Chapter 4

I should've known. I should really have. I'm so stupid at this part. Who would want me to work off the workplace so badly? Who would pay me not just thrice but, as the lady said, as a 'whole package?' Who else? Of course, a rich person. I didn't see this coming. I thought I was about to paint for a political personality or whatsoever. I let out all of my mixed stress and anxieties in a sigh. How dauntless of I. For the money. For Mom, I'll do this. I just have to ignore his personality and focus on his physicality. This is going to be as easy as I think it'll be.

I look away from him, the freak, and aim my sight at the flawless white wall. Every piece of furniture in the room is colored white. Everything seems to blind my vision. They appear untouched by nobody. I look down at the tiled floor, and my frame reflects on it. It's a heavenly room, I swear. I'm clean with mine, but this? It's indescribable.

I stand stiffly before him while holding my stuff in my front. His deep grays trace my face, seemingly finding any hint of nervousness in me. I purse my lips as he continues to do it until I get greatly uncomfortable. "Stop it," I say, breaking the deafening silence in the room. "Let's start with the painting."

He step once forward, making my back stuck on the wall. "Why so snappy?" He snatches the canvas from me and gently props it up against a tall cabinet. "You really thought you could get rid of me that easily? Nah, nah."

"So this isn't about the painting?" I spit out. "This is about your little, wicked game I've never wanted to participate in?"

"You don't need to join though because," he raises a brow, "we started it. It needs some kind of ending. A very interesting one."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, really."

"I went on a quarter-hour-long trip to work, mister." I step to the side and pick up my bag of paints. "I'm here just," I eye him stoically, "for the money if that's what you badly want to hear. For the money."

He clings his warm hand to my wrist. "I'm not that kind of person, lady."

"Then what?"

"You know—"

I pick up the canvas. "I'm leaving. Please hire somebody who can keep up dealing with your ratty attitude."

He grips both of my wrists and pins them to the wall, my stuff falling off my hand. "Why are you like this, huh?" he asks. "Are you gay?"

I keep on getting his hands off me, but he's way too stronger, obviously. "What? I'm not gay. Why would you assume that? And what if I was?"

"Because you ignore me as if I was a patch of dirt."

"Just think that I'm not your," I breathe out deeply, "every girl."

He finally puts his hands off my skin. Thank God. I almost got impaled with his tight-ass grip. Real men would never do such things. He needs to grow up, mentally. I roll my eyes at him as I massage my wrists.

"Oh." He leans toward my hands, but I shove him away as gently as I need to. "I'm sorry," he says, his jaws clenching. "Do they hurt?"

I don't respond. Why would I? It's crystal clear that I'm hurt. He needs glasses. I roll my eyes and pick up my things and then escape the room. I go to the elevator and enter it.

While fixing my stuff as I go down the seemingly never-ending stories, the guy's deep, steel grays flash before me. They seemed to turn tamed when he asked if I was alright. I wish he had a less monstrous attitude that will complement his good looks. I shrug his presence off and get out of the elevator. I then bid the guard goodbye after sauntering out of the building. I hail a taxi and get back to our apartment building in no time.

*****

"Stella, wake up, darling," Mom's soft voice makes my eyelids open.

I yawn out a mist of breath and stretch out my arms. I sit up, my back curved, and then hold Mom's cold hands. "Why?" I say. It's still dark outside. "It's only," I look at my wristwatch, "four in the morning."

She points her lips in the direction of the living room. What's she trying to say? She settles down beside me and then blankly tilts her head in the same direction.

"What?" I ask. "Speak up, Mom, or I'll never get you. I feel hungover even though I didn't take any drink." It's true. The flesh of my temples is throbbing and my eyes are heavily drowsy. I even feel like throwing up, but I constantly throttle the urge to do so. "What is it?" I query again.

"There's a guy who introduced himself as your co-worker," she mumbles. "He's in the living room waiting."

"What?" I stand up, speaking up with a low voice. "Mom, why would let a person in that easily? What if he was a murderer or whatever? Anyway, what's his name?" I ask as I do my hair up into a bun. I also take a mouthwash and spit it out of the window, the freezing gust of wind entering the room, making me shiver a bit.

"He said his name was Ryle," Mom says. "Yes, Ryle."

Ryle? I don't know any co-worker of mine called Ryle. None in the restaurant nor of the art studio rookies. I furrow my brows at Mom while twisting the doorknob. "Stay here until I get rid of him," I tell her. She just nods and then takes a sip of her . . . She's got a coffee? Anyway, I escape my room and walk to the living room.

The guy is standing, his back turned to me, before the small shelf of books. He's a very tall man and wears a black leather jacket, rough brown trousers, and a pair of hiking boots. His hair is pitch-black, and I can smell a familiar fragrance, I guess, coming from him.

"Um, mister?" I said, and as he turns to me, I just freeze in my place.

Here he goes again. So his name is Ryle, huh? The freak is called Ryle. He sits the framed baby picture of me back on the top of the small cabinet. He strides toward me and then briskly holds my hands. He looks at the, I guess, the red mark he left on my wrist back in their penthouse. He clicks his tongue and then looks me in the eyes. "I'm sorry," he says under his breath.

I gently put his hands off mine. "Why are you here?" I have to stay quiet. Mom is just a few meters away. I hold onto Ryle's thick sleeve. "This is trespassing."

"Your mom let me in," he responds.

"You're stalking me now," I say before letting out a sigh of disappointment and rage. "Ryle, or whatever you call yourself, I'll be honest with you now. If you ever do these kinds of shits again, I won't hesitate to report you to the authority. I promise you that."

He bows his head and then nods cheaply. "I was just checking on you. I should've never done that to you, hurt you."

I sigh again. "I'm fine now. Just don't bother me ever again, alright?" He doesn't reply. I open the door for him. "Off you go, Ryle." He throws me a look with a meaning I can't grasp. "Please," I say.

He then obeys and I shut the door locked. Woah. That was intense. What was with the look he gave me? Is he really sorry? Why would . . . I get into my room and give Mom a steady look. "Mom, why did you let him in?"

"I thought he was your co-worker or friend." She stands up and then steps over the threshold. "I'm sorry, Stella. I'll never do it again."

"Um, thanks," my delivery sounds more like interrogative. I sit down on my bed and harshly drop my back on the mattress. "You can go back to sleep now, Mom."

"You sure you're okay?"

"At least I think I am."

"Oh, well. Just take another nap," she suggests as she closes the door.

I take a deep breath and huff it out immediately. I close my eyes and stabilize my very soul, but he, Ryle, has already ruined the day. I get off the bed and then log into my social media account on my laptop. I send Lia, one of my two best friends, a message regarding the dress she wanted to lend me. I tell her that I won't take it for Aunt Hilda has gotten one already. I then redirect to Sara's profile and message her about how she's holding up in their new neighborhood. Her family just moved out of the city to the suburbs while Lia has been living with his long-term boyfriend in a distant part of the city. We all still get to spend time together, although not that frequently already since we're focused on finishing high school.

After it, I shut the laptop down and charge it together with my phone. I then water the cactuses in pots on the outer windowsill with the spray bottle and then slide the window close. I saunter to the kitchen and prepare a cup of creamed coffee and three slices of tomato cucumber sandwiches moderately filled with mozzarella.

As the clock exactly ticks five, I call for Mom to join me. I give her a cup of yellow dock root tea and then we start eating. I remind her about the right dosage of her medication and as we finish through our food, I help her with the chores. I dry my hands with a towel and turn to her. "Mom, just two grams of opioid analgesic at five, okay?"

"Yes, sweetie. I got it," she says calmly.

"Okay then," I take off out of the living room. "I'll take a shower now. Don't exhaust yourself."

"Well, I'm just trimming my plants," she says as I step further.

She's been fond of plants since Sean disappeared from the apartment. I'm grateful that He has never let Mom feel alone. She always reads the Bible every afternoon and it cheers her spirits up. Thank the Heavens. Even though I've been mad about Sean's sudden leave, he always pops into my mind when I'm at work. Has his live-in partner already given birth? Of course, she has. I wonder if the baby looks like his mom or my brother. I have a niece, or a nephew, now, but I've never gotten to see their face. I wish Sean would visit soon. I'd love to see his child, not him.

After a quick, warm shower, I wear pale orange sweatpants and a sweatshirt over a sleeved undershirt. I tie my shoelaces and let Mom style my hair into a French braid. I then kiss her goodbye and carry all of my stuff out of the apartment building. I pedal to the school and leave my bike in Aunt Hilda's house's gated side yard. I greet the family with a good, safe morning and then cross the street.

My co-members and I meet in the homeroom and plan the Arts project we'll be executing live later in the afternoon. All of us have to do our best since we're going to college in a couple of months from now. Our last year in high school will be critical for the universities that we're going to study in, so I have to do great.

This is a key to success already. I'll never waste the opportunity. I'll study and work at the same time. I know this isn't going to be easy, but for Mom, I'll risk everything. For her good. And then I'll get her a house and we'll live a good life soon. I hope we get out of the unstable life we're in right now. I hope everything goes well.