Mr.Right

Chapter 19.

I think I'm going to pass out.

As in, I think I'm going to pass out right here, right now, on the cold floor, with my limbs spread out like

Nutella on bread.

"Go faster, come on. Even my Granny can do better than this," Maverick says and I wipe the sweat

from my forehead and increase my pace on the treadmill.

You might well be asking why I'm on a treadmill, sweating like a pig and running as though my life

depends on it. Well, I got into something resembling a therapy session with Maverick and this was the

result.

Our conversation went something like this:

"What are the qualities you admire in a person, April?" he said. He was seated opposite me with one of

his legs crossed over the other. This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

I hesitated. "Um... I like a person who's confident being who they are and who doesn't care what others

think of them."

He nodded at my answer and wrote something down in his notepad before looking back at me. "And

why do you admire those things?"

"I want to see the things I don't have in others," I said.

"Do you believe that everyone is beautiful in their own way?"

I gave a dry laugh. "Excuse me? Have you met me? We can't all be beautiful or I wouldn't be here,

feeling like this. Some of us are just... existing. We don't like anyone and nobody likes us."

I saw him frown before writing something back on his notepad. "If you had the chance to change

something about yourself, what would that be?"

"My size," I said, without thinking, and both his eyebrows shot up. "I've been criticized more times than

I can count, just because I'm... big. I get that it's good to love yourself, no matter who you are, but it's

hard to believe that when there are so many jerks in the world."

And that was the end of the 'semi therapy session'. The next thing Maverick did was drag out a

treadmill and order me to get on it. You know the rest.

I was pretty powerless at resisting him.

"That's forty-five minutes already." He punches a button on the treadmill which causes it to stop.

I place my hands on my knees and pant.

"This is crazy," I say between breaths and watch him tut at me.

"You have to up your game. There're still thirty more days to go." He strolls out of the room, as if he

hasn't just given me a death sentence - how am I supposed to do thirty more days of this? - and I follow

behind.

When I reach the kitchen, I fling the refrigerator open, taking out a huge, shiny tub of ice cream.

Maverick catches my wrist. "Let me have a look at that. It looks expired."

I look down at the ice cream before looking at him in confusion and handing it over. Then he does the

unexpected.

He empties all the ice cream into the bin.

"You monster!" I stare at the empty ice cream tub.

"Chill out," says Maverick calmly. "Ice cream is the least thing you need, right now. In fact, here's a diet

chart that you're going to adhere to from now on." He brings out a marker pen from the cupboards and

draws something that looks like a table on the refrigerator.

I have no idea what's going on right now. I just want more ice cream.

"On Monday mornings, you're having three hard-boiled eggs, some grapefruit, one banana and black

coffee." He's writing the items down on the refrigerator as he's talking.

"I don't like bananas," I say, whining slightly.

"Well, I hear they go great with black coffee."

"But I don't like-"

He cuts me off. "For lunch," he says loudly, as though he hasn't heard me. "You'll have two hard-boiled

eggs, one banana and black coffee."

"Why so many bananas?"

"Fine," huffs Maverick, turning to write on the fridge again. "In that case, there'll be no bananas for

dinner. You can just have three hard-boiled eggs and some salad."

I scrunch my face in disgust at the mention of salad. I haven't eaten anything that looks remotely like

lettuce since, well... since forever.

He continues like this until he's covered the whole week and the fridge just looks like a sad mess of

eggs and salad.

My ice-cream days are officially over.

"Can't I at least have some pie?" I ask desperately, in a last-ditch attempt to make the week more

exciting.

But Maverick's putting down the marker pen and getting ready to leave the house. "Duty calls. See you

later. And no, no pie." He retrieves his coat from the arm of a chair and saunters out of the house.

My cell phone vibrates on the counter and I pick it up, without looking at the caller ID.

"Jack's in town," a familiar voice says on the other end of the call and I light up.

~~~~~~~~

I don't have a problem with making breakfast this morning because, according to the chart, it's just

eggs, banana and coffee.

The weather's extremely cold this morning, making my ears and nose turn red. I shrug on a leather

jacket and wrap my neck with a scarf.

In no time at all, I'm on my way to meet Jim and my brother at a restaurant.

Jim told me that Jack snuck into his house last night and got whacked with a shovel by his neighbour. I

can't blame seventy-six-year-old Nana for learning self-defence in case there's an intruder and Jack, no

doubt, passed his boundaries.

What is it with kids these days sneaking into people's houses?

I'm just glad he went to Jim's instead of calling Tony.

I spot them immediately, sitting at a table at the far end of the restaurant when I swing the door open.

Jack has an ice-pack pressed over one eye and his sleek dark hair is combed all the way to the back.

"I'm so glad to see you," I grin, once I've reached their table. Then I nod at Jim as a form of

acknowledgement.

"Wish I could say the same," Jack replies dryly. "Did you eat your phone?"

"I'm so sorry I didn't pick up. You should've told me before yesterday that you were coming."

"I was going to give you a surprise visit and what I saw at Tony's place came as quite a surprise."

"I told him what happened with the fire and everything." Jim speaks for the first time since I got here.

"Which you should've done beforehand."

I mouthe him an 'I'm sorry' as he diverts his gaze to somewhere that isn't my face.

He has every right to be pissed at me. I can't even handle my own brother.

"You know, I always thought you two shouldn't have broken it off," Jack says to the both of us. "My

sister was so dense at the time. Please take her back."

I yank a strand of hair from his head as he yells out in pain. "What do you know? You were twelve and

the only thing you should've been worried about at the time was if the color of your baseball cap was

the right shade of blue."

"Ah," Jim says, his lips lifting up into a small smile. "But he had his first chest hair at the time so I think

he was man enough to own his opinions."

I snort. "Yeah, right. It wasn't chest hair, actually. An eyelash fell onto his chest and it came off after he

took a shower."

"Don't listen to her, she's trying to ruin my favorite childhood memory," says Jack to Jim, rolling his

eyes.

"Can you cope with him until he travels back home to Mom and Dad?" I change the topic, already

getting tired talking about chest hair. This is what happens when you have too much testosterone in

your life. Boys just talk about trivial shit.

In fact, they do it so much that it doesn't even bother me anymore.

Jack actually forgot I was a girl once and kept complaining about how quickly his pubic hair grows. He

really needs to keep that sort of information to himself.

"Yeah, of course I can cope with him," Jim says to me now, turning to give Jack a grin. "He's actually

good company. He's cool, and awesome..."

"And funny?" Jack smirks.

Jim pauses to look over at him before continuing. "He's cool, and awesome, and... good company. I

think I can handle him."

"Great. If he acts like a ten-year-old who had too much sugar, you have my permission to whack him

on the face with a shovel again."

"Speaking of whacking, how's my eye?" Jack takes off the ice pack and all blood drains from my face at

the sight of the bruise.

There are huge chunks of blood clotting under the skin around his eye and everything's completely

purple. It makes me feel sick.

"Put the ice pack back on," I choke out.

"There," Jim turns to Jack without even flinching. "You have your answer; your eye looks pretty bad.

Now let's go." He stands up from his chair.

"Don't tell me what to do," Jack says stubbornly, refusing to move. "I'm not your puppet."

"We're having ice-cream for Brunch."

"Then let's get this puppet show started."

I follow them out of the restaurant and watch as they both get into the car.

"Aren't you coming along?" Jim pops his head out of the car window.

"Nah," I say, drooling at the thought of ice cream. "I'm good."

He gives me a questioning look before driving off.

Maverick should be so proud of me right now for turning down an ice cream offer.

I turn around on the walkway and head to the subway station. I'm almost there when I hear a car pull

up beside me and I halt in my tracks.

A leg stretches out from the back door and, when it opens slowly, my pupils dilate. The red-haired

nurse from Maverick's house is stepping out of the car.

As soon as she's within my reach, she sizes me up and sticks her nose in the air. "We need to

talk."