Page 10 of Deranged Imposter

Isabella

Affable demeanor, even-voiced, and attentive is what Mikah shows people. He pulls it off effortlessly, looking like a supermodel coming out of an impressive museum and amassing an army of eyes following him.

Strangely, his solitude is most talked about. His peers don’t understand it, his professors are concerned, and the school’s dean wonders if Mikah is as well-adjusted as he seems.

It’s a mystery. Mikah can smile, and women in the vicinity would believe their hair is their worst enemy if it blocks their view of his face, so they collectively put the strands behind their ears shyly.

He helps his peers when they ask, but he never goes out of his way to offer his assistance. Mikah’s nice, but not approachable. He doesn’t integrate into the lives of others, choosing to find peace and comfort in his heavy, boring, and grueling law books.

A lone wolf: prideful and strong. That’s what people call him.

They’d eat their words if they saw the true him.

“Ouch,” I hiss, glowering at the splattering oil on the skillet.

Rubbing the sore spot on my thigh, I twist the knob to turn off the heat before setting the spatula on the clean kitchen towel. The clock ticks to seven in the morning, birds flocking under the blazing sun as I squint through the window.

I can skip breakfast, never finding myself hungry enough when I first wake up, but Mikah can’t. It’s more like I’m not allowed to miss breakfast; he looks at me with those disappointed eyes and speaks with that chiding voice, but I know he’s just concerned about me.

However, it’s more for him than for me. The mental load of his law studies is taxing, giving him no room to breathe when he strives for the best results.

His family vouched and pulled strings for me to be in this school.

His father is not the type to do charity work. He likes action-yielding rewards. He wants me to take care of Mikah in any way appropriate and lessen his stress. The reward his father gets is his son having a head start in life.

I wouldn’t have agreed to be Mikah’s non-official babysitter if it weren’t for the full ride to one of the most respectable schools. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I’d be stupid to take my pride and dignity into consideration.

I’ve been by Mikah’s side for years, so nothing has changed for me to achieve this degree.

I clear my throat and knock onmybedroom door. As expected, no answer comes. I walk inside slowly, waiting for my eyes to adjust from the blinding brightness to the dim room.

Mikah knows no boundaries. He takes, uses, and buys things that either aren’t his or have a limited purpose. His latest stunt is inhibiting my bedroom, insisting the mattress is big enough for two people. If "big enough" means sleeping on top of him, that is.

Since my roommate subleased her room to Mikah, which I’m sure hadn’t taken much coaxing when Mikah offered more money or a rare smile, I took my roommate’s room to establish a boundary that should’ve been there already.

We’re not children anymore; sharing a bed with a man who touches me like I’m his favorite toy is bound to be disastrous. I prefer the distance and walls. Neither of us should toe the line of friendship; it’s just not sustainable.

He’ll finish his law degree, pass the bar, and make a household name for himself. My usefulness ends when I graduate since Mr. Masini hasn’t mentioned me staying in school after this semester. His son still has a year left of law school.

That contradicts the earlier thought of Mr. Masini needing me to take some burden off Mikah’s shoulders.

I huff and rub my temple to ease the dreadful discomfort. It’s too early to think about future hurdles when I have the ultimate hunk of a headache undermyweighted blanket.

Stalking toward the curtains, I throw them apart and open the windows. I’m blasted with vibrant colors, shrill sounds, and a crisp breeze. With one last moment to savor the feeling, I square my shoulders and make way to the bed.

I wrestle the blanket free from his death grip and pull it down, letting the mighty sunlight burn the side of his head. He buries his face deeper into the pillow and hisses incoherently, the blanket curling into his chest as a petty gesture.

“Breakfast is ready,” I mumble, poking his shoulder.

His muscles swell, tightening at the touch as the spiral of ink stretches when he rolls away. Mikah’s great in many areas; academically brilliant, physically gifted, and emotionally stable.

But he can’t defeat daybreak.

Emotional stability is rare these days, especially in an environment where students have their lives in their hands. Imagine someone studying their ass off for the entrance exam, passing, paying the tuition, then during a semester they fail or simply burn out.

They'll have to deal with the shame of their family’s expectations, disappointment, and the sense that their time and effort were in vain.

Suffice to say, students can’t afford to fail.

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