Falling For The Playboy

With the sharpness in her gaze, I’d put my money on the latter, but one couldn’t judge her based on her eyes because they hadn’t changed since I’d met her.

“Okay, well… ” I mumbled, at a loss for words.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

I wanted them to leave already so I could safely hide behind the walls of the room. Granted, I would be seeing them in no time, there was no way I could live with them and not, I just needed to get my bearings. I’d barely spent an hour with them and I felt out of sorts already.

I thought I caught a flash of pity in Abi’s face, but then I wasn’t so sure because it was gone in an instant. She pulled at her sister’s hand, walking backwards.

“We’ll leave you to it. ” they bundled down the stairs, disappearing out of sight.

I stared at the blank spot they’d just been in for a while, before pushing the door wide open and entering the room.

The room -my room, was painted a plain purple, complete with a comfy-looking four poster bed, a bed bench, bed rug, a dresser, side table and a couch off to the side. A door was situated on the side wall and I knew it had to lead to a bathroom.

My own personal room and bathroom. Who would’ve thought?

Back at the orphanage, we weren’t as privileged. The population in there grew almost everyday as the supplies remained stagnant and with time, we’d had to resort to pairing. A room housed about six beds in it and each bed had two occupants. More times than one, people found themselves on the ground, with no memory of how they got there and some, flat out opted to sleep on the floor. I couldn’t fault them when I knew one person could barely fit into the beds, much less two people.

I, on the other hand, was one of the lucky people who got to share their beds with the younger orphans. My bed partner had been a three-year-old girl, Fatima, incredibly smart and just as special. She had trouble sleeping, the sole reason every other person refused to pair with her. Sometimes, she’d wake up at night and stare into the dark. It had been creepy witnessing it at first, but with time, I got used to it and devised a coping mechanism for the both of us.

I read. For her and for me. Talking about false scenarios and how happy we were going to be even if all I fed her were lies. Lord knew they were better than our reality.

Constantly witnessing children like Fatima arriving at the orphanage, took me to a bad place. Hearing the pain in their cries, the sorrow on their tear-streaked faces, how impossibly small and vulnerable they were. It reminded me of myself. That had been me once upon a time.

Now that I wasn’t there for her anymore, I hoped she was okay.

I didn’t know from what age a person retained childhood memories and I didn’t know if it was possible to have a memory before reaching the age of five, but I remembered tibdits of that night. It played behind my eyelids like a footage when they slid closed.

I’d been chilled to my bones, sitting on the floor, my weak arms by my side, helpless to defend themselves against the unforgiving night wind. My desperate cries had rent the air as I screamed for help. Pity. Forgiveness. Anything really.

And the only thing I’d been granted, was silence.

I could still remember how confused I’d felt, my poor brain struggling to find the word it needed. When I did, I screamed, ‘MAMA’. She’d paused as shock registered on her face, and in that short moment, I’d felt hope. My hope dashed when she turned around and made the rest of the journey. Without me. One lesson that night taught me, was that words were never enough.

Deep in my gut, I knew my parents were alive. I just didn’t know where they were. And I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I wanted to.

I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. My hand had a death grip on the door-knob as I stood at the entrance of the bathroom. A little bit more pressure and it would have snapped. How nice would it be causing damage on my first day here? The girls would absolutely love it. My ass would be sent back to the orphanage and they’d have their house all to themselves once again. Peace.

If only.

I might be downplaying my excitement just a little -okay, a lot. The house was beautiful, both inside and out. The furnitures and design were top notch and I would’ve been alarmed if I didn’t know the kind of money my foster parents had.

My room was absolutely stunning. Not too girly and not boyish either. It fit perfectly in the middle. Exactly what I would have wanted. Living here wouldn’t be hard, rather it was the people I would be living with that bothered me.

My foster parents weren’t that much of an issue, but the twins…

Abi seemed to tolerate me at least. She didn’t like me, that very much was obvious and it would be unrealistic to assume she would since she’d only just met me. Zoe, on the other hand, confused the hell out of me. I’d never met a person as complicated as her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she didn’t want me here. At all.

What would it be like actually getting to know them without this new relationship hanging over our heads? Would they have let me in?

I dropped down on the bed, placing my bag beside me, feeling drained all of a sudden. Running a hand through my unmade hair, I stared absently at a spot on the wall.

In another time, another place, under different circumstances, I could have been friends with them. Maybe even good ones. But that was just a thought and it didn’t really matter anyway. Because they’d decided to make me an enemy.

Even before I became a stranger.