Page 35 of Reckless

“I don't know,” I reply honestly.

“What the fuck do you mean you don't know?” He scowls before pulling away from me, his hands running ruthlessly through his dark hair.

“I mean I don't know!” I snap at him, frustrated with his reaction for some reason. He always poked at my temper like he was stoking the flames within me. Building them higher and higher until I burned from the inside out.

He looks at me again, his eyes widening again as he takes in my face. The awful bruises covering my skin like paint on a blank canvas. His eyes are endless as he stares at me, his irises so dark I can barely make out his pupils.

His fists open and close and I can tell he's at the end of his temper. He grabs my hand and I watch as he practically drags me to one of the bar stools lining my tiny kitchenette before plopping me down onto one of the tall barstools.

Too shocked to move, I watch as he walks into the kitchen like an overeager suburban mom at Toys R Us on Black Friday. His muscled arms open nearly every cabinet and drawer, all of which topple to the ground from the force at which he slams them open and I have to take deep breaths to keep myself from flashing back to the men from last night. They are both so carelessly reckless. And yet I don't find myself a wink afraid in this dark boy's presence.

I must truly be in shock.

I watch as Kaleb quickly fills a Ziplock bag with ice before hastily covering it with a worn dish towel that reads Home Sweet Apartment. The thought would almost be comical if he didn't look so distraught carrying the rag. My eyes continue to track him and I watch hypnotized as he reaches across the counter and presses the cloth-covered bundle against my right eye. The coolness hits me immediately and I hiss.

“Too cold?” he mumbles, his breath soft against my cheek as he takes the seat next to mine. I shake my head. It was cold but the pain is starting to fade as numbness begins to take over.

“How did this happen, Rose?” He looks nervous, his hands rubbing up and down his jean-clad legs. Almost as if he is dreading the words he demanded from my tongue with every fiber of his being.

“Rose.” He asks again, his eyebrow arching up in annoyance, and I try to ignore how he called me Rose three times in the past five minutes. He never calls me by my name.

Pressing the ice further into my cheek I turn towards him, our knees almost touching in such close proximity,

“I don't know what happened,” I reply, “The last thing I remember is painting and I guess I must have fallen asleep at some point...” I trail off, the memories hitting me all at once, and I have to force myself to not recoil at the fresh wave of unease that settles onto my skin. I look up to find Kaleb’s dark eyes on mine, their depths demanding me to answer him while somehow giving me the strength to continue. He was such a broken puzzle, this boy.

“I woke up when I heard them. Somehow they must have gotten into my apartment and they were breaking things. Tearing cabinets open ruthlessly and they wouldn't stop. I must have fallen asleep behind the couch and when they found me -” I look down, too ashamed to continue with his knowing eyes staring at me like that, and trace my mother's sharpied words on my wrist in a vain attempt to give myself the strength to withstand his gaze.

His eyes were like a black hole, so endless I didn't know where they started and I began, like he was the universe and I was the flimsy mortal string tying him to Earth.

“Well, you can see for yourself what happened when they found me,” I whisper, my words the only thing hanging between us in my shitty apartment.

Kaleb’s silent, and I'm afraid that when he speaks his tentative hold on his temper will snap like a string. His fists are already opening and closing in a blatant attempt to try and reign in the fire I know is burning him under his skin.

“Kaleb.” I whisper and his head snaps up at me, “Kaleb I think they were looking for something.” His eyes flash and something a fool might mistake for guilt fills them before he looks away.

“I need a drink.” He mumbles before abruptly standing up and walking the two steps back into the kitchen. I watch as he restlessly slams open cabinets once again. He reaches ruffly for one of the cabinets above his head, his obnoxiously overpriced Gucci button-down riding up to reveal bronzed, toned skin.

He looked so out of place in the apartment whose only ally was duct tape (the only thing keeping this damn apartment together at this point), flaunting his wealth as carelessly as an impulsive Kanye at his and Kim’s commercialized wedding. Reaching up, he flashes me with abs so chiseled Michelangelo would faint at the mere sight of the gym-carved muscles. Most likely the result of a dedicated kickboxing cardio routine.

Annoyed with this impulsive boy in my kitchen, I blush and look away.

“Gosh don't you have anything to drink in this damn shoebox posing as a pathetic excuse for a kitchen?” He mumbles angrily before begrudgingly opening the fridge and scanning the contents within.

Sighing, I push myself up from the barstool before making my way to join the pain in the ass in the kitchen. Shoving past him I make to grab the bottle of whiskey I know for a fact my mother stored underneath the sink for when even she couldn't outrun her problems. Without turning to look at him, I open the cabinet above me and pull down the first cup I get my hands on, a dainty floral teacup. Filling the tiny cup to the brim, I twist the cap back on the bottle before handing it to him.

He raises an eyebrow at the teacup but doesn't say anything before slamming the liquid down his throat and immediately holding it out for a refill. This time I’m the one to raise a brow before uncapping the lid and pouring the strange overdressed boy another drink. He drains the contents and slams the delicate teacup onto the counter so hard I nearly jump.

“Another.” He declares.

“Someone's demanding tonight.” I snap. His attitude grating on my nerves.

He did realize he was the one to barge into my apartment right?

Kaleb just rolls his eyes.

“You know it's no fun drinking alone Blondie.”

Oh, so we’re back to Blondie now.

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