A cup of tea

“What are you doing in here?”

“Making you tea”

I don’t know what to say because he doesn’t make tea. He doesn’t do nice or even pity. So why is he here?

His head shifts over his shoulder as if he hears my thoughts.

“Don’t worry this doesn’t make us friends.” Lines form between his eyes, “I don’t even like you. But I’m not a monster—you got tricked into drinking, yacked all over my fucking carpet so now I’m making you tea.”

Right, so I can sober up…quickly…and stop showing off my dinner. I wipe my mouth, embarrassed, even though there’s nothing on it. Now that I’ve emptied it four times over.

“Now sit down. Shut-up. And drink your tea.”

I should slap him, say vile things to his face but instead, I f*cking sit, like the a**hole I am. Because tea sounds good and the look on his face isn’t offering a choice.

“Thank you,” I say just above a whisper.

“Don’t thank me yet—say it after I kick that kid’s a** who did this to you.”

My eyes lock on his, “Why would you do that? You don’t owe me anything—you don’t even like me.”

“Yeah, I don’t like you” his face drops as he laughs to himself, “Because in case you haven’t noticed. I don’t make tea or f*cking care or speak to people. Except for you. So like I said. I’m kicking that kid’s a**.”

My heart’s beating out of my chest. Breath caught. Ruined by this tortured punk staring back at me.

“Now drink.” His voice is gentle as he brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Then we’ll go to sleep. Tonight you stay with me…actually, you stay next to me until I say different.”

“Because you hate me?” I blink up witnessing a miracle— a smile tugs at his lips.

“Yeah, because I hate you.”