"Accepting Irony."
Disclaimer: I don't own Year of Secret Assignments. I do, however, own the right to torture Paul endlessly in this fic. Its one of those love/hate things, my love for Paul.
Question: Did anyone read the first PenPal Project book? I think its about Kristina and her best friend from Ashbury, whom we see at some point during the book. I just wanted to know if Paul was in it. Cause I heard he was, but I'm not sure. That's the next book I'm picking up at Chapters!
Luny Teen: She IS a genius! What a perfect book eh? There's hardly any description, but you can still tell what's going on and understand it as if it were a normal book. I love it.
Subtly Cynical Kitsune: It was a random idea. I'm glad you like it!
Princess Elizabeth: Its true. I was actually kind of repulsed by the idea of this story at first. But I kept reading the Paul/Cassie parts of the books, and I realised I COULD pick out subtle hints to turn it into a romance if I wanted to. But it ain't gonna be pretty, I'll tell you that! I hope you like it!
TornadoAlly: Oh, I will! Writing is amazing. Do you have an account?
Willow182: dances around insanely Oh, PLEASE write a YOSA story. I would read it and love it. We should write so many that they're forced to make a section out of it. This book really should be as popular as any other. I love it.
lyra tavington: Thank you for reviewing! It was because of your review that I decided to update it. I'm glad you like it!
Six people. I must say was more than I expected. I really have no idea how popular this book really is. But I love it greatly!
Please enjoy!
The rain continued to pour around them as they stared. Paul had the look of someone terrified of facing confrontation, as if he expected Cassie to run inside and phone the police. Cassie was having a hard time breathing properly, eyes wide at the stranger she had known so well but hadn't really known at all. His hair wasn't gelled back as it usually was, straight and pinned to the side of his face from the water. He was soaked and breathless, and he was absolutely gorgeous. He could have been a model if he wasn't considering acint, Cassie thought dimly, watching as he ran a hand through his hair. Then her thoughts collected from her slightly intoxicated brain. He was soaked, breathless and gorgeous, and Cassie had never felt more hate for anyone in her life.
"What are you doing here?" She hissed, shutting her front door behind her.
"I told you," He muttered, turning his face away. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."
"So you came here?" She looked at him incrediously, and his lip tightened, eyes dark as he turned his face to hers in a challenge.
"I would have thought you'd be over it by now, Cassie." He said. "That seems like the type of person you are."
She took one look at his smirk and lost it, fist clenching at her sides. It took everything in her small being from throwing herself at him and beating him into a bloody pulp. Instead, she settled for glaring fiercely at him the way her Grandma had taught her, raising her voice to a shout as she took a step towards him.
"Shut up!" She shouted, raising a fist. "You don't know anything about me! You think you can just show up at my door and say something like that? I hate you. You can curl up in a ditch somewhere for all I care."
He looked almost as surprised as Cassie felt. Never, in her whole life, could she remember saying something like that. Cassie was witty enough to figure out more interesting ways of hurting people then using words. And partially, he was right. She had gotten over it as far as thinking about it ever second went. Lydia's secret assignements and long conversations on the phone with Charlie (Seb couldn't be trusted to resist hunting down Paul and killing him) had helped her with that. She'd been faced with worse things then Paul and he wasn't worth her time.
But something about his face brought out the worst in her after all the work she'd done to get over what he'd done to her. The sight of him in the rain, like that day down at the reserve, smirking and looking as dangerous as he had then. This boy was deranged, covering it up with his charm and acting skills. And he was standing on her doorstep. Giving her bull.
She was ready to kick him.
"Fine." He growled, pulling his hood over his head and staring down at her. "I hope you feel better now, Cassie."
He spoke her name with such venom. And with the natural inquisitiveness that was her personality, she suddenly wanted to know why. It was the same foolish feeling that caused her to hurl herself over a couch to see how much it would hurt, to call random numbers she found on sugar packets. She'd never done anything to him, except annoy him with her letters, and yet he seemed to hate her even before she had done any of those things to ruin his perfectly planned life.
It was the same feeling she'd gotten inside her whole body, right down to her fingertips, when her eyes had met his that day at the "Legal Hearing." She wanted to know. Wanted to know what made him tick, why he was deranged, why he felt the way he did. Heh. Maybe she'd turn out to be another Claire.
She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, taking a step foward and watching silently as he decended the steps, his shoulders slumped. And that annoying inquisitiveness that was her personality and made her jump over the couch made her open her mouth now.
"Wait." She called quietly to his retreating form, and he stopped and turned. "Come in, then. Even you don't deserve to sleep in a ditch. When its raining, atleast."
Those eyes met hers again, made her feel vulnerable, made her feel used. She understood fully how he'd made people love him even though he was secretly a lunatic jerk. For a long time he stared at her, and she had the feeling he was shocked and confused, probably feeling awkward. He really was a good actor, she gave him that much. Eventually, she'd had enough, and she turned her back to his stare and went inside. She left the door open.
He stood in her hallway, looking around the house that probably seemed so big to him and looking entirely out of place. She threw a towel at him from the small bathroom, refusing to look at him as he dried himself off. She didn't have anything for him to wear, since any leftover clothes from Seb and Charlie were not up for grabs. And he would never touch her father's clothes. Never. She settled instead for one of her large pairs of sweatpants and the biggest t-shirt she owned. The sweatpants just fit him and the t-shirt was way too tight. But atleast he was dry, and wouldn't catch a death of a cold and die in her house and leave her with some odd murder case on her hands. Even Emily wouldn't be able to get her out of that one.
He didn't say thank you when she told him he could sleep on the couch. He didn't thank her when she gave him her clothes or let her in her house. He didn't even appreciate the pillows and blankets she placed at the foot of the couch. In fact, he didn't speak at all. She rubbed the goosebumps off her arm, reaching off to switch off the light of the living room in which he dwelled. What were the chances she'd come downstairs the next morning, he'd be gone and her house would be trashed? Her inquisitiveness was her greatest weakness. Paul Wilson was in her house. What was she thinking?
But she heard Paul settle down on to the couch over the creak she made as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. He wasn't stupid. She would have the information ready and waiting for the police if he tried anything. She knew who he was, and any attempt to steal would make him a stupid criminal. And he wasn't a stupid criminal. In fact, she wasn't even sure he was a criminal. She'd have to ask Em.
The glow in the dark stars on her bedroom glowed brightly at her as she stared, listening for any sound she could hear over the hum of the kitchen appliances. She stayed curled in bed for a little over ten minutes, thinking and waiting. Finally, she got up and walked to her door. The lock slid shut soundly.
And still, it took her almost three hours to get to sleep.
That was the thing she loved most about her house. She knew exactly where she could hide things so her parents wouldn't find them. She knew who was walking where just be listening to the creaking of the floor. And she knew exactly which steps made a sound when she descended the stairs. It had been hard sneaking out on someone like her father.
She didn't want to wake Paul up. She didn't want to have to face him, wishing that maybe she'd dreamed the whole thing, despite the fact her door had been locked. She crept across the entrance way and peered into the living room, fully expecting to see an empty couch.
Paul Wilson looked gorgeous even in his sleep. His eyes were closed peacefully, blond hair messed up in all different directions. The shirt he was wearing didn't fit him in the first place, so it wasn't too much of a job for his stomach and muscles to be exposed. He was an actor, a Form Captain. It was hard for anyone to see what lay behind the pretty face. A face Cassie longed dearly to break. Especially the nose.
She squeaked when she realized his eyes were open and staring at her. He looked extremely sleepy and he didn't even seem angry. Part of her knew that he needed time to register who she was and where he was. Another part told her he was probably used to being stared at. That thought, if nothing else, made her even more peeved.
"Morning." She said briskly, preparing to turn and run back up to her room, shutting the door and never coming out.
He didn't answer, sitting up and leaning back on his elbows. He continued to stare at her in amusement, watching as she flushed and shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Then, after a moment, she straightened. The colour drained from her cheeks and he was surprised once again. She was standing up to him. It was a rare sight.
"You just slept on my couch." She said viciously. "You just slept in my house. I'd say that's pretty fortuitous for you. I said, good morning."
He scowled at her, refusing to being lectured and refusing to be put in his place by some stupid Ashbury girl. He stood up from the couch, letting the blanket drop from his waist and pushing past her and into the entrance hall. Cassie stared straight ahead, her teeth clenched. Was he just going to leave? Without so much as an explanation?
"Where's your bathroom?" He asked, hardly giving her a glance.
"Down the hall, first door on your right." She answered stiffly, stepping foward to pick up his blanket before making her way into the kitchen. She refused to allow his appearence to halt her daily schedule. She had friends to see and eggs to fry.
Again, she was hit with the sudden panic she had felt last night. She had Paul Wilson in her house. She'd just really gotten over the incident, really stopped thinking about it. And then came Paul. Perfect in everyway except for his personality. In all honesty, she was terrified of him. But she refused to fall for his act. Somewhere underneath, there was something causing Paul to be this way. And she wanted to find out what.
But not before she fried those eggs.
Paul ran a hand through his hair when he entered the kitchen, confused as to how she could be so normal with him in her house. Wasn't she scared? Of course she was, he realized. But from letters in which he'd gotten to know a person he hated, he knew she wouldn't let it on. She wouldn't go down without a fight. All things considered, Cassie wouldn't be too bad at drama.
"Two eggs or one?" She asked him. Nicely. Civil. As if he were a friend of hers.
"One is fine." He murmured, pulling down the edges of his t-shirt and taking a cautious seat at her dining table. She was being nice, she was cooking him breakfast. She'd let him stay in her house. He fully expected Sebastien to jump out and beat the crap out of him. It was an ambush. Or there was something seriously wrong with this girl. Not that he wasn't thankful for her derangement. He hadn't had to sleep in the rain.
"What are you doing here, Paul?" She sighed, turning her back to the stove, spatula in hand. Paul eyed it wearily. "I mean, I know you needed a place to stay. But..why?"
He was silent for a long moment, glaring at the wood of the floor. Stupid girl, she didn't need to know anything. It wasn't her business, and it was her fault it had all happened in the first place. On the other hand, she wasn't stupid. If he was staying at her house, she needed to know why...
"My parents kicked me out." He growled, waiting for her laughter.
The spatula dropped to the floor.
"What?" She gasped, completely shocked. "Why?"
"They have high expectations." Paul murmured. "There is no way they'd put up with me being expelled."
"Seb said you weren't expelled." Cassie recalled, ignoring his curse when she mentioned her friend. "Your parents withdrew you from the school!"
"Yeah." Paul glared. "But to them, it was still expulsion. I'm a disgrace."
"Its not like Brookfield is the nicest..." She stopped, face flushing again. "You have no place to go. Your parents just kicked you out? We have to go to the police or something!"
He raised his eyebrows at such an extremity. "And tell them what?"
She paused, tilting her head down. Paul knew the read question was why he'd chosen to come to her. When she was the source of the problem, where she would be more likely to turn him down than anyone else. But the truth was, ulterior motive or not, he knew her because of her letters. And he was going to use that to his advantage.
They were quiet for a long time. Peaceful in their enmity. It gave Cassie time to think. This was the first time they had ever talked, the first time she'd looked at him long enough to really see him. Her heart gave that panicked twinge again, and she hurried to set his eggs out in front of him on the table. He was a guest, and she'd always been taught to treat her guests with respect. She wondered if Paul Wilson was an exception, but here she was, giving him breakfast.
He began to eat with such fervor that she suspected he hadn't eaten in days. She would have felt sorry for him, would have been horrified about his parents kicking him out. But she didn't. Although she did try to quell her thoughts that he deserved it. She waited for him to say thank you, but it never came. Paul just continued to eat food prepared for him by the girl he had tortured for almost a year.
She sat down across from him, ignoring her own plate and staring at him intensely until he noticed and looked up. Then she grinned, insane and maniacal. The grin that often worried her friends. Paul Wilson would not win this fight so easily.
"You're welcome, Paul."
Yar. Go me. I didn't actually expect to update this today. But I already had it half written and I was in a writing mood (despite my lit exam today.) So here it is! Please review!