by Theresa Jane
I felt disgust run through my body as memories flooded my mind of a time before New York. I didn’t want any part of this, not again. The dark-haired man’s eyes darted up and locked with mine, and I felt my heart rate increase, a numbness spreading through my body. He lost interest quickly as the girl in his lap drew his attention away, but the feeling lingered.
I felt my lip curl in disgust, and I backed away from the boisterous group as the girls started to whine in high-pitched voices. I retreated quickly to my room, sliding the lock into place behind me. Alcohol was dangerous; my father had taught me that.
I felt myself tremble as I undressed and pressed the covers of my temporary bed around me, but nothing could block out the voices on the other side of the door. Nothing could keep the voices silent in my mind, no matter how I tried to hide.
Chapter 6: Singing in the Shower
I woke up early the next day to find myself wrapped in a tight cocoon of sheets but unlike a butterfly, I did not emerge beautifully. Shuffling into the bathroom, I shied away from my appearance of crazy red curls and matching puffy eyes.
Quickly, I ran the shower and jumped inside, feeling the warm water gently wash away the remnants of sleep. I stood under the stream of water for longer than I would in my own apartment, where the highest the temperature got was just above freezing.
I was singing away loudly when suddenly the door to the bathroom burst open, a crazed blond man looking around the room frantically.
“Freya?” he yelled as I stumbled back in shock at the sudden intrusion.
“Liam,” I shouted in alarm, shutting the water off and grabbing wildly for one of the white towels. “What are you doing?”
“Are you all right? I thought I heard you shouting or screaming or something,” he answered, still looking around the room for the imaginary danger as I wrapped the towel around me tighter.
“I’m fine, Liam,” I hissed. “How did you even get in here?”
“What were you doing?” he countered, his bloodshot eyes finally resting on me.
“Having a shower,” I shot back in exasperation.
“What was all the noise?” he asked, running his hand through his rumpled hair, and it was then I realized he was only wearing a pair of boxers. Feeling my face flush, I quickly averted my eyes. Suddenly, I was very interested in the color of the grout of the tiles beneath my feet
“I don’t know,” I answered distractedly.
“You sounded like someone was trying to murder you.”
“I was just having a shower. I like to sing.” I shrugged.
“That was singing?” he asked with an unbelieving chuckle.
“Yes,” I scowled, pulling the towel around me even tighter, uncomfortable by how little we were both wearing and how distracting his body was becoming.
“I thought you were dying,” he smirked, resting his shoulder against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest, only further emphasizing the muscles in his arms. I saw black ink snaking across his arms and bare chest, but I quickly shook my mind, trying to keep my anger focused.
“Well, I’m not, so you can leave now.” My face flamed with embarrassment, and it only seemed to make his smirk grow.
“I broke your door,” he said before turning from the bathroom and disappearing out the bathroom door. I stood there for a moment before my legs regained their ability to walk and I was back in my room, staring at the consequences of his apparent rescue. The door handle was mangled and the door hung slightly askew on its hinges.
“Umm,” I spluttered, looking at what used to be my door. “Liam, what am I meant to do with this?” Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer me and I quickly grabbed some of the few clothes he had allowed me to keep. I felt a slight spike in my anger as I threw on my paint-splattered clothing. I darted out of my room and down to his before slowly approaching his door.
“Liam?” I said cautiously, pushing the door to his bedroom open a little further. The room was dark but I could see the distinct outline of a body huddled up under the disheveled covers. Taking a deep breath, I breached the barriers of his personal space for the second time and tiptoed across the carpet, stopping beside the bed and looking down at the burst of blond hair poking out from the covers.
“Liam,” I said a little louder, but he still didn’t stir and I wondered how he could have possibly heard my singing in the shower only minutes before. “Liam.”
I heard muffled mumbling, and then he drew the covers over his head and I sighed in annoyance.
“Liam, you broke my door,” I hissed, glaring down at the lump under the covers.
“Freya,” he shouted in alarm, shooting up from under the covers. “What are you doing in here? Get out.”
“But-”“You’re not allowed in here, ever,” he emphasized, jumping out of bed and causing me to step back slightly.
“Then how am I meant to clean it?”
“You don’t,” he growled, spinning me around and pushing me from the room. His hands on my shoulders sent sparks around my body. The very sparks I was intent on ignoring.
“But I’m your maid, aren’t I?” I shot back.
“Out,” he shouted, and suddenly I found myself out in the corridor again, the door to his room slamming firmly behind me, and I distinctly heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.I looked back at the door in confusion before my growling stomach had me heading down the corridor toward the kitchen.
However, I only made it as far as the living area where I stopped in my tracks as I took in the state he and his friends had left it in from the night before. I found empty bottles of beer and almost every pillow on the couch askew, not to mention some discarded clothes I’m sure someone would probably be missing right about now. It looked like a tornado had run through and I cringed, knowing it was my job to clean it all up.
Turning my back on the mess, I continued to the kitchen and found a similar mess in there. I eyed the coffee machine warily as I entered. I skated around it, afraid it might lash out at me again, and shuffled to the fridge.
If I was going to be forced to stay here, then he was going to feed me. Looking in the fridge, I saw my options were limited, but breakfast wasn’t going to be an impossible task. Living on a budget like mine, you learned to cook with anything you could get your hands on, even if some mornings that was a tomato and a few flakes of cereal.
* * *
I was almost finished making a mystery omelet when I felt the overwhelming sense that someone was watching me.
“Liam,” I grumbled, turning around to face him with pan in hand. Unfortunately for him, it was the only thing in the room that had any heat.
“You’ve been in my room before,” he accused as a way of greeting, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Maybe,” I shrugged, dropping the omelet onto a plate.
“That’s my personal space, mine,” he bit out, stalking over to me and pinning my body between his and the bench. Thankfully, he was fully dressed now and his hair was curling slightly where it was still damp from his shower. It barely dulled the sparks jumping through my veins.
“It’s not nice when people touch your things, is it?” I shot back, raising my eyebrow at him challengingly.
“That was different,” he growled, lowering his head so his eyes were level with mine. He was so low, he had to hunch over to do it and it made him look ridiculous, but I restrained myself from smiling again.
“How, because it was my stuff?”
“A thrift store wouldn’t accept your things.”
“It was still mine, and you had no right to send men in there and decide that it was worthless.”
“Let it go, Freya,” he groaned, pushing away from me and running his hand down his tired face. I wondered for a moment if he had a hangover from last night, but my concern only lasted a heartbeat before my anger returned.
“Let it go?” I demanded. “How would you like it if I kicked you out of your apartment a
nd told you that you were going to live with a total stranger and work for him? Then on your first day there, he wasn’t even around.
“Then strange men come into the apartment, telling you that all the things you own in this world have been thrown away, as if your life means nothing, and when the stranger does return, he brings his drunk friends with him and doesn’t even warn you,” I spat, my breathing heavy as I let out all of my frustrations from yesterday. “Then to top it all off, he bursts in on you in the shower after breaking down your door.”
“I thought you were dying,” he countered.
“I was singing,” I shouted in frustration, pushing past him and storming toward my bedroom. I tried to slam the door, but then I remembered that Liam had broken it and instead picked up one of my colorful shoes and threw it across the room. It left a satisfying mark on the otherwise pristine wall, and then I threw myself on my unmade bed.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell and throw more things, but I knew it wouldn’t be helpful so instead, I grabbed the phone on the bedside table and dialed a familiar number.
“Mason Coleman speaking.” Those were the only three words he got in for the next half hour.
* * *
“Mase, I don’t want to do this,” I complained for the hundredth time as he sighed heavily into the phone.
“Please Freya, it won’t be forever. I’m sure he’ll get tired of you eventually. You’re not very neat anyway; you’ll make a terrible maid,” he offered, and I rolled my eyes at my brother’s idea of comfort.
“Thanks,” I groaned. “I just can’t believe you did this to me.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ever drink like that again.”
“Don’t make empty promises, Mase,” I muttered, and silence soon fell between us as we both left the words unsaid. Mase would never stop drinking, just like I would never stop being the screw-up.
“I am sorry, Freya,” he said softly, finally breaking the silence, and I sighed heavily as we skated around the topic again.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” I asked weakly, and his silence was all the confirmation I needed.
“If he tries anything, Freya, call me,” he said firmly, and I nodded my head as if he could see me. I knew he was trying to be protective; he always had been. It was why he had given up his life back home to move here with me, as far away from our father as possible. We may not get along most of the time, but we were all each other had.
“He kicked me out of my home,” I muttered.
“Good,” Mase chuckled, and I scowled at him even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Wipe that angry look off your face, Freya. You know that place was a death trap. Where are you now?”
“Across the hall from him.”
“You’re living with him?” he asked in disbelief.
“He broke the door down while I was in the shower.”
“What?’ he demanded, outraged, and I could hear him getting to his feet and slamming things.
“He thought I was dying,” I said quickly, and I heard silence on the other end of the phone.
“Why would he think that?” he asked, but I didn’t get to answer before realization hit. “You were singing, weren’t you?”
“I’m not that bad,” I groaned as my brother chuckled on the other end.
“No Freya, you’re completely tone deaf,” he laughed, and I pulled the phone away from my ear so he could laugh in peace.
“Come on, Freya,” he said as I put the phone back to my ear. “You know you’re a terrible singer.”
“Everyone sings in the shower,” I grumbled defensively.
“Not everyone should,” and I could hear the smile in his voice. I felt a reluctant smile spread across my own face.
“Shut up, Mase.”
“Am I forgiven?” he asked hopefully, and I smiled as I pictured the expression on his face. It was probably the same one he gave me when he cut off all the hair on my dolls when he went through his hairdresser phase.
“Not even close,” then I hung up the phone before he could say another word. I slumped back among the pillows and looked up at the ceiling when I heard a small knock on the bedroom door. I pushed up on my elbows to find a sheepish rock star holding a steaming mug of coffee.
“That better be for me,” I grumbled as he edged his way warily into the room.
“Well, I can’t expect you to make your own coffee if I want my coffee machine to live.”
“It’s evil, that is not my fault,” I mumbled, cradling the offered mug in my hands and breathing deeply.
“I didn’t realize you would be so upset about living here,” he offered, sitting down on the bed beside me. I remained silent and he continued. “I’ll consult you next time I plan any massive changes of address.” He smirked, and I glared at him over the top of my mug.
“Why are you doing this? Why don’t you just let me go? I’m sure you could hire a maid who actually likes cleaning. What happened to the last one?”
“I didn’t like her,” he muttered, pushing to his feet.
“Why?” I questioned as he turned his back on me.
“Just follow the book and everything will go smoothly,” he said, and I narrowed my eyes at his retreating back. He paused for a moment beside my door, and I could have sworn he had a smile on his face. “I’ll call some guys to fix the door.” Then he was gone.
Moments later, I heard the front door slam and I felt whiplash from his rapid mood swing. One minute he was almost apologizing and the next minute he was threatening my brother’s job again. I couldn’t keep up. One thing was for sure, I was burning that book. Then I was scattering the ashes around his apartment. I may be forced to stay here, but I wasn’t going to follow his rules. It was about time the man who was bound by order met the girl who only knew how to live in chaos.
Chapter 7: Follow the Rules
I wiped at the sweat on my brow as I surveyed my work with a satisfied smile. Liam's living room had never looked better. Once I had finished my coffee, after he had stormed out of the apartment again, I got to work on his book.
I cleaned the apartment before I pushed back all the furniture in the living room and began my masterpiece. I measured everything precisely as per the map's suggestion, and then I outlined it all with masking tape. Once the floor was mapped out, I proceeded to place all the furniture in exactly the wrong places.
I wasn’t strong enough to move the couch so when the men arrived to fix the door, I had them move it for me. It now faced out at the view of New York, and it was where I was currently sitting, wishing I had a cup of coffee in my hand. However, I still didn’t dare go anywhere near the coffee machine. When I heard a knock at the door, I looked over my shoulder in confusion. Who could it possibly be? If it was Liam he wouldn’t have knocked, so who else would be knocking?
Getting to my feet, I felt an uneasiness settle in my chest. What if it was one of his friends from last night?
I crossed the room silently as the person knocked again, and I felt my heart rate increase. With trepidation, I flicked the locks on the door and opened it slowly, peeking around the door. Suddenly, I sprang back when the door came crashing back at me and a body pushed past in a flurry of long raven hair and legs that seemed to go on forever.
"Where is he?" she yelled, storming into the apartment, and I was left holding the door, my mouth slightly open as I watched her. "Liam?" I didn’t know what to do. Logically, I should have told her he wasn’t here immediately, but my mind had stopped working and all that I was left with was empty space where it had once been.
"Who are you?" she demanded, turning back to me, and if it were possible, my mind became even blanker than before. "Do you speak?" Before I could answer, she disappeared down the corridor to Liam's and my bedrooms, muttering something as she went.
Slowly, I shut the door behind me and followed after her, not sure what I was doing but knowing I couldn’t stay there.
&n
bsp; I found her moments later in Liam's room, and I wasn’t shocked to find that it was again the neatest place in the apartment. The bed was made perfectly and everything in the room was lined up with precision, exactly how it had been yesterday. I hovered over the threshold, not sure whether I should go in or not, but then I saw her coming back out of his bathroom.
"Where is he?" she demanded, looking around the empty room.
"He’s not here," I offered weakly as she stormed toward me. I quickly stepped out of her way and followed the human tornado down the corridor again. I stood a step away from her as she assessed the living room.
"What happened in here?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "It looks like someone murdered the sofa."
"I’m teaching Liam a lesson."
"Who are you?" she asked again before disappearing into the kitchen.
"Freya," I mumbled, but she was already gone.
"Why are you here, and where is Liam?" she yelled from somewhere in the kitchen, and I reluctantly followed to find her easily making herself a coffee. Clearly, she had been here before because the devil wasn’t spitting hot liquid on her.
"I’m his winnings," I grumbled.
"What?" she asked distractedly.
"He won me in a bet," I explained, crossing my arms angrily over my chest.
"He won a person? That can’t be right," she frowned, turning back to me with a steaming cup of coffee. "What’s your name again?"
"Freya," I mumbled.
"And where is Liam?" she asked, walking back out into the living room, me following obediently behind her.
"I don’t know," I shrugged. "He stormed out a few hours ago."
"Sounds like Liam. He’s probably at the studio. I should have checked there first. That boy is a workaholic," she muttered, setting her untouched coffee on the relocated coffee table. I eyed it enviously.
"Sorry, but who are you?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.