a lie, but I doubted he could tell.

Yet he shook his head at me. "I know my strength and I know how hard I grabbed you."

I rolled my eyes.

"Check your fucking wrist, Rebecca." The way he growled my name made my stomach twist. Automatically, I pulled the sleeve of my black-and-white-striped shirt up, to reveal bruises in the shape of hand around my wrist. I glanced up at his hand, and instantly recognised the prints. "So, I'm sorry."

"Whatever," I snarled, hiding the bruises. "Just leave me the fuck alone."

Yet again, he stopped the door from shutting with nothing but stepping forward. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just shut him out?