When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 23: 22 - I strongly suggest you start talking

“You are literally the worst person to stalk. You know that, right?” he whined. “You do the exact same

boring things every single day. You’re every parent’s dream child. Live a little, will you?”

“Here’s an idea,” I snarled. “If I’m so boring, don’t stalk me. Problem solved.”

My reaction was excessive. I could feel it as soon as the words were out. It was especially hostile. It

wasn’t like him complaining about my routine was new. He did it all the time. I was used to hearing it

even. I wasn’t even pissed. Not really. Something had just been off about him the past few days and it

was starting to really irk me.

He rolled his eyes, dismissing the suggestion off with a flick of his wrist.

“You have the worst part-time job,” he declared, looking very much bored out of his mind. “You know

that, yeah? I mean, how much do you get paid to waste away in this place?”

I paused in the process of returning a book on birdwatching to the appropriate shelf.

“Worst job?” I arched a brow, unamused. “You’re one to talk, Mr Illegal Fighter.”

“Shhhh!” He hissed, eyes widening.

He shiftily glanced left then right. Like anyone would be in the bird section on a hot Tuesday afternoon.

I rolled my eyes and pushed the book into the proper slot.

“No one heard me. There’s hardly anyone in the library to begin with.”

My words didn’t provide any relief to him. He kept looking around, worriedly chewing on his lower lip. I

rolled my eyes exasperatedly.

If he was so worried about giving his secret away, he should work on his own secret keeping abilities

before worrying about the possibility of me, the queen of keeping her mouth shut, slipping up.

He sighed in relief a few beats later, finally satisfied that no one was going to materialise to arrest him.

“It’s a slow day,” I needlessly pointed out, pushing the now empty cart out of the way to make room for

me to sit on the floor. “Why are you even here? You ghosted me for weeks without any guilt. Why are

you religiously showing up every day now?”

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing me dubiously as I patted the space opposite me, gesturing for him to sit

too. With a grunt conveying displeasure, he settled down with his legs stretched out to the side,

pointedly sneering at my folded legs. I rolled my eyes.

“My co-worker wants your number,” I stated.

He smirked, looking every inch an arrogant drunk-on-his-own-appeal teenage boy.

“You’ve been talking about me?” he voiced.

I considered it my duty to humanity to bring him back down to earth.

“You hang around me five out of seven days in a week. Of course, she’d ask questions.”

He didn’t seem convinced but I knew the more I tried, the less convincing I would be so I let it go. Who

cared what he thought anyway.

“Don’t worry, I told her nothing of your dirty secret. I led her to believe you’re one of the students I tutor.

One that needs special help.”

He scowled, an eyebrow arching of its own accord.

“You couldn’t have come up with something else?”

“This was the most believable.” I shrugged innocently.

“Liar,” he accused.

I gave an unperturbed single shoulder jerk.

“It doesn’t matter. You have a girlfriend, remember?”

“I know.” His brows furrowed, a suspicious frown taking hold of his face.

“Exactly. So you couldn’t have gone after April either way.”

“I wasn’t going to. I just--”

“You just what? Wanted to keep your options open?” I cut him off.

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m just... not comfortable with the idea of you telling people I’m stupid.”

“Well,” I shrugged, “you kind of are.”

I was expecting him to take the jab good-naturedly but instead, his expression darkened dramatically

like I had crossed some imaginary line.

“Sorry,” I muttered half-heartedly. What’s his problem today?

He arched a brow, unappeased.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I am not sorry but I’m willing to pretend I am. It should make you feel better.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored me. I scoffed, my mouth opening in disbelief. Why was he being petty? I

had said worse before.

“Whatever.” I waved the issue off. “You’ve been tailing me for a while now, yeah? You know a lot about

me.” © NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

I raised my brows waiting for him to agree.

“Ohh-kay..?” he drawled, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I barely know anything about you,” I continued. “Start talking.”

He frowned.

“You know I can’t tell you about--”

I held up a hand, cutting him off.

“I know you can’t tell me about the fighting thingy and who you’re working for but you can talk about

your real life,” I expanded. “For now, that’s all I’m asking.”

“For now?” He raised his brows, his tone laced with distrust.

“You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.”

Suspicion hardened his gaze.

“Oh, come on.” I rolled my eyes. What was with him and being suspicious of everything these days. “At

this point, you basically know I’m harmless. There isn’t more to me. Besides, what am I going to do with

stories about your family? If I was that interested in them, don’t you think I would have found it out by

now? Instagram? Twitter? Literally any social media platform? Or even pried it out of someone at the

charity gala?”

I wisely kept it to myself that I had actually tried the last option. He silently contemplated my offer.

“Fine.” His gaze met mine. “What do you want to know?”

I allowed myself a small smile of victory.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“What makes you think I have siblings?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I rolled my eyes.

“Two little things known as common sense and deductive reasoning. I know you don’t understand how

it works so don’t hurt your pretty little head thinking about it.”

He pursed his lips, anger coating his features.

“What the opposite of misogyny?”

“Why do you ask?” My brows furrowed.

“Because that’s what you are,” he answered. “The female version of misogyny.”

I smiled, my eyes crinkling at the corners.

“A, That’s defamation. And b, it’s personal. Against one male. Namely, you. Not against the entire

gender so you can’t really say it’s misogyny with the gender roles reversed,” I corrected.

“That doesn’t mean other men aren’t capable of worrisome levels of stupidity by the way,” I added.

“They are for the record.”

“You’re more condescending and self-absorbed than my father. And he always thinks he’s the smartest

in the room.”

“Condescending, maybe. Self-absorbed, hardly,” I replied. “Now about your siblings...?”

I wasn't going to let him change the topic so easily.

He stayed silent, eyeing me suspiciously. I met his gaze, unwavering.

“Two siblings. An older sister and a younger one,” he answered curtly.

“Ages?”

“26 and 9.”

“What is wrong with your parents?” I commented thoughtlessly.

“Excuse me?” he hissed.

“Sorry.” I slapped my palm against my mouth. “Sorry. For real this time,” I added following his

disbelieving frown. “What I meant is the age gap is unusually wide,” I rephrased.

“My mom had problems conceiving.” He shrugged stiffly.

“Oh.”

“My older sister is married now,” he continued. “To a nice guy, thank God.”

“You say that like you didn’t expect her to marry a nice guy.”

I subconsciously leaned toward him.

“My dad wanted her to marry a business partner’s son,” he explained. “You know, a proper conceited

asshole.”

“You must be really rich.” I mused aloud.

Only ‘one percent-ers’ try to marry their children off to business partners. It was wholly a filthy rich

people thing.

He shrugged.

I knew he was stupid rich because normal rich don’t just randomly donate two hundred grand on a

whim but even so, a part of me was still surprised to be confronted with more evidence of his net worth.

It didn’t help that he was moonlighting as a broke down-on-his-luck criminal.

“And your younger sister?” I forged on.

“She’s still a kid.” He smilingly shrugged.

Translation: he loved her to pieces.

I filed the information away in to pore over it later.

“And your parents?” I prodded. “You know enough about mine.”

“My mom is...” he trailed off, raising his face ceiling.

“Is...?” I urged.

He sighed, shoulders heaving.

“She’s a good person. She has a big heart. A very kind one which would’ve been a good thing if she

wasn’t married to my dad.” He gave an awkward one shoulder shrug. “I think they love each other. Or

at least they used to at some point. It’s just old now. And faded. She doesn’t have the heart to stand up

to him.”

“He hits her?” I asked, my stomach clenching nervously.

He shook his head. I breathed a sigh of relief, the knots in my stomach undoing themselves.

“What is it then?” I asked.

He remained silent.

What else was there? Another woman? I couldn’t exactly comfortably ask that.

“Misogyny?” I ventured eventually, as soon as it occurred to me.

“Hmm.” He nodded. “And worse.”

“Don’t even think about holding out on me.” I scowled, subconsciously baring my teeth. “You know

enough of my dirty secrets.”

“Look,” he bit out sharply, eyes flashing. “You’re smart. And strong. And great at everything. Good for

you. Not everyone is like that. Respect my family’s privacy and lay the fuck off.”

Disbelief and anger warred for dominance on my face.

“Privacy?” I snarled. “Your family? Don’t you dare try to play that card with me.”

I let out a bitter chuckle. He stilled, eyes watching me like a hawk. Like he was waiting for something. I

just wish I knew what.

“How do you think I felt having you there to hear my mom yell at me? Or when I told you that my

parents are so strict my sister literally has to sneak out of the house to go to a sleepover? Need I

remind you that you laughed in my face and outright said my family was dysfunctional?”

He subtly clenched his fists at his sides but I noticed anyway. The veins on his arms strained against

skin. He had been off like that a lot lately, suddenly getting angry over petty things and sometimes, for

no reason at all. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why but I was over tiptoeing around him and

trying to anticipate his mood swings. I was actually beginning to feel unsafe around him.

I could feel myself beginning to resent him for making me feel that way. Like he was a less volatile

version of my dad. Another person to second guess and be scared of.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” I continued, forcing my gaze away from his clenched fists. “An

overachieving kid with parents who have his/her life planned out to the letter might but not you, a rich

with kid who is just going to takeover daddy’s company and probably run it to the ground. You laughed

in my face when it was your turn and I took it so I strongly suggest you start spilling. Unlike you, I won’t

laugh.”

The fire in my eyes must’ve warned him that it wasn’t time to argue.

“My dad is a misogynist who looks down on everyone who has less money. He loves my mom but has

had affairs from here to the Caribbean. He throws money at every problem and will sell anybody out to

save himself. Happy?”

“You don’t like him,” I deduced.

“I don’t,” he stated. “He was horrible to my older sister. Still is actually. It’s just not as bad now that

she’s married to an equally rich guy. He’s horrible to my mom and he thinks Ellie is best seen and not

heard. And seen only at the appropriate times, say family events.”

He let out a dark chuckle that made it clear he had, for the most part, forgotten I was listening. He was

in rant mode.

“And he’s always on me.” He scoffed. “He wants me to be just like him. Like it’s a good thing.”

I nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond.

“Tough,” I muttered eventually.

Then it occurred to me.

“Ellie?” I vocalized. “Ellie was your sister? I mean, is your sister?”

He nodded.

“Wow.” I blinked. “I did not see that coming.”

“Can you believe I still felt the need to protect my dad from your judgement?” he mused

absentmindedly.

I shrugged but then realized things would get very awkward if I didn’t say something.

“He’s family,” I managed, offering almost no comfort.

I was an expert on family mind warping and I’d like to think I wore it well. Judging from his story, just

like me, he was the centrepiece in his family which meant he’d have to toughen up. I might have

offered a bit more comfort if he wasn’t.

Getting a hold of himself, he pasted on a smile that felt very much like a mask.

“Where are you going for college?” I switched topics to lighten the mood.

“Harvard. It’s tradition.” He shrugged.

The smile I was trying to drum up immediately collapsed.

“Excuse me?” I hissed.

“What?”

“I’m going to Harvard,” I revealed. “We can’t both go to Harvard. I’m going. You can’t go. We cannot

both be there.”

“You’re going where?” He snarled, grasping gravity of the situation.

“My sentiments exactly.”

“You have to go somewhere else.”

“No way.” I scoffed. “You go somewhere else.”

“It’s tradition!” he countered.

“A, I don’t care,” I began, counting the points off on my fingers. “B, I read somewhere that tradition is

peer pressure from dead people. And C, I am not changing for you. Harvard is my goal. It’s the only

place I have ever considered going to so feel free to go literally anywhere else on the planet. Can you

even get into Harvard? Harvard business, right? Wake up, dreamer boy.”

“Now, you’re just indulging your pride and sense of superiority.” He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t care what you think I’m indulging. I’m still not moving over for you. You move.”

“That’s just bullying,” he declared.

“Really? And if I give in to you, what stops that from being bullying, Mr Peer Pressure.” I sniped. “Oh

sorry, ‘tradition’.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Do you even know what that word means?”

His lips disappeared into a thin line.

“Yes,” he answered.

I arched one unconvinced eyebrow.

“I think so,” he added a little less confrontationally. “I don’t know. I thought I did but you’re looking at me

like it means something different from what I think it means.”

It was uncalled for and entirely inappropriate but I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter.