I hunkered down onto my bed with an exhausted sigh, I found I was in a perpetual state of exhaustion at the moment. The past year had been hard, my Papa had lost his job and so I had to take on more shifts at my part time job to keep us afloat. That paired with me attending my first year of college had resulted in a stressful few months indeed.
By some miracle papa had met up with an old highschool friend whilst at the supermarket -Some Gilbert Beilschmidt- and he'd gotten him a job at a call centre. Today was his first day, and the first evening I'd spent home alone in a long time.
Thankfully this meant I could go back to just doing two shifts a week instead of six and could finally catch up with my studies. I decided to kick my night off by taking a nice long shower, taking the liberty of singing at full volume with the knowledge no one was about.
When the hot water finally ran out and I fled the little cubicle I grabbed the fluffiest towels I could find, wrapping one around my waist and twisting the other up onto my head. The cool air nipped at my heels as I hot footed it across the hall to my bedroom, slamming windows shut as I went.
It was small and simple, with the bare minimum amount of furniture, we had never been able to afford much. I had collected a number of Hockey posters over the years to make it my own though and there was a small bookshelf in the corner, crammed with books I'd saved from charity shops and bargain bins.
I quickly patted myself dry and slipped into some fresh clothes so I could fend off the shivers, rubbing my hair dry and pitching the towels into a corner. When I glanced in the little mirror balancing at the foot of my bed I found my hair to be a mess of tight ringlets, stood up at awkward angles as it so often loved to do after being wet. I sighed in mild annoyance as I forced my fingers through it, attempting to straighten it a little so I looked less like a sheep. When it just got worse I gave up, turning my attention instead to the stack of homework that had steadily been growing on my night stand. I decided I'd start with my favorite subject, History.
OoooooooooooooooooooooO
I had bombed through my History paper, finished my short story for English and was halfway through my Math homework when my phone chimed and disturbed me. I dropped the pen I had been holding and threw my arms up into a back cracking stretch, flopping backward on my bed before scooping up my phone.
'Papa- Mathieu, I have invited Gilbert over for dinner tonight to say thank you, could you start cooking it for me. Merci 3' The text from my papa read and I felt my chest tighten slightly with anxiety.
Well heck. I didn't really like meeting people, or anything to do with people if I was honest. I'd never been to a doctor, but I'd bet my favourite red sweater that I suffered from some kind of anxiety disorder. I just froze up when I had to talk to people I didn't know, like my brain suddenly just stopped working and I felt like I was about to have a heart attack. So generally I kept to myself at college and then didn't really leave the house the rest of the time. I did have one friend at college -Alfred- we were neighbors so i'd known him since I was six. Generally though, he forgot about me, he was quite popular and had lots of other friends.
As if that wasn't reason enough, I already wasn't thrilled with the idea of meeting Gilbert. When papa had come back from the supermarket after bumping into him, he had proceeded to tell me all the wild stories of his childhood with Gil. From parties to drugs, he sounded like a trouble maker and someone I'd want to avoid. Then again he'd be thirty-four now like papa so he'd probably have grown up a little, maybe tonight would be okay after all.
I checked the time on my phone and realised I should probably start the cooking, they'd be here in only forty minutes.
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One hand balanced my Math homework against my hip, reading question nine whilst my other hand stirred the spaghetti sauce. I dropped my spoon in favor of pulling the pencil from between my teeth, scribbling down my attempt at an answer. Factorials never had been a strong suit of mine.
I switched quickly back to the spoon when the sauce began bubbling, stirring distractedly as I frowned at the next question. I hadn't heard the front door open, but I did hear the slightly nasal snicker that sounded to my left. And there he was. The famous Gilbert Beilschmidt. My breath left me in a rush and my jaw literally dropped, pencil clattering to the floor.
He was hot, like ridiculously impossibly hot. He had pale skin and even paler hair, cut in a choppy mess atop his head. His jaw was sharp and piercings in both his lip and brow glinted at me as he smirked. He was clad in a pair of shredded black jeans and a band T, looking nothing like a man over thirty should. My lungs started to scream from lack of oxygen and I spluttered, scrambling down after my pencil as an excuse to look away. My face flooded with colour. Thankfully papa chose that moment to flounce into the room and save me. He threw his keys on the counter and took over the sauce stirring, fluffling my hair on the way past and embarrassing me further.
"Merci cherie." He chirped and I took that as a dismissal, scurrying from the room with my head hung in shame.
OoooooooooooooooooooO
I had taken residence at the dining table in the adjoining room to the kitchen, spreading my homework out in front of me. They stayed in the kitchen while papa cooked, I couldn't really make out what they were saying from here, but I found myself strangely distracted. It was probably just his accent, I reasoned. He had a hint of a German accent, twisting some words into a rough sound that was intoxicating. Nope. No. Had to concentrate. Factorial nine was…?
The chair across from me made a loud squeak as it was pulled out, making me jump and squiggle across my page. He had come in and sat down across from me, gesturing towards the kitchen with his beer bottle before sipping at it.
"Uh.. Francis said food would be ready in a sec."
"Oh." Is all I can say and an awkward silence stretches out. I find I can't look away from him, every time I try my gaze will anxiously flick back to after a few seconds, much to his obvious amusement. Some other part of my brain registered that his hair was not only pale, but actually white. So when the silence stretched on too long and I panicked thats what I blurted.
"Why is your hair white? Did you just feel like dying it beyond recognition?"
"It's natural." He quipped back instantly, large grin taking over his face and I couldn't decide if I believed him.
"But you're only thirty-four, how do you already have hair as white as fricking snow?" It wasn't like me to curse, and I felt my cheeks warm a little. I was stressed okay? As I said I generally didn't talk to other people.
"My mother was struck by lightning while pregnant with me."
"Wah…" I was utterly bewildered by the strange man across from me, he even had the gall the wink at me.
"Don't listen to anything he say." My papa chided as he hurried in, placing a steaming plate in front of both of us before disappearing to retrieve his own and a glass of wine. I had to hurry to move my books out of the way, waiting until he was out of sight again before I peek back up at my table mate. Red orbs were peering back at me curiously, for a moment there was silence but then his gaze switched to my disgardedbooks.
"So how's school treating ya? You're what, sixteen?."
"Seventeen…" I corrected with a sigh, great he was going to attempt adult talk now.
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We had finished our food long ago and I had continued doing my homework there as an excuse to stay. They didn't pay me any attention -which I was glad for- I was just happy to sit and listen to that lilting accent.
He would stumble over a word every now and then, changing it last second. I imagined he would of been swearing like a sailor if I wasn't about, and I found that annoyed me more than it usually would. I was seventeen, I would be eighteen in a few months, I was practically an adult. Sometimes it sucked being treated like a kid. When he stumbled over another word I sighed softly, his gaze flicked over and that seemingly ever present smirk reappeared. For a moment I was distracted by how that tugged on his lip ring, he tongue swiped at it subconsciously and a thrill went through me. That's when I decided it was time to excuse myself, not wanting to make anymore of a fool of myself. God… Please don't tell me that was my 'type'