When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 19

I turned away from the incessant tapping, pulling the covers over my head as an act of defiance. My mind refused to even consider who it could be. The blissful nothingness of sleep was too pleasant for me to so much as consider waking up.

“Wake up.” The tapping continued.

I rolled away, curled into foetal position and tried to burrow deeper into restful nothingness. It was just one of those days when sleep was sweeter, more restful. I hadn’t had one of those in a while so I was determined to enjoy this one for as long as possible. Whoever was trying to wake me up clearly hadn’t gotten the memo. I half buried my face in my pillow, humming blissfully as I waited to fall deeper into sleep only to find that my sleep rhythm had been disrupted. I could feel myself slowly waking up much to my annoyance. No. Please, no.

A tug on the covers completed the wake up process.

“What!” I hissed, throwing the covers down. “What? What? What!”

My eyes found the culprit and for a second my brain blanked out. Huh? I couldn’t for the life of me remember why Masked Idiot was in my room or why he seemed to think it was okay to interrupt my sleep. No, seriously. Why did he think interrupting my sleep would be okay? Did I seem that amicable to him? That harmless and forgiving?

In a way, the fact that it didn’t make sense made sense. For starters, Masked Idiot being in my room while I was asleep was just a little crazy, not to mention creepy. And to top it off, he was waking me up. That was even crazier. It had been years since anyone had to wake me up. I wasn’t the type to be late which is what happens when one sleeps in so I never sleep in. I was always up and ready on time in the mornings and sleeping during the day wasn’t something I indulged in either so there was never a need to wake me up. Even groggy and disoriented, I knew that being woken up, especially by Masked Idiot, meant something was seriously off. But what?

“You’ve been sleeping for hours. You need to eat,” he announced.

My gaze landed on the royal blue tee shirt he had on. The shade was so vibrant I almost couldn’t bring myself to look directly at him. I squinted, brows furrowing as memories of the ice cream parlor and drive back home flooded my mind. Okay. I see but--

“You’re still here?” I mused out loud unknowingly. “Why are you still here?” I adjusted.

“You’re sick. I couldn’t exactly leave you by yourself.” He shrugged self-consciously.

“I had a fever. I was hardly dying,” I replied flatly.

“Well, you look better now,” he declared, reaching over to palm my forehead.

Thanks to the sleep induced disorientation, it didn’t even occur to me to move away. I just sat there, eyes wide open like a child as he reached over and felt my temperature. His scent enveloped me, filling my nostrils. It smelled warm and expensive.

I swallowed.

“You feel fine,” he disclosed.

“I am fine,” I seconded, pushing his hand away.

I was also very hungry but I kept that little nugget to myself. The last thing I was going to do, disoriented or not, was admit to hunger after our little spat about me only eating an apple and ice-cream all day. I was finally getting back in tune with reality post-sleep induced disorientation.

“Hang on.”

He disappeared through the door before I could formulate a reply. I was left frowning and speechless on my bed, wondering just why he felt comfortable enough to tell me -the person who actually lived in the house- to ‘hang on’ while he -a creepy criminal with one too many skeletons in his closet- went gallivanting around my house. Fortunately for him, he came back before I got far enough to really feel insulted and he came with pizza. Delicious sweet smelling pizza. Needless to say, all was instantly forgotten.

“Pizza?” I intoned, eagerly reaching for the box.

“I don’t know how to make soup and you didn’t have any canned ones I could heat up,” he supplied apologetically. “The pizza place’s number was on the breakfast counter so I figured it would be okay.”

“Hmmm,” I mumbled around a mouthful of pizza.

Between pizza and soup, I definitely would have chosen pizza so no complaints there. In fact, I was quietly grateful my mom believed in fresh homemade soups as opposed to the canned almost ready-to-eat ones. Not a single part of me mourned the lack of soup. I was too busy stuffing my face with food I actually enjoyed.

My phone vibrated on the bedside table, demanding my attention. Masked Idiot gestured for me to carry on with introducing the pizza to my mouth. He reached over to take the phone, then passed it to me. I wiped my fingers on the one piece of tissue he brought before collecting the phone. Our fingers lightly grazed as he handed it over. I snatched my hand back and barely remembered to nod my gratitude before unlocking the phone. I read the new text and groaned.

“What?” he inquired.

“Olly staying at a friend’s tonight.” I sighed.

She had been taking too many unnecessary risks lately. It was like she was stocking up on all the things she wouldn’t have gotten away with if our mom had been home and while I understood that, it also meant I was constantly covering for her and cleaning her messes which I decidedly wasn’t a fan of.

“So who’s going to take care of you?” Masked Idiot frowned.

“I repeat, I had a fever. I’m neither dying nor magically an invalid.” I rolled my eyes, suppressing the irrational urge to smile.

“Sick people shouldn’t be left on their own,” he refuted.

“I have... no, I had a fever, friendo.” I had no idea why but I couldn’t contain the urge anymore, a smile graced my lips. “Let’s be honest, a fever isn’t really an illness. No one goes to the doctor because of a fever.”

For a criminal, he really was a softie. I just couldn’t fully get a read on him. Ninety percent of the time, he acted like a normal person. A kind hearted one. The other ten percent was what I had a problem with. The breaking and entering, the showing up with bruised knuckles, the threatening tone and creepy stalking.

I sighed.

Sometimes I got the feeling I could have liked him. That we could almost have been friends if only we met under different circumstances.

“Then why did you ask her to come stay with you?” he argued, folding his arms across his torso.

I frowned, confusion evident in the wrinkle of my brows.

“Ask who to do what?”

“Your sister.” He rolled his eyes. “If you’re so sure you’re okay, why did you ask her to come home?”

Was I missing something?

“I didn’t ask her to come home. I was sleeping. When would I have done that?” I replied, furrows appearing on my forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m not following. What’s the connection?”

Clearly unconvinced for some reason, he raised an eyebrow, flashing me a look that could only be interpreted as ‘lie better next time.’ I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be insulted. The idiot who couldn’t keep a secret or tell one proper lie was implying that I, who’d never been caught in a lie before, was a bad liar. Ironic didn’t even begin to cover it. But that aside, what was he referring to? I wasn’t seeing the logic.

“I’m not following your thought process. What is this about?” I inquired, sitting up straighter and trying to look as put together as I normally was.

It was a tall task so I didn’t feel too bad about failing. Sitting in bed inhaling half a box of pizza, clothed in comfy sweats with sleep wrinkles on my face and my hair barely hanging on in a messy bun was just too far from normal tucked in shirts, wrinkle-free clothes and not-a-hair-out-of-place me. I didn’t even want to picture how I looked from his perspective.

“Why did your sister text you that she wasn’t coming home then?” he asked vindictively.