“See, I would do that with a happy spring in my step if you even bothered to realize you’re not the only person in this hospital, and you’re certainly not the only one with problems.”
I stop, then turn around. She starts picking up the fallen chairs, lining them up against the wall with grace. From one chair to the next, she puts back order to my chaos, her shoulders tense with anger, or is it worry?
“I don’t have problems,” I counter.
“I think you have some major issues there, bud. Do yourself a favor, keep your mess to your damn self. The rest of the world has enough going on already.”
She’s snippy and nosy sure, but in her eyes is worry that I’ve seen so often in Liam’s eyes when he looks at Aiden. It’s also a look I see in the mirror every single day. The guy is the mirror doesn’t like me much though so I’m not sure if he’s worried or he’s just a jerk with too much to do in a single day.
But this girl, she’s too young to have that look. The look of burden and uncertainty. And the fact that a girl like her is butting in my shit, picking up chairs, tells me that she’s a pathetic little thing and so damn lonely.
“I guess you’re also a part time do-gooder, charity volunteer, annoying twat?” I mock. “Does that make up for being so nosy and shaping out to be a bitch?”
She gasps, but I know it’s not the first time someone has called her a bitch. But it’s definitely the first time a guy has called her out on her shit.
Her eyes widen, and she stops picking up the next chair.
“Excuse moi?” She flips her long locks over her shoulder. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
“Are you hard of hearing?” I raise an eyebrow, feeling this inexplicable need to push her buttons, see how far she’ll go. Will you snap, Little Minx?
“Let me tell you something, jerk,” she starts, stepping closer to me with each word. “I’m not shaping up to be a bitch and even if I was, you, with all your messed-up testosterone, don’t get to call me names when you’re the one who just caused a ruckus out here. There are patients in this hospital trying to get some rest, hopefully, without any disturbance. And I’m guessing one of those patients in here, is related to you.”
I tense up all over again. The little pocket of fresh air I just had with enjoying her anger, dissipates without a trace.
“What do you know about who’s related to me?”
I don’t mean to be so harsh, but the topic of Aiden has always been sensitive for me. At school, no one knows that Liam and I have an older brother, and the few people in this town that do, I don’t know, they just never mention him.
I prefer it that way. He’s none of anyone’s business but mine.
“Hmm, I didn’t know before, but you just confirmed it.” She smiles, shaking her head.
“Don’t toy with fire, it’ll burn you.” I warn, though in the back of my mind I somehow suspect she’s the one who’s going to burn me to hell and back.
“Oh honey, I was conceived in flames,” she counters, but it lacks conviction, tasting instead, of that sadness creeping back into her eyes.
“Did you get that line from a fairytale story, too?” I question, keeping my voice low.
She sighs heavily, glancing down the hall at another hospital door. “It’s what my mother used to say.”
I don’t miss the way she uses past tense, or the way her tiny frame trembles. It’s her mother in that hospital room.
When I don’t have anything to say, she resumes picking up the next two chairs, her shoulders still tense with the weight of problems we would both rather not talk about, filtering in like storm clouds over us.
I notice the way she carries herself, to the way she moves; so graceful, so delicate, so secretly vulnerable, like she doesn’t want the world to know—let alone me—that she’s in pain. She has to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You’d never guess that she has a sharp tongue in her arsenal. Lethal and cutting deeper than a double-edged sword.
But when you look closer, beyond the well dressed, flashy, sassy exterior, you’ll see her.
“What’s your name?” I know she’s not going to tell me. This girl has defiance in her very core. She huffs, shaking her head.
“That’s none of your business now, is it?” she mocks, enjoying her upper hand.
“It’s just a name.” I tilt my head to the left, pressing my bleeding knuckles to the side of my leg so she doesn’t see the blood.
“Will you tell me the name of the person you’re here for, first?” She looks at my hand that I’m trying to hide and smirks. The little minx knows I’m in pain.
“No.” Aiden’s identity is definitely out of the question.
“Well then, no.”
She turns around, a wicked glint in her eyes. It’s better than the emptiness that’s threatening to take her under, like it’s done to me.
“Is it possible that you don’t want to tell me your name because it’s something stupid, like a color or maybe you’re named after some spring flower.”
“Some spring flower?” She smiles coyly, eyeing me.
“Yup, like Daffodil.” I try my hardest not to laugh at the horror on her face. “I mean, your high school life is about to be fucked if that’s your name. They’ll be calling you Dumb Daffy.”
She stops, places her hands on her hips, her button of a nose scrunched up in a condescending frown.
“Seriously? Dumb Daffy?” she mocks. “That’s all you can come up with?”
“I can keep going if you’d like,” I offer, feeling a lightness in my chest I haven’t felt in a while. “Though I suspect it’ll hurt your little feelings.”
Her eyes flash with anger and something else I can’t place. Leaning in, I stare at her, but she blinks, and it’s gone in the next second.
She grabs the last chair, taking her time to respond when I’m all but hanging on her next words. Turning around, she pretends to be calm when I know she’s close to smacking the lights out of me, but instead, like a master of resting bitch face with a touch of faux southern sweetness, she smiles but it doesn’t reach her wide eyes.
I wonder what her real smile would look like if the fake one makes her one hell of a sexy bitch.
“You know what I think of you?” she starts, eyeing me.
“That I’m rude?” I shrug. “Yeah, you mentioned that one already. Are you running out of material?”
“You’re not just rude, you lack a personality.” I’ll take that, only because Liam says the same thing.
“Sure, and you need to mind your damn business,” I counter.
“Nope, that’s not it.”
“Oh, more material.” I wave at the floor dramatically. “Please, do go on Daffy.”
“I think you’re a mental case. I heard they’re looking for a patient that escaped the psychiatric ward a few minutes ago.” She takes a step closer to me, tapping her chin. “They described the poor thing as big, tall, angry as hell with a chip on his shoulder. I think that’s you, sir.”
Her voice is airy, sarcastic, and soft, as if she’s been serving up disses all her life and knows how to insult someone without breaking a sweat.