Okay! Here's a special chapter with for you with Amy and Ian! Enjoy!
The watch tauntingly chimed when the minute hand hit three o'clock. I looked out of the window onto the garden, which I've been tending for the past five hours. My body ached and the small cuts and blisters burned my hands. I let out a long sigh and made my way downstairs. I heard the front door open and saw Ian entering. He didn't see me standing on the staircase, since the night blackened most of the mansion. He made his way straight to the kitchen, which was bizarre, since the kitchen was usually the place only the cooks and I inhibited.
I stood in the doorway, peering into the kitchen. He seemed to be looking for something vigorously, opening all the cabinets and shelves. He cursed under his breath.
"Is there anything you need?" I asked. He stopped for a moment, my voice probably surprised him, but he didn't turn around.
"Nothing, go to sleep," he mumbled avoiding to look at me. I was going to turn around and leave, until I saw his bleeding knuckle. I walked up to him boldly and turned him around. His head turned to look at me and there was a cut on his cheek and his lip was bleeding.
"Ian, what happened?" I asked in shock and immediately began looking for the first aid kit. Although I could already guess, he got into a fight with someone at the party.
"Nothing! I told you to go to sleep! It's none of your business!" he said heatedly, but I stubbornly looked for the first aid kit. In frustration he slammed the shelf door and began to leave the kitchen.
"Wait! Ian! That could get infected, let me disinfect it at least," I said grabbing him by the arm and waving the green, plastic first aid kit in front of him.
"I don't need your aid kits, it'll heal on it's own. It's not my first time getting into a fight," he grumbled. I let out an incredulous laugh.
"Then why were you looking for the first aid kit?" I asked, holding up the box tauntingly.
"I wasn't looking for the aid kit, I was looking for food, I'm starving," he pointed out. Right, here's a guy with a bleeding face and knuckles and all he can think about it food? Oh. I forgot this was Ian we're talking about.
"Okay," I said, taken back by his priorities, "how about I bandage your hand and then make a quick midnight snack, like stir fried noodles?" I suggested. He thought about for a moment, torn apart between his manly pride and his stomach. The growling in his stomach gave him away and he plopped on the chair stretching out his hand. I sat down opposite him and took his hand.
I took out a bottle of a strong disinfecting cleanser, blue tube of healing gel, some cotton buds and a bandage.
I poured the strong disinfectant and it burned my nose when I breathed. I saw his eye twitch; I could imagine the burning pain therefore gently blew on the wound to let the liquid evaporate quicker.
I dipped some cotton bud and patted his knuckles lightly. Ian had a huge anger management problem, though it got better over the years, with rugby being his relief, sometimes if he did snap, his anger comes out as a pretty bloodcurdling physical chaos. I shuddered just thinking about what happened to the poor fellow who crossed Ian.
He laid his head on his hand and observed closely as I cleaned the wound. I looked at him staring at my hands, and to be honest, it made me feel quite nervous. Our faces were so close together; it was hushed, peaceful and very cosy.
I mentally smiled; his face didn't change much since he was kid, at least, to me. He would have these cute moments where he would find something interesting and would silently, patiently observe it. Once he sat for an hour watching a butterfly in kindergarten. I was tempted to stroke his hair for some freakish reason. He just lay there like a puppy, sitting still and watching me.
He suddenly grabbed my hands, making me snap from my reverie. He observed the cuts and blisters on my hands and cocked his eyebrow.
"Looks like you can use some disinfectants too," he said and grabbed the bottle with his now bandaged hand. I couldn't help but hold my breath. It was bizarre, him holding my hand. It was too quiet, it was nighttime, it was just the two of us, the scenery just screamed romantic. More reasons to make me nervous. I sat rigid as he patted my hands and flinched the antiseptic began its work. He gently blew on it too…and held onto my hands even when he finished. The ticking of the clock, which in daytime was barely audible, was currently making a lot of noise.
Ian was probably doing this because he was drunk. This would've never happened in his sober state. He would've stubbornly left the room without letting me touch him.
"Thanks," I muttered immediately pulling away. I couldn't hear what I muttered because my heart was beating so loud in my ears. This wasn't the first time we've had these moments, but they were very rare. Most of the time, Ian liked to pretend that I didn't exist and Natalie liked to remind me of the fact that my life is worth ignoring.
"Right… food," I whispered to myself, gathering the ingredients. I was so wrapped up in my search for food that I didn't realize Ian stood right next to me. I bumped into him clumsily and immediately pushed away. His didn't seem to be bothered by it.
"What can I help with?" he mumbled tiredly. I looked at him for a moment and like a fool, smiled. I took some tomatoes and onions, handing them over to the currently bemused Ian.
"You can chop these while I start frying the chicken, and then when I start frying the noodles we'll pop in the vegetables," I said expertly and his face sunk even further.
Hey, if I get an opportunity to be aided, why not use it?
He took out a knife and a chopping board and began to chop halfheartedly. There was a comfortable silence and Ian's concentrated facial expression was priceless.
In a matter of minutes, the chicken was golden and ready. I jumped as Ian slammed the knife against the board.
"Stupid tomatoes!" he growled, I looked down the tomatoes... or at least what was left of them. The vegetables turned into mush and his hands were covered in tomato juice. I could no longer take it and burst out laughing. His baffled expression, his hands soaked up in tomato and the whole scene of him standing on the kitchen counter made it hilarious to look at. He looked up at me with a frown, but then couldn't help it and scoffed at himself, washing his hands.
"That's fine," I said regaining my composure and spilling all the contents from the wooden board onto the frying pan.
After our meal was prepared, we sat down to eat. Ian ate, no; he vacuumed his entire plate, moving onto the seconds. I wasn't even hungry; I sat watching in awe, sipping some tea. I looked at the watch and my heart sank. It was already close to five o'clock in the morning and I wasn't even halfway through my chores.
"Why do you want to go to that ball anyway? You don't even know the prince…you probably can't dance to save your life either…" he asked reading my mind, looking back at the clock. I sighed and poured myself another cup of tea.
"Well I am a girl, with a dream. I want to meet the prince; I think I have as much chance of falling in love as any other girl. Also, the ball is the event of the decade. I wouldn't want to miss something like that. I've always dreamed of visiting that castle…" I trailed off, wondering if I've said too much and whether he actually cared. He listened closely and then sighed, but said nothing in response. After he finished his seconds I stood up and began taking the plates away. He too, stood up and took the plates from my hands.
"Go, I'll wash the dishes. I think you have enough on your plate already," he said with an awful pun but making me grin like a Cheshire cat nonetheless.
"Are you sure? I-It's not a problem it'll only take me-"
"Go before I change my mind. If you want to make it to the ball, I think you need to get moving with your chores."
"Thanks…" I said, trying to hide the sudden disappointment. I've realized that even if somehow miraculously I manage to finish all the chores by tomorrow, there'll be no time to get myself ready for such a grand event. I had no dress, no ideas for hair or make-up. Compared to Natalie, I would look like a peasant and be denied entry to the ball.
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for this," he said briskly holding up his bandaged hand. I nodded and murmured a goodnight and was making my way up the stairs. For a very brief moment I thought that maybe Ian wasn't that bad, and in fact had a very controlled temperament after all…
"Stupid plates!" I heard him roar and that was followed by a loud bang of the china.
Like I said, the thought came for a very brief moment.
Simply out of curiosity, did anyone pick up that Amy's friends had the same names as the two mice in the actual Cinderella movie? Just a little notification for you.