Anne's POV
"Holidays are here, yay!"
Who was I kidding?
My department wouldn't allow us to go home for the holidays, not with the projects and term papers still hanging over our heads. Anyone who left would return to a mountain of work, so most of us stayed back to finish up. The holidays weren't for us.
We all knew most of it was work the lecturers were too lazy to do themselves. But when it came time to receive credit or monetary reward, our names would be nowhere near it.
Without my roommates, the school felt hollow.
My roommates had left for home shortly after exams. The sendoff was embarrassingly emotional. If you had seen us, you would have thought we were parting forever. I cried the most. Partly because I would be alone, and partly because the distance between me and my family suddenly felt very real.
My workaholic roommate, Pamela Anderson, a medical student, had begun her assigned project earlier in the semester and finished before the holidays. She was free. I had never been so envious.
Today was the worst. School was emptying out fast. Everywhere I looked, boxes and traveling bags were being dragged in the same direction… the exit. The streets that were always loud and overflowing with people had started to look haunted.
After a long day at school, I returned around three to an almost empty hostel. I stepped into the room I shared with my roommates and stood there. The two empty beds stared back at me, and my eyes began to water.
I felt so left out.
I dragged myself to my bed and slumped face-up, staring at the ceiling. I had no plan, no appetite, and absolutely no energy to fix lunch.
I was pulled out of my spiral by my phone vibrating against the mattress.
It was a text from Andrew.
"Hey celebrity," it read.
I stared at my screen for a while, a smile gradually creeping onto my face.
Since that dreadful party, the one that gave me a hangover straight from the pit of hell, I had vowed never to attend another one. The worst part was that I barely remembered anything after that one sip of that forsaken drink.
Andrew wouldn’t tell me a thing. Whenever I tried to get it out of him, he’d snicker and run off, yelling “celebrities!” at the top of his voice.
Sometimes he'd launch into a whole performance, humming a tune, rolling his waist to his own beat, grinning like a man who had won something. He took tremendous pride in frustrating me.
And now, in his message, he called me a celebrity.
Any other time, I would have mentally given him the finger. But today, it actually helped. It was the break I needed.
I knew he was holding back. He probably thought he was being kind by not telling me everything I had done. But what he didn't understand was that not knowing, and watching him use it as ammunition, was somehow worse.
Did I strip or something? I found myself thinking.
"What do you want, stranger?" I texted back.
"How's my celebrity doing?" he replied, with a grinning emoji.
I smiled at it anyway, then sent an angry face back.
"I'm kinda good," I wrote, sending along a sad face emoji.
"Oh no. Red alert. I'm coming to pick you up. Get ready!" He replied immediately.
"I'm okay, Drew," I texted.
No reply.
"Drew?"
Nothing. He hadn't even read them.
Oops.
I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to freshen up.
Once I was done, I slid into a pair of black jeans, a white top, and a pair of ropy sandals. I was making finishing touches on my face when my phone began ringing, signaling Andrew's arrival.
I was excited to leave this depressing hostel.
He arrived at exactly three-thirty, fifteen minutes after his last text.
"You ready?" he asked, strolling through the door I opened for him. He had on blue baggy jeans, a black shirt with a massive skull printed across the front with slits running through the fabric, and a shiny leather jacket thrown over it all.
"Expressing yourself much?" I asked, rolling my eyes.
"Yep. Now answer my question." He came to stand right in my face. "Are. You. Ready?" he asked, drawing out every word like I was slow.
"Get out of my personal space. I heard you the first time," I said, pushing him back. He stumbled and fell into the door, laughing. “Where are we going?”
“My house.” He said it like it was obvious.
I went rigid.
Uh… what?
"I've got a great movie lined up, and pizza," he continued, scrolling through his phone.
As much as my mouth watered at the mention of pizza, I felt a bit uneasy staying alone with him.
He noticed my silence and looked up.
“Anny, it’s okay if you don’t want to go… we can go somewhere else, alright?”
“It’s okay Drew. I’d better get used to your sorry ass,” I said, laughing.
He didn't laugh.
I saw his face fall. He ran a hand over his face, slowly exhaling, then stood up and walked the short distance to me.
"Anny," he started, placing both hands on my shoulders, a bit more serious now, "I know you still feel uneasy staying alone with me. I'll forever hate myself for that. But believe me when I tell you that I'll never make that mistake again."
"Hey, don't get all emotional on me now," I said to lighten the mood.
He smiled at me.
It was as if all the energy that had left returned tenfold. He gently pulled my handbag from me and tucked it under his arm. Then he took my hand, slid it into the crook of his arm, and together, we left my depressing room.
Outside, I screeched to a stop when my eyes landed on his massive power bike. I had forgotten Andrew owned this devil of a machine. It had already attracted a few admirers.
"No. Nuh-uh. I am not getting on that thing."
"Come on! It's exhilarating!" He patted the seat.
"No."
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
We went back and forth until he simply gave up arguing and dragged me onto it.
"You're such a big baby," he said.
The ride on the bike was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. I loved the rush of fresh air and the feeling of freedom, but at the same time, I kept imagining falling off the bike or under its massive tires. That definitely wouldn't end well.
We hadn't even stopped, but I was already gaping at the beautiful house in front of us. It wasn't too big but you could tell it was expensive.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” he said, gesturing to the house.
“I guess ‘humble’ has lost its meaning.” I rolled my eyes. “It's beautiful all the same.”
“Thank you,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “I work real hard to give you the life you deserve, dearest one.”
I smacked his arm, gaining myself a chuckle and an ‘ouch’ from him.
He unlocked the door and we stepped into another world. At least that’s how I saw it.
The inside was stunning. The white walls contrasted sharply against the dark furniture. The large windows were covered with heavy dark curtains that blocked out all the daylight, leaving only the warm glow of antique bulbs. It gave the house a brooding, intimate feeling.
The walls were covered in paintings I could tell were expensive, from artists whose names I would have known if I cared about that sort of thing.
“Make yourself at home, look around, I’ll be right back,” he said before going up the flight of stairs and disappearing around a corner.
“I will.”
I was actually itching to look around.
I slowly walked around the house, taking in the paintings and furniture, flower vases, and sculptures.
He said make yourself at home, that meant I could touch stuff right? I decided to do it anyway.
I walked down the short hallway, stopping at intervals to stare at the expressive paintings.
Till now, I still don't get why some scribblings on a canvas are considered art. Someone would just wake up, take up a paintbrush and begin splashing colors here and there, then voila, something worth thousands would be created. I'm sorry art lovers, I just don't get it.
I was almost at the end of the hallway when I began hearing low grunts from the last room. They weren't muffled, which meant the door was open.
The first thing that came to mind was, ‘Yeah… I probably shouldn’t be here.’
But who could that be?
I thought we were alone.
My legs moved and before I could stop myself, I was already standing in front of the open door, staring at an insanely toned body covered in a sheen of sweat.
I stood frozen, my eyes fixated on the scene before me.
He was shirtless, in just sweatpants that rode low on his waist, the fabric barely holding on, exposing the upper swell of his backside.
As he moved up and down in measured reps, the muscles of his back and arms rippled.
I gulped and tried very hard not to think the thoughts I was thinking.
Each sit-up pulled out a grunt, the same sound I had heard from the hallway. The sounds were quite…
Anne! Get a hold of yourself.
I snapped out of it and shuffled back into the living room, breathing heavily. I almost bumped into Andrew.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, furrowing his brows.
"Nothing!" I squeaked.
'Was that my voice?!'
"You sure? Your face looks flushed," he asked worriedly, extending his fingers to poke my cheeks.
"I'm okay." I breathed out, moving quickly to sit on the couch.
As if on cue, Vincent walked in shirtless, with just sweatpants and a towel around his neck.