Chapter 20: 20

“Are you ready?” Arrick, wearing jeans and a hoody, under a denim jacket strolls across the guest room I have been using for the past few weeks in Amber’s apartment, effortlessly casual and utterly bored while waiting for me.

I fling the last of my clothes haphazardly into my case and try to zip it shut unsuccessfully, bulging crazily, and I have no hope of closing it. Arrick frowns, moves me over and pulls some of the rolled-up dresses out with a less than impressed brow dip at my packing skills. He folds them flat and places them in so he can at least close the case without much effort. He slides it down beside the other bags on the floor and watches me move to wander around aimlessly while checking for everything that is mine. I don’t want to have to come back here for anything I may have left behind once I am out that door.

Amber and I are not close, and she won’t even miss me anyway. I want to shut the door on this part of my life and never walk back in again. I can feel his eyes on me and yet it’s strangely reassuring, knowing that he’s taking me away from here to start back in a different direction.

“I guess I am now,” I finally sigh, a little feebly, glancing around in a last-ditch attempt to delay things, nerves hitting hard now that it is time to go and losing my fearless bravado. The doubt and anxiety about how awful this is going to be hits me hard, knowing that I can’t outrun the reaction I’m going to get from my family when I go back with him. I’ve dodged all contact with everyone except Arrick for months, knowing that I would just react badly to anything my family could say about my life, any tiny criticisms. Knowing that I have been too much of a coward to face the backlash or the tears from my adoptive mum, sister Leila, or Emma.

“Are you going dressed like that?” He looks me over with a slight frown. I’m still in last night’s clothes which only have the addition of Arrick’s gray hoody; somehow it doesn’t quite match the electric blue heels I had to put back on for want of something more comfortable. I flicker up and down the outfit and don’t really love the look I’ve pulled together all that much.

“You wait until the bags are closed to criticize my outfit? Would have been nice to, you know, say it before zipping it all up tight.” I raise a tired eyebrow his way and Arrick only shakes his head with a heavy sigh, seemingly annoyed that somehow, I did this. He has definitely lost his morning sparkle, tiredness setting in, and I partly blame the pancakes. I think he’s maybe some sort of delayed food poisoning from eating the offerings of his ball and chain.

He lifts the case back to the bed and opens it to fish for jeans and flats among the haphazard pile, pushing clothes aside in a very neat and not haphazard manner that bugs my happiness. I would just rummage through and yank them all out, but he is way too precise for that sort of recklessness. He finds both items he seeks and drags them out for me to take. I don’t even care that he’s chosen ones I would never pair up, I just want to go, and my mind isn’t on cute outfits right now.

Sliding off my heels obediently, I slide the skinny jeans up under my skirt and wriggle into them, my skirt moves up my waist and exposes navy lace underwear before I zip them shut. I catch Arrick frowning at the area I’ve just concealed, obviously unimpressed with my Victoria’s secret ‘kinkys’ before he holds out the pumps for me to slide on wordlessly. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me in less. I have worn bikinis and practically nothing to bed when he’s been around, and I don’t get what his issue with sexy underwear is. I pull the skirt down, unbutton and manage to slide it down over my legs pronto. It isn’t the first time I’ve changed this way, so I do it quickly, handing shoes and skirt to him expectantly.

Arrick throws them on the bed without looking at me and leaves them there while he zips my case back up.

“Hey, you forgot to …” I start to scold him, but he cuts over me with that no-nonsense grumpy glare of his.

“I’ll buy you some new shoes and a longer skirt when we get you home; those can live here with your roommate and go to a better cause. Find their way to a streetwalker in need.” He glares my way with that ‘don’t argue with me’ look he likes to throw around and is met with the stubborn jut of my bottom lip.

I don’t think so!

“I love those shoes; they’re Jimmy Choo and just hit the catwalk at the last New York fashion week.” My lip wobbles a little and Arrick sighs, regarding me with that lowered brow intimidation frown. I just stare right back, not giving a shit, and never really caring for that Carrero death glare, either from him, Jake, or their father. I cross my arms across my chest in a bid to show I will not back down on this. He relents, hauling them back to him and shoves them in one of the bags on the floor with a deep frown.

“The skirt …” I try for my second item, but his deepening eyebrow glare shuts me up. This time it’s less Carrero and more Arrick is getting pissed, and I know there is a world of difference. I can choose to keep pushing and then cower when he does finally erupt or kiss the damned thing goodbye and save myself a world of pain.

“Look, Sophs, if we’re going to be hanging out again then I don’t want to see this outfit or any like it making a comeback around me. I don’t like seeing you dressed like some cheap hooker. You’re classier than this and you’re beautiful without this shit.” He has that stubborn way about him that I know only too well. If I push then we will fight, and as much as I want the old him back, the one who will yell at me and show more than a cold deadpan exterior, I really don’t want to fight. Fights with him result in snotty, messy, hysterical tears and it’s not a good look on me.

“You sound like my dad.” I huff his way, making a move to lift my discarded skirt sneakily, but his slight brow rise, and the way he leans in to counteract me holds my hand at bay. I leave it alone on the bed, resigned to the fact he will buy me something else because I will hold him to it, and I will make sure it costs twice as much as that little beauty of designer denim did. I let it go, knowing when to pick my battles.

We turn and I lead the way out of the room instead, giving it one last forlorn glance and mentally say my goodbyes. Not really that bothered, seeing as all I ever did was sleep in here and occasionally work off the odd hangover. I tended to use her couch way more than was normal.

“Your dad wouldn’t be as tolerant as me and let you keep the shoes. I can’t believe I’m even letting you keep the shoes.” He smirks my way, drawing my attention back to him, but I only roll my eyes.

“He wouldn’t get a say in either. I’m only listening to you as you’re a bossy commandeering ass at times, and I have no energy to argue with you right now. You didn’t let me sleep, remember? Besides, there is nothing hooker about those shoes, apart from maybe the six-inch heel.” I throw a raised brow at him, sashaying my butt in front of him, so I get through the door first. A childish habit from my younger teens at always racing Arrick out of doors first. He shakes his head at me indulgently, ignoring me clearly, and carries my case in one hand, a bag on his shoulder, the smallest in his other hand.

“Well, if it gets you to behave, then I am all for being a bossy asshole when you’re fragile. Hold the door, smartass.” He nods towards the front door of the apartment ahead of us and waits while I pull its heavy weight open for him. I take one last look down the hall without feeling anything much at all; there is no emotion, only the constant aching hell of a hangover and a need to get going before I lose my nerve again.