Page 35 of Mark

Freya

The next morning, I’m forced to sit next to Mike for breakfast. The sound of cutlery clanging against plates and chatter echoing around the large dining room grates on my already thumping headache.

I swallow down the last bit of orange juice, wincing when the movement causes more pain. I didn’t think I drank that much the night before, but I woke up with a banging headache and nausea.

“You are looking a little green there, Freya,” my aunt Alley across from me points out, her lips pulled up into a smile. “Did you have a little too much fun last night?”

I force a smile. “Nanna had us doing shots,” I admit.

“Where is Mother?” Dad asks. “She said she would meet us for breakfast.”

“I’m here,” Nanna calls out, placing her bag over the back of her chair. She has on a huge beige, straw hat, and sunglasses that take up her entire face. A black cover up dress is covering her bikini, which I can see the straps of. “And will you keep it down. There’s no need to raise your voice.”

“How is your hip?” I ask, knowing she must have hurt it when she tumbled out of the chair last night.

“Well enough to wrap them around some hunk,” she assures me.

“Mother!” Dad hisses.

She pushes her sunglasses further up her nose. “Son, don’t act surprised your mother has sex. How do you think you were conceived?”

“Can we please change the subject,” my mother orders.

Nanna turns to me when they go back to their conversation. “Please tell me the hot guy took you to bed. He looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

I choke on air, and my eyes bug out. “No, Nanna. Just no.”

“You are only young once,” she reminds me.

“He’s the crazy neighbour I told you about.”

She purses her lips for a moment. “The one you think stole your cat?” she asks, and I hear the doubt in her voice. She didn’t believe me when I first told her, and she definitely doesn’t believe me now she’s met him. And she was drunk for their entire encounter.

I bang my hands down on the table and flinch at how loudly it echoes in my head. I lean in close, lowering my voice. “He did steal my cat. And he did steal the doormat. He might not have stolen the food, but he’s still crazy.”

“Crazy hot,” she teases.

“We aren’t talking about him,” I grumble, turning back to my food. I move the egg around the plate, wondering why I even picked anything up. Aside from the toast, everything else has been left untouched.

I notice Esther watching me from up the table, but she soon looks away when she’s caught.

I’m too hungover to deal with her.

“Hey, what are you up to later?” Mike asks someone, but I don’t bother to check who he is creeping on since I’m still stewing over my neighbour.

Mark was actually nice last night, and for a minute, I thought maybe I had pegged him wrong. But that minute was just that. A minute. He went back to being the jerk I always knew he was.

“He’s talking to you,” Nanna whispers, nudging my shoulder.

“Huh?” I turn to Mike and find he is, in fact, talking to me. Or rather, my tits—if his line of sight is anything to go by. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What are you doing later?”

“Why?”

Please don’t ask me to do something.

Please don’t ask me to do something.

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