Chapter 3

POV: Rhys Anderson

She looked at me as though she was scared of me. I usually had that impression on people the first time we laid eyes on each other, and I enjoyed being afraid of. It was a beautiful feeling to see people’s hearts thump loudly just because of your presence, and to perceive fear emitting through their system.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked, after a few seconds of sizing me up with her eyes.

“Take a wild guess,” I retorted, gesturing with my neck.

“Please, let me go. I really need to be somewhere right now,” She said.

Seeing a few people walk past, I decided to give in to her request before someone saw me and thought that I was molesting her. These days, women were good at twisting stories just to suit themselves, and that didn’t bode well for me or my career.

I freed my grip from her hand, and she immediately rubbed her wrist, giving me the “if looks could kill" look, but I was less concerned about that.

“Thanks for letting me go. I was starting to think that you are mentally deranged,” She said, and made a move as though she wanted to leave.

I scoffed. “I’m sorry, Miss whatever's your name, but you aren’t leaving this place till you do something about my shirt. You would stay back and do something to fix my shirt if you want either of us to leave this place today,” I declared, giving her a cold hard gaze.

She appeared dumbfounded, then rolled her eyes. “I already apologised for bumping into you, Mr anger issues. I don’t think I have to do anything about your shirt, simply because I might have roughened it unintentionally,” She said, still not getting the point.

“Roughened? You believe this is because you ruined my perfectly good ironed shirt?” I retorted.

“Of course, I believe so. If you must know, however, you are simply overreacting. What do you expect me to do about your shirt? Get you a new one? Ask a drycleaner to iron it for you?” She asked, then suppressed a laugh as she looked at me as though I was a ridiculous piece of shit.

“You can let it out, you know. Laugh if you must, but I am damn serious about this whole situation,” I said, looking at her with disdain.

A look of realisation suddenly washed her face. “Sorry, do you suffer from OCD? You don’t like being touched or not being neat? Is that it?” She asked.

I couldn’t help but chuckle mildly. The girl was obviously insane and she was really good at pretending not to know why I was presently pissed off. She acted like she was innocent, but having met a lot of criminals in my short lifetime on earth, I knew she was not that innocent.

When she saw I didn’t reply to her absurd question, she joined in my chuckling, and stopped when I stopped, giving her a strange look.

“That’s it, right? You suffer from OCD. I’m sorry about that but I didn’t know. I respect all people – those with illnesses and those without illnesses. It’s okay to not be okay, and since you’ve explained yourself to me now, I get why you’re so pissed off because I touched your body by mistake. I’ll talk to my personal assistant and she’ll get you a new shirt in no time. Hold on, please,” She said, bringing out her phone from her bag.

Immediately the phone was in her hand, I snatched it away from her.

“What the...”

“I don’t suffer from OCD, you nutcase. Can’t you see the damage you’ve done to my shirt?” I asked, spreading my arms out wide.

Her mouth suddenly opened wide in surprise, as she finally understood what the fuss had been about. If I didn’t see the actual shock in her eyes, I would have thought that she was just playing dumb with me, and knew exactly why I was upset that she had bumped into me.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stain your shirt with my lipstick. It was an accident,” She apologised.

“Yes, I know it was an accident, but what are you going to do about it?” I inquired.

“Um...” She said, searching her bag frantically for something; something useful hopefully.

After what seemed like ages, she brought out a piece of tissue paper from her bag, then she attempted to use it to clean off the “kiss" stain her bright red lipstick had done to my newly bought white shirt.

I quickly moved back, staring at her with utmost disgust. “Are you insane or what?” I asked, almost at the top of my voice.

“What? You’re the one who asked me to do something about it,” She accused, pointing her index finger at me.

“Yes, I did, but did I also ask you to make it worse than it already is? Don’t you know that using a tissue paper on it is only going to ruin the shirt more? Are you a kid? Nah. Even kids are smarter than you. You’re a lunatic, that’s exactly what you are,” I said, with a sneer.

She seemed wholly frustrated, and looked like she could manage a great deal of alcohol to pull her out of her frustration. “What exactly would you have me do then? You don’t want my apology or my help with getting rid of the stain. What exactly do you want?” She demanded, without mincing words.

I was surprised that she would even ask such a question. “Aren’t you rich?’ I questioned.

“And what does that have to do with anything?” She retorted.

“It has to do with everything. You are rich, and you should do what other rich people would do in this case,” I said, winking at her.

It was then that it dawned on her exactly what I had wanted all along, and she shook her head pitiably at me. “Aren’t you ashamed of requesting for money from me?” She asked.

I shook my head, giving her a negative response. “No, I am not. I am definitely not ashamed of requesting for money from you, not even in the slightest bit,” I said.

She clicked her tongue. “Tch. A grown-up man like you asking for money from a lady like me? It’s terrible. I can only imagine how miserable your life must be,” She said, opening the designer purse she had taken out of her bag.

I stretched my neck a little bit to see how much she was counting. “It’s very miserable, milady. That’s why people like myself pray the rich offends us, so that we can get more money to support ourselves and family,” I told her.

She brought out some money, and was startled upon seeing my neck, now stretched very close to her purse. “Are you fine?” She inquired.

“Not at all, but I’ll be fine when you finally give me that money we discussed about,” I said, running my fingers through my hair.

“Remind me again why I’m giving you this money instead of paying a drycleaner to get rid of that stain on your shirt,” She said, throwing me a suspicious look.

“Obviously because I don’t have time to waste doing laundry. I have to get a new shirt and be on my way to see my fiancé’s family, and I certainly can’t go there in a wet shirt or with a shirt that has a woman’s lipstick stain on it,” I explained.

“Oh my goodness. I also have to see my boyfriend. You know what? This is five hundred dollars. Use it to get yourself a new shirt and keep the change,” She said hurriedly, not even having the time to flash another one of her glares at me.

A smile lit up my face as I was quite impressed with the amount she had handed over to me. “You may go now,” I said, as I pocketed the money and began to walk into the elevator.

Immediately, she ran after me in her black heels and waited for the elevator doors to swing open beside me.

“I thought you were taking the stairs,” I remarked.

“I changed my mind,” She retorted.

I heaved a deep sigh. “Did you change your mind because you want to kill me in the elevator for taking five hundred dollars from you?” I asked, wondering what could be her motive.

The elevator doors opened and we both stepped inside, before she could open her mouth and give me a response to my question.

She seemed pretty uncomfortable and I could see her fingers quake a bit. I leaned close to her, now understanding that she was afraid of being in elevators, and I saw her breathe in relief as she also stayed close to me.

The elevator doors swung open and we stepped out to the first floor. She didn’t even pause to tell me thanks and began to walk away immediately.

“Hey,” I called.

She stopped right in her tracks and turned around. “If this is about the question you asked earlier, then, no. I had no intention of killing you. I can’t kill a miserable person; death would be an easy way out for you. It’s best if you stay alive and have only the miseries of your life as comfort,” She said.

I was quite taken aback. “You didn’t have to be so mean. I was just surprised that you were walking away without so much as a goodbye,” I said.

“After unjustly extorting five hundred dollars from me, I should be mean to you. Goodbye, gold-digger,” She said, and began to storm off.

I wanted to pull her back and talk some sense into her. However, my phone began to ring and seeing the name on the Caller ID, I knew it was a call I could never ignore.

“Goodbye, lipstick girl,” I called after her.

The ringtone from my phone kept on ringing out loud, and my fingers quaked as I made to answer the call. I always felt this way whenever he called because he usually wanted one thing or another from me.

Despite the fact that I had tried to free myself from him countless times, he kept bouncing back like a bad coin. I wanted that chapter to close, but the story wasn’t over yet.