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“Are you hungry? Do you want some snacks? I’m gonna get some snacks.” Before I can answer he’s walking away, but I call out anyway.
“We just had breakfast!” I shout to him, my voice still coming out a little wobbly.
“Yeah, but you didn’t eat shit, little dot.” His voice carries loud and clear from where he’s got his head stuck inside the fridge. “Besides, we’re gonna be watching a film or two, and you always need munchies for movies. Your snack stomach is empty.”
Can’t argue with that.
He returns a moment later, arms laden with all sorts of goodies, and gives me a funny look.
“What?” I cross my arms over my chest, protectively.
“You’ve not moved. You’re exactly where I left you.”
“Umm…so?”
“Get comfy. You look so stiff. Make yourself at home. You’re gonna be here for a while.”
I sigh at all of it. Because he’s right, I am uncomfortable and stiff and because I think he’s right that Iamgoing to be stuck here for a while. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m not a prisoner but…well, let’s just say it isn’t working.
Bhodi takes a seat beside me and pulls a blanket over us, which actually helps me relax a little. He starts the film, but I have no idea what it is because I can’t tear my eyes away from his profile to look at the screen.
Over an hour into the film and I have no idea what’s going on. My mind keeps flittering back to that memory I had earlier, like a nervous, timid little bird. Bhodi was…not horrible exactly, but he wasn’t kind. The boy in my vision and the guy sitting beside me on the sofa with his hand on my thigh don’t match up. It’s like I’ve met two completely different people, and I don’t know which version is the imposter.
Should I confront him about it?
“Screen’s that way, little dot.” A playful smirk tugs at his lips but I don’t look away. He sighs and turns to me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Were you always this nice to me? Did we always get along?”
Bhodi raises a brow. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh? What were you expecting?”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me.”
“No. But I’ll answer the question you asked.”
“I have a new question.”
“One thing at a time, eager beaver.”
I scowl but he doesn’t give in to me.
“No. We didn’t always get along like this. When we first met, I was…well, a bit of dick if I’m honest.”
“How so?”
“I was late because the prof was reaming my ass over something or other and when I sat down I kicked your chair. You got annoyed with me for kicking you and not apologising, and I said—”
“You kicked my chair. Not me. Then you pulled my hair.”
He nods, seeming pleased that I remembered. “It was so white then.” He reaches out and takes a strand of my hair which is dry now, toying with it between his fingers.
“Your knuckles grazed my face,” I whisper, my breath catching.
