Psycho?
Why am I letting this woman walk all over me?
Men would die for calling me that.
“I take it as a compliment,” I grunt, sliding next to her. “You’re messy, Mia. I fucking hate messes, so don’t do this ever again. Things need to stay in order here.”
The way I said it sounded like I hated her too.
Shit.
But I needed to get my point across, and I’m not used to coddling people.
“Is that all?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.
I sit up straight in the bed, towering over her, her body just inches away from my side. She doesn’t move, nor seems impressed by my attempts to provoke her, her brow gaze dancing on my bare chest.
“This is my home, Mia. You’ll follow my rules, and the first one is that I loathe clutter and chaos.” I notice her hand shaking slightly before getting back to normal.
Good, I made my point.
Lying back next to her, I check my phone for the latest update on the club. One text from Vox about the East Coast that I answer quickly before laying on my back, staring at the ceiling to avoid the temptation of glancing at her.
Her and her red curls I wish I could run my fingers through.
Her and her smart mouth that keeps on surprising me.
Her and her fucking annoying way of breathing when I’m trying to fucking focus on falling asleep.
Mia
“I loathe clutter and chaos.” His words, not mine.
I’ve been told my entire life that I was a mess. Not messy, not disorganized.
A mess.
As if I was the embodiment of chaos wherever I went. The messy one. That’s what my parents used to call me. It’s not something I do with intention, it’s more of a mindless behavior I’m trying to correct after years of being pointed at.
I struggle to keep a tidy place.
Eating has become a war with myself.
And relationships, well, this has been looking more like a roller coaster than anything else.
Because when you tend to speak before you think, especially in our world, men tend to run for the hills and never come back. I wish I could be the mysterious, quiet girl with a shy smile and blushing cheeks, but I’m not. Quite the opposite, actually. And it turns out sarcasm, wits, and boldness aren’t really appealing to most people. Hence why, I surround myself with carefree friendships and one-night stands with people who’ll never need to know who I am at my core. They just see a hot twenty-three-year-old with a bright smile, confidence, and the desire to share a good time. And that’s it.
Surface level, superficial, empty, quick.
Minimizing the potential messes I could do if they took time to know me.
Last chaos I created?
Easy to remember, six months ago, when a man of my father tried to pinch my ass and I landed a punch right into his nose. Kiara would have blushed, my mother would have ignored it. But my guts told me to strike back, so I did. Then I had to face the delicious consequence of my actions which was facing my father, who of course didn’t believe me, and having to apologize to the freaking guy.
Lovely, right?
I swallow hard, trying to compose myself and stay as far away as Ares as possible, which is hard given that his size is averaging a large viking.
