Theo

The water hitting the wall in the shower sounds unpleasantly in my ear, which I take as a sign for me to turn it off. But I don't get up. I am too transfixed laying here on this bed; thinking of - as much as I desperately tried to deny it to myself the moment I woke up, perplexed by the events that just took over my whole entire sleep - her. I don't know how this happened. Maybe it's because I've been deprived of being in such close conversational proximity with a girl in such a long time; maybe it's because I haven't had the luxury of dreaming on a warm, comfortable soft bed in months; or maybe it's just the plain effortless truth that I don't want to admit. The memories of her brushing her soft lips against mine and me running my hands through her hair come running back, and the long sought out conclusion finally hits me - I am well and truly screwed. A day. One day and I'm already dreaming of having sex with the girl I am living with, whilst she and her overbearing condescending mother slept not far away from me.

I had to allow myself to be around her, even just for a second, just to see what emotions would course through me. I didn't expect to come up with the pathetic excuse of needing lotion, but the fact that we barely know each other prevented me from barging into her room, acting as if I wanted to just engage in a friendly conversation with her. I felt a huge relief wash over me as she didn't mention the countless amounts of lotion that is in the bathroom for the room I've been lent. How would I have explained that one?

The moment I saw her, wrapped all elegantly in that white towel - and then looked into her glazed brown eyes, it became official for me - I like her. I don't know how that is possible. How can you like someone you haven't even known for a week? We haven't even had a full conversation yet. I don't even know anything about her apart from her name, and the fact that her mother is a pessimistic control freak. I don't even know her age. But judging by the fact that she goes to college, she must be 18 or 19. She doesn't look any older than that.

My undivulged thoughts are put on hold by the pacy knock I hear on the door. My brain freezes as I silently pray to myself that it is not who I think it is. Her. My body slowly rises as I sit on the edge of the bed, my face flat on my palms. I breathe a heavy sigh and open the door to find the uninterested face of Rosanne offering its service to my already apprehensive system.

"Hello," I say, fear sifting into my body at the thought of getting kicked out.

"Theo," she simply replies. "I didn't realise last night that you would be alone here today."

"Oh. Well... I'll keep the house tidy."

"Yeah that's the least of my problems. Actually, that does bring me to my point. I don't want you leaving this room."

"Sorry?"

"Did I say I was done talking?"

I blink excessively as I try to brace myself for the painful conversation that will ensue.

"You will not be leaving this room. You will not be going anywhere else in this house. You've got all you need in here - a toilet, a shower. Clothes," she adds in as she eyes my dirty belongings that lay on the floor beside the bed.

"You will not be going to the kitchen. I will make you a sandwich that you can have for lunch and give you a bottle of water, and that's it."

"Rosanne..."

"I'm still not done talking," she sings. "I know your kind, okay? You make yourself seem so desperate and innocent so you can walk into the home of a naïve person and take them for all that they're worth. Well, you won't be doing that here. All the jewelry in this house is locked up, but I'm sure that won't stop you from trying to find something else of valuable possession. Just know that I am aware every single thing that is worth something in this house, and I will know within a second whether you've taken it or not. And believe me, I know you'll be looking. So you're not leaving this room," she repeats. "You will stay here until it's time for dinner, at which point I will call you downstairs, and you will put on a smile that seems to be non-existent of the vocabulary on your face. But nevertheless, you will fake one, just like you faked your desperation to my daughter."

"I didn't fake nothing-"

"Oh, it's okay guys, I understand where you're coming from. I'll just leave," she mimics the words that came out of my mouth the day before, with the same unbothered expression on her face. "Spare me. I'm not stupid. I work in a hospital. I've seen all the works of somebody trying to act innocent when they're the problem. But, as I was saying. We will keep this going until I decide it's time for you to take your dirty and corrupted self, along with your smelly clothes of course, and get out of my house forever. And believe me, that day is not far from today at all."

"I-" I try to speak but her interruption persists.

"You might be wondering why I even allowed you to stay here. But if there's one thing that I will let you know about my daughter, it's that she can be a stubborn brat sometimes, and when she wants something, it's best to get it for her. For some reason, she wants you here - she's always had a thing for envying the needy - but that want will go soon, and she will be tired of you. So tired that she won't argue when I tell you to leave. So I will just wait patiently for that day, and you will wait here. For me to bring you the sandwich that I know you're so desperately craving. Now I'm done talking. Anything you want to say?"

Anger seeps through my blood, as I take in the ignorance and reprimand that just swept into my ear. My body remains in such a state of shock that the only action that could be made is a simple shake of my head.

"Good. I didn't think so," she says, as she smiles and pats my cheek, before sauntering away.

I watch her leave with a hazy vision, as I hear footsteps draw closer to me.

"Hey, you okay?" Eliza's voice intercepts the hateful words that fill my brain in reference to her mother.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"I was wondering if-"

"Eliza. Please just stop talking and leave me alone," I utter, as I blankly stare at her, my heated dream coming back to me all at once.

"Okay, I'm sorry." A look of harsh acceptance crosses over her face, instilling guilt within me, but unluckily for the both of us, that guilt is overshadowed by sheer spite residing on my tongue.

"Don't be. Just stop talking." The door shuts in her face before she has the chance to fire back a reply at me, although I know she wants to.

I instantly feel guilty at my uncalled for impertinence as a look of harsh acceptance crosses over her face, instilling guilt within me. But, unluckily for the both of us, that guilt is overshadowed by sheer spite residing on my tongue, despite the fact it is unwrapping itself at the wrong person.

I get the insatiable urge to open the door and rectify what I just said, but something stops me. Maybe it's the thought of seeing that woman again. I'm not ready for that, nor will I ever be at any point. I wish I rejected her idea of bringing me a sandwich - it's like losing. Accepting food from the one that wants to see you starve.

It's like being back at home.

My thoughts instantly betray me as my ear becomes accustomed to yet another knock at the door. I know it's not Eliza because she will probably never want to speak to me again after the way I just treated her. Besides, Eliza's knuckles graze against the door peacefully. She knocks two times, it's quiet - but loud enough for me to hear, as opposed to the boisterous, brash four in a row knock her mother does.

I find myself taking another deep breath, I seem to be doing this more than when I was living outside. My impassive face is evident as I open the door and look down to two squared sandwiches laying on a white plate. Lettuce and tomatoes stick out of it, and I wonder if anything good would come from me telling her that I despise tomatoes with everything inside of me. I decide that it wouldn't.

"It's chicken and mushroom."

I wince at the sound of yet another thing I hate - mushrooms. It's almost as if she knew what I don't like without me even telling her, so she could use that to make me even hungrier.

"Is there a problem?"

I realise that I have spent the last 30 seconds staring down at what I can only describe as a punishment meal. But I can't let her know I am largely dissatisfied by it.

"No," my voice manages to croak out, as I take the plate from her hands.

She turns on her heels before looking at me. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"Have you ever thought that's why you don't have a home? Because you have no manners?"

My veins scorch out on the side of my head as it recognises the anger that suddenly compresses me. I am filled with sentences upon sentences that I so desperately crave to throw at her, to let her know what an arrogant wench she is. But the comfort I felt sleeping in an actual bed last night revives me, and I painfully utter my next words. "Have a good day, Rosanne."

"You too, Tyler."

"Theo."

"Sounds the same to me." She turns on her heels once again before stopping, once again. "My daughter left not long ago looking not the least bit impressed. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?" Her eyes pierce into mine.

"No."

"Good. Stay away from her." She finally walks away, her shoes clapping against the carpet.

I exhale a deep huff, as I disgustingly look down at the plate in my hands. Why couldn't she have just given me chicken and cheese?