I could barely restrain myself from the incoming texts that I was receiving. Microwave pings still ring inside my head after the ordeal a few hours ago. Rolling off the couch lethargically, I wonder what I could do to remedy my loneliness and inability to communicate. Maybe he has one of those strange collars from those sci-fi novels that would change your appearance. I mean, it's possible. His friend's Bentley had banned weaponry in the glove compartment. I cautiously walk over to one of his several bedrooms, opening the drawers for anything similar looking. As my search proved itself to be fruitless and an entire waste of time, I sigh, and head to the hallway. I notice a silver capsule and a note under it on top of a cabinet. I pull the note out, holding the silver capsule in place with my other hand.
You could do with some time. Stay put, and don't do anything stupid to your appearance.
I raise an eyebrow. Was that last sentence necessary? I flick the cap of the capsule open, and shake the gelatinous green globe on my palm. Out of all the methods of transferring time between each other, Levi had to choose the most painful one. I shiver, and swallow the globe reluctantly. Pinpricks crawl on my throat, and course through my left arm. The pain gradually increases, the sensations similar to the one where the sharpened blade of a potato peeler cuts into your skin. The pain slowly ebbs, after what felt like ten minutes, and I glance at my left arm.
20 : 09 : 11 : 42 : 06 : 37
Wow, this guy.
Eleven twenty-three PM. Bloody hell, he's not even back. Maybe he ran into a bunch of fangirls. No, I'm not jealous. I throw my phone on the couch with distaste as I finish the recent chapter of one of the books in my eLibrary. I can't believe it. My favourite character died, because the stupid deuteragonist beheaded him for showing the protagonist the truth. I stare at the ceiling with dismay, until someone knocks on the door, breaking the monotony of my day.
I silently open the door, glaring at Levi.
"I nearly died of fun deprivation," I complain.
"Whatever," He shrugs, and throws a plastic bag on the couch. "Here's some shit to entertain yourself."
I shoot him a sceptical look, and sift through the contents. I find black hair dye, scissors, shampoo for coloured hair and a small rectangular box. "What's in this?"
"Contacts."
"What colour?"
"Green."
"Why green? I don't want to be Jason's sister, that's disgusting."
Levi's cobalt eyes bore into me, and I sigh in defeat. "Fine, fine, I'll listen to Shortie then."
He stiffens and lets out a soft growl. I storm to the bathroom with the plastic bag in personal disgust, knowing that I'm being a hypocrite. But the moment was irresistible, I couldn't bear not to call him 'Shortie'. Guess I'll cut my hair first, wash it, then use hair dye, so later there's more hair dye to use. I ferret the scissors out, and stare at my long locks. Well, hair is grabbing material, so I should cut it short, even though I look horrendous in short hair. Safety comes first, I scold inwardly, and snip off most of my hair situated at the back of my head. I take the contents of the plastic bag out, and scoop the hair out of the sink, into the plastic bag. Now, should I leave two frontal locks? For the sake of vanity, fine, but only up to my collarbone.
After I finish cutting my hair, I take my tank top off, slam the door shut firmly and twist the knob for cold water to turn on the showerhead. I douse my hair thoroughly, and run my fingers through my hair to dislodge any shards on my scalp that could potentially stab my eye, making my life a living hell.
I twist the knob anticlockwise, and squeeze my hair to release the majority of moisture. I grab the box of hair dye and rotate it, reading the recommendation.
For hair that is thick, shoulder length or longer, we recommend you to use 2 packs of QAPRO Palette.
Thank the gods I cut my hair first. I take out the instruction leaflet, flip through it briefly, and slip the latex gloves on. A few minutes later of unscrewing, mixing, squeezing, shaking, and applying, I shout, "Levi, could you set a timer for twenty minutes?"
"Fine," I barely hear, and sigh, gazing into the mirror.
"Ta da!" I cheer, and stride out of the steamy bathroom, slipping my tank top on again. I wrap a towel against my head to absorb any puddles since I couldn't find a hair dryer, and try not to rub my eyes. My lower eyelid twitches with irritation, and a tear runs down my cheek. I mutter a few colourful words, wipe the tear away, and hope that it won't happen again. My vision begins to blurry, and I blink repetitively.
"What's wrong?" Levi dully questions, and pauses, scrutinizing my face vehemently.
"I'm allergic to green contacts," I sarcastically respond, look down to avoid his intense gaze and ask, "Do I look fine? Did you bring anything to eat? I'm starving, after my failed attempt of autumn salad."
"Look up," He commands. I do, and after a few hesitant, awkward moments, he mutters, "You look fine."
"Look here," I playfully tease, and punch Levi on the arm lightly as he diverts his gaze to the kitchen. He instinctively clamps his fist on my arm, but lets go. "Fish and chips. In the damn kitchen."
"Gross," I pull a face and head to the kitchen. "Fish."
I flick the light switch. It emits a faint crackle, and the lights turn off. Oh crap. I flick the switch again.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack clack cla-
Shit. I broke it. I offer a quick prayer to repent for my newly committed sin, and say, "Levi, the switch broke."
He offers no reply, instead, he's completely fixated on the screen of his phone.
"Fuck!" Levi snaps, and throws his phone across the room. Must've been a text from one of his ex-girlfriends. I sigh, and try to think straight.
"Am I charged with assault? Seriously, they need to charge me for killing a clone?" I ask.
"No," He replies, walks over, and flicks the light switch for me. The lights flicker back on unsteadily, but regain stability after a couple of seconds. "You should give the wire thirty seconds to fix itself next time."
I mumble my thanks, and gaze at the gleaming plastic bag on the counter. As I segregate the chips to another section of the wrapping paper from the influence of the fish, I hear Levi complaining about microwave pings, dust, and lack of proper cleaning utensils like a teenage girl on her period. OCD much, I think inwardly, and pull a chip out, checking if any crumbs from the battered fish is on the chip. I grin sadistically as it passes my test, and pop the chip into my mouth, savouring the warm, slightly soggy and grainy texture of the potato mash.
Stare, grin, eat, and repeat.
I lick my fingers to wipe off the accumulated salt and oil after I obliterate the last chip. How am I going to deal with the fish? Yuck, fish. But I'd better eat it. I open the cupboard, grab a bone china plate along with a fork and knife from a drawer, and place the fish on the plate. I gaze at it, cut it into halves, and devour a half immediately, wincing at the strange flavours of the white fleshy meat. I painfully swallow, pause, and deliver the same fate to the other half. Groaning, I carry the plate, knife and fork to the sink, and dump the plastic bag along with the contents to the rubbish bin. I roll up my 'sleeves' as I arrive to the sink, and nearly facepalm at my stupidity when I realise I'm wearing a tank top. I really need to repay my sleep debt...
"Who's Cassandra?" I bug Levi, unwrap my towel and drape it on my head.
"No-one."
I poke his ivory face, and throw a pillow at him. "Why won't you tell me? I woke up early, like, just to vacuum your whole penthouse just so you would tell me! Oh, could you buy me a phone charger? My phone ran out of battery."
"Don't poke me."
I blink, and poke his cheek again. Levi groans, and buries his head into the pillow. "Fuck, what did I tell you?"
"Gods, you're such a baby," I grumble, and stare at the skyscrapers outside. "If you're going to be such a funk in the weekend, I'm going shopping, okay?"
"Mmm," He hums, and curls into a fetal position. I shoot him a suspicious look. I forsake the idea buzzing in my head, and head to the door. Is that...?
I pick up the empty bottle on the table and glance at the label. Highland Park? Well, that's something. I shake my head slowly, and remind myself not to bump into anyone I know, especially Jason, that womaniser. I place the bottle back on the table, and head out.
A/N: Finally! Sorry for the wait, guys. I've been stuck quite a few times whilst writing this chapter. D: And I lost some of my motivation. Oh well. I'd really like a review or two, just to improve my writing, and so other people will enjoy this story too. I mean, I know I sound demanding, but I don't know whether there's anything you guys want me to improve on or edit. Considering about editing, it'll start next week. Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Enjoy!
