Page 9 of Archer
“So, uh, do you want a tour?” Archer asked from behind me and I sighed with annoyance before spinning to face him.
“What’s your problem?” I snapped. “Why are you even involved in this?”
He gawked back at me. “I… your dad came to me asking for help. I was only trying to do the right thing.”
“What? By trapping me in your house?”
“Hey, calm down,” he said, stepping toward me. “We’re gonna be here for a while, let’s try to get along…”
“No,” I said. “You’re not a paying customer, anymore. I don’t have to be nice to you.”
“But… I’m protecting you,” he said with exasperation.
“Well, I don’t want you to protect me,” I said, even though knowing I didn’t have any other options. “If I didn’t respect my father’s wishes, I’d leave.”
He looked at me silently, eyes wide, and terrified to speak until he stammered out, “Can I show you your room at least?”
My nostrils flared as I exhaled. “Fine.”
I followed him through his apartment. It wasn’t that bad of a place, despite how run-down the exterior and hallways appeared. Exposed red brick covered all the walls, giving it a trendy look that people normally paid thousands for. He had a surprising number of books on a bookshelf, though I couldn’t tell if they were of any quality.
“Uh, TV is there. There’s a bunch of movies. I’ve got cable. Kitchens over there, obviously.” His kitchen was wide with a breakfast island in the middle and stainless-steel appliances. I noticed an espresso maker and I hid my relieved twinge of happiness, not wanting to show any excitement.
“Bathrooms here, towels are in the closet there,” he said, motioning his thumb to the closed door in the middle of the hallway. Then, he pointed to the door directly across from it. “That’s your room.” Then he pointed to the room and bathroom on the same side. “And that one is mine. You can just call my name if you need anything at all.”
“Great,” I said in a flat voice and opened the bedroom door. Inside was a simple layout with a queen size bed with the headboard on the far-left wall, a full-length mirror, and a closet. It wasn’t anything special, but I had to admit, I was surprised to see such a nice bed with quality blankets. Exhausted from stress, I couldn’t wait to feel how soft they were.
“Feel free to use the whole closet however you like, or well. The whole room. It’s yours,” he said. “Same with the house. I’m serious, make yourself at home. I’m usually not here during the day, you probably won’t even notice I’m here.”
“Mhm,” I said. “Well, I’m going to go to sleep now.”
“It’s seven.”
“Yeah, well. I’m really not that fun, trust me.”
I shooed him out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him. From the hallways, I could hear Archer mutter, “I’d say no fun, yeesh…”
Sighing, I flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, hoping my dad would get us out of this mess.
Chapter Five
Archer
The next morning, I woke up realizing I needed to think of a different approach to Rose. She was probably just afraid. I needed to help her feel comfortable. And there was no way to start the day off comfortably than a nice breakfast.
I cracked two eggs into a hot buttered frying pan and watched the clear fluid sizzle and crackle until it began to whiten. Sitting on the next burner was a frying pan with bacon, the savory, salty smell filling the entire apartment and the toaster beside the stove popped out the toasted bread she baked herself earlier the week. Today would surely be off to a better start.
I had just shifted the eggs and bacon onto a black dinner plate and began buttering the toast when I heard footsteps shuffle from Rose’s bedroom to the washroom. There was a skip in my heartbeat, and I rushed to the coffee pot to fill the matching black mug. Quickly, I completed it by slicing a grapefruit in half, sprinkled it with some sugar, and displayed the breakfast on the breakfast island.
When the bathroom door opened, I rushed to the hallway. “Hey.”
She turned to me and for the first time ever, I saw Rose first thing in the morning. Even without the makeup she wore, and her brown hair matted and sticking in all directions, she was beautiful. The small, black pajama shorts she wore allowed me to catch a glimpse of her bare legs for the first time, and I struggled not to stare. Thankfully, the top of her was covered by a baggy white t-shirt that forced me to give my imagination a workout if I wanted to get any images in my mind.
Her blue eyes stared at me without a hint of emotion, aside from maybe annoyance, and her mouth stayed closed in a straight line.
“Oh, uh.” When I realized she wasn’t going to greet me, I pointed my thumb to the dish waiting for her. “I made you breakfast.”
She blinked at me.
