Chapter 6

Chapter 6. He isn’t my type.

Zivah avoided or was it me who avoided her, I didn’t really know. We hadn’t seen other for almost a week now. And I had spent more than two hours silently tearing up in my Panda blanket over it.

This was the longest we hadn’t talked to each other. Even if one of us went home, we made it a point to message or just call at least once every day. And here, living in the same flat, magically our timings would differ.

If I could hear her shuffling around in the kitchen, I stayed in my room. And if she heard me moving around, she wouldn’t dare come out. Fortunately my weeks were super busy so I was barely ever in the flat.

I did occasionally find pancakes or fruits on a plate for me and that made me smile with tears in my eyes. Gosh how I missed that rotten woman!

A part of me couldn’t face Zivah because I was afraid of how she would react and what truth or lie would be conjure about Alex and herself. Another part of me waited for her to take the first step, to come and talk to me, to explain herself.

I guess it came with me being alone most of my life, I just didn’t know how to mend broken relations.

Now it was Saturday and I was staring at the plain ceiling, legs spread on my head and wondering when was the last time I had cleaned my room. Probably a month back.

Maybe I should do it now? Could help take my mind off negative thoughts.

Or maybe tomorrow?

Or maybe never?

Lord, save me from procrastination.

My brother was right, I wouldn’t ever achieve anything if I kept procrastinating. Guess, I’ll just have to wait and see that.

There hadn’t been a single call or a message from Alex Bianchi, the worthless billionaire. He had popped up one night at an oddly hour, almost kissed me and then disappeared.

There hadn’t been any news on him either. Yes, I had enabled notifications for news about him. I felt that affected. Pathetic? I know.

Alex hadn’t eaten at any high-fi restaurants, hadn’t attended any parties, hadn’t gone for any dates and hadn’t taken his private jet for a fun ride. Paparazzi knew it all but they weren’t doing a good job this week.

I need tea, I thought to myself. Climbing out of the bed and yawning.

Really Myra? You literally just woke up and you are already sleepy.

I leaned towards the door, straining my ears to hear any movement but all I heard was silence. Maybe Zivah had work today.

I opened the door and immediately glanced at the door next to me, it was shut. I padded to the kitchen with a sigh, making enough noise so she would know I was up and in the hall.

I made myself some tea, brushed my teeth and grabbed my half read Game of Thrones book – Fire and Blood. Somehow I couldn’t concentrate on it, my eyes kept drifting back to the shut door.

I hadn’t heard a single sound for over 20 minutes now. Was she still sleeping? She usually woke up early. Is she unwell? Fever maybe? Or she fainted from dehydration?

Should I open the door and peek? Maybe she needs my help. Or maybe she is simply ignoring me and staying quiet, surfing through I*******m.

I groaned, my head aching with all the over thinking.

Over thinking, a special ability I prevail. It ruins my mood and my brain but somehow it makes me who I am.

I shut the book, Jon Snow deserved every bit of my attention. And right now my brain wasn’t cooperating.

I took a banana and quickly ate it, wondering what to cook today or if I even should. I could just order but then I’d have to come out again and what if Zivah was there out when the delivery boy came.

I stared at the little ingredients we had, rice and some vegetables. I could cook some rice.

I washed the rice and chopped some beans, carrots and green peas. Mixing them with a little spices and salt and heating them in a cooker. 15 minutes and it would be ready.

I sat on the kitchen chair, scrolling through my I*******m and laughing at the memes.

‘If I ever get married I am going to refer to my husband as ‘my first husband’ to remind him that he is easy to replace’

Why do girls never text first? Well, does the egg swim to the sperm or does the sperm swim to the egg? Case closed.

Every time I do something stupid, my dad stares at my mom like he wants a refund.

I was reading another one, when the front door suddenly opened.

I stared at the door with shock, my brain wanting to immediately run and hide in the room but my feet wouldn’t collaborate. Zivah noticed me as soon as she entered.

Our eyes freezing on each other. Both of us didn’t utter a single word.

Finally unable to take the uncomfortable silence, I squeaked out a creepy nasal hi.

Zivah slowly removed her shoes, averting my eyes. “Hi.”

I cleared my throat, walking to the cooker, praying the rice was cooked. My back was turned to her, unable to phantom a conversation with my own roommate and supposed best friend.

I heard her stop near the fridge, opening it and taking out her bottle. But then I didn’t hear her walk away. I sneaked a peek through my peripheral vision, she was standing there, holding the bottle and biting her lips, thinking hard.

I knew she wanted to say something but she just didn’t know how to start.

I decided to help her. Words just tumbled out of my mouth, one whole week of frustration in one sentence. “How the fuck do you know Alex?”

She physically winced at my loud and rude tone. “I-“ she paused. “I can’t tell you. Believe me Myra, I want to, I really want to but I can’t. He has to tell you that, it’s his story.”

“But you are my best friend Ziv, my sister. You should have told me.” I announced, the hurt clear in my voice.

She swiped a hand over her face. “I know! Gosh I have been dying to talk to you this whole week. It has been hell.” I could see how much affected she was too. “And every time I heard you outside I just wanted to come out and tell you everything but I know I would never forgive myself if I did it. This is something Alex has to do on his own.”

“Well that isn’t happening.” I snorted. I was confident, Alex and I weren’t going to be talking for a long while now.

“I wouldn’t be too sure.” Zivah mumbled. Playing with the cap of the bottle.

I ignored her words. “Can you at least tell me one thing?”

Zivah looked up, her eyes a little teary. I was sure my eyes were a little watery too. “Were you two dating?”

She blinked, evidently stunned by my question. “What?”

“Were you two ever dating?” I repeated.

“Eww. No!” Ziv exclaimed in horror, as if even that thought disgusted her. In a weird sort of way, that pleased me. “I mean he is hot and filthy rich but dating and him? Hell no! He isn’t my type. I’d rather get eaten by giraffe necked hippopotamuses than go on a date with that man!”

I sighed, a sudden wave of content washing over me. Half of my over imaginative thoughts ended, the second she said no to them dating.

“He is an egoistic jerk right?” I chuckled, remembering the phone throwing incident. I had finally ordered myself a new phone but using my own money, his blank cheque was still kept in the drawer next to my bed.

Ziv nodded, “Yes. And he walks so stiff.”

“Gosh yes!” I agreed, remembering the way he walked, shoulders back and head high as if he was modelling for a fashion walk. “But his jawline.” I sighed blissfully.

“That is perfect.”

“I could slice cheese on it.” I giggled.

Zivah winked at me. “Does someone have a crush?”

“Ha.” I grunted, rolling my eyes. “He wishes.”

“Oh that he does.”

“Ziv seriously?”

She shrugged. “I am just saying.”

Just then my phone vibrated and stared at the caller id, Alex Bianchi. Well I’ll be damned, how did this happen?

“Maybe you should pick it up.” Zivah suggested, noticing my mood go from smiling to scowling.

“Maybe he should call again.” I retorted, turning my back to the phone and removing the cooker from the gas.

The phone started vibrating again.

“Maybe you shouldn’t ignore it now.”

“Third time’s the charm they say.”

The phone silenced after two rings and I crossed my gingers, mentally begging for him to call me back so that I could pick his call. I wanted to talk to him, I wanted to ask him questions but I also didn’t want to seem so available.

I stared at the phone. Call me, you clueless pig with horse shit on your face.