45Monsieur Micah
"Are you decent Monsieur?" I rap my hand on the door and once again, receive no answer. I sigh inwardly; I've managed to fit right in with my host family, all except one. One that happens to lie on the other side of this door and whom is completely uncooperative – he doesn't talk, look or in any other way acknowledge me most of the time and when he does it's with derision. "Monsieur if you do not answer I am taking that as a yes?"
He doesn't answer; he is impossible to wake up during the mornings, and it is one of my jobs to get him up, out of bed and to university. I work as an au pair at the Cooper residence and out of everyone I must look after he – despite being the eldest out of five – is the most difficult to deal with. Plucking my key from my pocket I unlock the door, warning him, "I'm coming in Monsieur Stupide."
Spinning the house keys around on a fingertip I walk into his room, looking around; every day I come in here it just gets messier and messier. I want to clean it so badly, but my host mother forbids it. I'm not allowed to touch anything in his room without his permission or he goes completely psycho – screaming at his mother to send me back where she came from.
Micah Cooper is arrogant and rude and I really don't like him – but you wouldn't know it when he's sleeping, like now. The nineteen year old boy is laying in his bed, arms spread out over his head and long legs poking out the sides of his bed. The expression on his face is one you can only describe as adorable; dimples shaping his cheeks and mouth twisted into a lazy grin, one which he never uses whilst awake. At least not with me.
Ignoring the clothe piles situated around the room, stepping over and around them, I make my way to the blinds and grab the string. I tug on it, looking over to Micah, and then release it; letting light shine into the room and disturb his peaceful expression. He lets out a groan, and covers his eyes with his hands. "Up you get Monsieur; it is time for you to get ready for uni."
"Get the," I cringe as he swears at me; he always swears at me in the mornings and I've not managed to get used it, "out of my room Chantée!"
Crossing my arms over my chest indignantly I march over to his bed, "Excuse me Monsieur but you have to get up now or you are going to be late because I won't wait for you," a bluff, his mum will kill me if he doesn't get to school on time, "and God knows you need an education; if your little brother can pronounce my name right, but you can't – that is saying something."
He just grunts in response, drawing his covers over his head like a child. I am immediately reminded of my little brother back home and feel the urge to clip him over the ears and drag him out of bed much like I did Antoine; even Antoine only did this on occasion but Micah does it every. Single. Day.
Puffing out my cheeks I walk over to the end of his bed and pull the sheets from underneath the mattress. Micah, underneath his covers, peeps his head over the top and glares at me, "Don't you dare..."
I raise my eyebrows at him and attempt to rip his bedding from his clutches, but he pulls it back.
"Resistance," I grit my teeth, "is," I pull the sheets with all my might, "futile!"
But my attempts don't work; he's simply too strong for me. Although I don't know how considering all the boy does is stay inside his room, playing video games and eating junk.
"Let," he pulls on them once, "go," he pulls on them twice, "now."
The third time sends me sprawling onto his bed, sheets ripped from my fingers and balance lost. I make a muffled noise, face planting into his chest and cheeks turning bright red. I'm glad he can't see my face right now. It's so not my normal colour scheme of peaches and cream, more like marshmallow pink with a side of fire engine red. I feel my heart speed up at his proximity and then when I look up – he's staring, frozen, his eyes fixed to mine. Oh no.
I attempt to slither back but a fingernail snags on some of his hair, and I can't help but feel how soft and silky his hair is. Automatically my hands go into petting mode, like they do whenever the family dog shoves his furry head at me. But Micah isn't the family dog, and he looks at me like he doesn't know what to think. My fingers weave through his curly, auburn locks and his eyes start to flutter closed; leaning his head into my fingertips. Oh no.
This is getting way too weird for my liking. I'm the au pair. I'm supposed to be his sister, temporary sister but still – sisters aren't supposed to be doing these sorts of things to their brothers. It's wrong. I rip my fingertips from his shiny tresses, scrambling backwards off of the bed and straightening. His blink back upon, widening in bemusement. Oh no.
"I'll go make you some breakfast now so get up," I say, clearing my throat and ripping his covers off easily now he's not paying attention to them, "and I'll see you downstairs in fifteen minutes."
Turning my back to him I hurry for the door, cheeks blazing red; what was I thinking? Touching him like that is a total no-go. A total no-go. He's going to go tell his mum on me and then we'll have to have a talk about it and then it'll be embarrassing and really awkward. I don't want to talk about what I just did. She'll want to know why. But I don't know why. All I know is my hands touched his perfect hair and then out of their own accord they decided they didn't want to move.
Oh Laurie, I played no part in this. I promise I'll never let them to do it again. Like that is going to work. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
Micah's gaze is intent on me; I'm spilling my food everywhere, all over the table and onto the floor. I can't focus on getting it into my mouth when he's staring at me like that. I can't believe he has the nerve to be doing this, and in front of his own family. Our own family. Clearly; the au pair and the son of the people she's working with should not have any sort of something going on, and clearly – he should let what happened this morning go.
I know. I know I started it. But it isn't like I meant to. It's not like he can't just forget about it and go back to ignoring me; I don't know why my touching his hair affected him so much that he can't take his eyes off of me. Especially when before the hair touching he didn't seem to like me at all. And when I say that I'm not kidding; he used to go out of his way to avoid me, and now he's doing just the opposite.
Try this afternoon I had to take his little brother and sister out to the park to stop him from following me around the house, watching me cook and clean things. He nearly offered to come with but I walked out the door, grabbing the kids by the hand and slamming the door behind me in his face with a heel. Maybe I'm being harsh, but maybe – just maybe – I'm trying to keep my job. Because I kinda like my job.
Clearing my throat I put the fork down, turning my eyes to Laurie, my host mother, "How was work today?"
Laurie isn't even paying attention to me though; her eyes are on her son. I feel dread rise up in my stomach. Everything I managed to actually fork into my mouth is rising up with that dread, and I start to feel sick with the thoughts of what's to come. Micah better not tell her or I'll put itching powder on his sheets when he's not looking. I know that my hair obsession is not normal – but how can you resist petting something so soft? You can't. You just can't.
"Micah," Laurie says, tentatively, looking from him to me and back again, "is this some new way of torturing Chantée because it's not very nice; you're making her very uncomfortable, and you're making her spill all her vegetables everywhere."
I look down at all the peas, beans and corn scattered around me with embarrassment; this is what he's reduced me to, baby-like behaviour. I'm the au pair, I'm supposed to clean the mess – not make it.
"I think Mikey likes Chantée," Darin, his little brother, pipes up, "he keeps making angry noises because she won't stare back."
I spit up a pea onto my plate, coughing and bringing my hands to my face to stop everyone from seeing my cheeks go red. Oh God. Trust his little brother to pick the strangeness of it rather than his mum; that kid's going to grow up a genius, I swear; he's so observant and smart. Not that that's a particularly good thing in this situation. I hope she ignores it.
"I don't like her." Micah snaps, flicking his little brother in the ear and getting back to eating his tea – back to being his normal, surly self.
Laurie looks at him oddly and then turns her eyes to me, curious. I pick up my fork and look away very quickly, busying myself by stuffing my mouth full of potato. Out of the corner of my eye though I swear I see Laurie smirk, and my cheeks tinge pink because of it – what is she smirking about? Is she happy her son seems to have taken a liking to annoying me? That's a little strange.
Nonetheless, quick as I can I finish dinner, collect the plates and take them to the kitchen – before rushing away to lock myself in my bedroom for the rest of the night. Far, far away from Micah. But it doesn't work that way. Looking around a corner I make sure the coast is clear before tip toeing down the hall leading to my room– but then, before I know it, my hands are taken and pinned to the wall behind me. I gulp.
Right in front of me is Micah, and his eyes are positively lust-filled. "Hello."
"Let go of my hands monsieur," I tell him, looking away and feeling my heart start to speed up like a jackhammer, "or I'll scream."
He lets go of them, but doesn't let me go. He plants his hands either side of me, blocking my escape routes and stepping closer and closer into my personal space. I can practically feel his breath pluming out on my cheeks, and his gray eyes burn the side of my head with their intensity; begging me to turn my head and look into them. But I know I can't let that happen. The moment his eyes lock with mine I'll want to grab that auburn head of hair and stroke it while I kiss the living daylights out of him.
Oh my God bad Chantée; I shouldn't even be thinking of those things, it just makes me want to do them even more – makes me come up with heaps and heaps of possibilities of what we could but are not going to be doing.
"Oh, you'll be screaming alright," Micah chuckles suggestively, lifting a finger up and running it down my cheek; I feel my heart perform loop de loops and bite my lip, trying to ignore it, "just of pleasure."
I'm brave enough to meet his eyes after that comment, and I glare at him, placing my hands on his chests and pushing him away from me. "Don't be a disgusting pig; I only did that this morning to distract you and steal your sheets, don't think any more of it."
"Oh because that's why you've been avoiding me and got your friend to drive me to school today instead of you." He says, his voice full of sarcasm, glaring right back at me. "I hardly think you'd do that if all that touching was trickery."
"You don't know the first thing about me." I tell him, shoving past him with a shoulder and starting to walk quickly back to my room. But he doesn't give up, and I hear footsteps following quickly after my own, faster than my own. I near start to run towards my door, only to get spun around and pressed into it. His body is flush against mine, cheeks touching, his silky auburn hair brushing my forehead.
Micah smells so good and after a moment or so he pulls his head away a bit; looking right into my eyes. "I may not know you very well but I know you have the hots for me."
I shake my head, setting my jaw defiantly; defiant against his accusations and against the incredibly fast beating of my heart. I don't know what he's playing at, he looks like he's going to kiss me. But he can't. I'm not sure what the rules of being an au pair are, but kissing one of your so-called siblings is probably up there on the list of things not to do.
Besides; he doesn't like me – he's just incredibly susceptible when it comes to girls touching him. It could've been anyone touching him and he would have gone after them. I'm not anything special, and he'll get over the rejection. Placing my hands on his chest again I say coolly, "Monsieur get your hands off of me – it is not on my contract to cater to your libidos needs."
"Bullshit." he says, stung, stepping away from me.
"Oh no I assure you it's not on there," I tell him, mock-sadly, reaching over to give him a pat on the shoulder, "but you can ask your parents about it if you'd like."
"Don't act like you didn't start it, like I'm trying to take advantage of you because you're a maid." Micah says angrily, his eyebrows furrowing and his volume rising. I shake my head, still with that mock-sad look, bringing my hands behind my back and twisting the doorknob. I'm not trying to be super mean and hurt him – it's just the angrier he gets, the less likely he is to hold on to some hope that I'm going to kiss him and touch is hair all over again. Because I'm not, I won't and most importantly I can't.
"I'm not a maid, I'm an au pair – you're supposed to see me like a sister," I tell him, stepping back into my room, "which is why if I started anything I'm sorry, but starting now – it's officially finished. Do go back to ignoring me."
"Chantée." He warns, angrily.
I slam the door in his face; it's for the best.
Sitting at the cafeteria table I bring a spoon of yoghurt to my lips, watching as Micah and his friends make their way to another table; conversing loudly, and laughing. I wonder what they're talking about…no, no I don't. What he talks about his none of my business. Like I said near a week ago now; it's officially finished, no need to start thinking about what him and his hair are doing these days. No need at all.
I swallow the yoghurt, and focus my eyes on the table in front of me; it's just my luck we have to go to the same university, but at least he has found some other way of transport. It'd be awkward my having to take him again.
"Do go back to ignoring me, she says," I hear him laugh loudly from where he sits and can't help but look up, spotting him talking to a leggy red head and his friends who all join in the laughter, "oh like that's such a loss – who wants a tease?"
The leggy red head leans over, her boobs practically popping out of her leopard print top and her fake sparkly eyelashes all a flutter, "Oh I know, right? Who wants a tease when you've got Cassandra baby?"
The girl formerly known as leggy red head, now known as Cassandra, leans over and grabs a hunk of Micah's gorgeous hair; using it to drag his lips to her own. Staring at the way she's handling his gorgeous hair I nearly want to rip her nasty red locks right out of her forehead – but I restrain myself. I'm not supposed to care about any part of his person and his hair is not an exception to that.
Still, I stick another spoonful of yoghurt in my mouth to keep from yelling at her; you just don't damage locks like his, it should be punishable by law. Ripping at his hair could cause him to get split ends or God forbid rip it right out like I want to do to hers. And as for his comments about me, they're starting to make me a little mad; tease, me? Isn't it better to at least know where my mouth has been, unlike that tramp over there who is sticking her gross pink tongue down his throat? I bet she's kissed every guy on that table. More than once.
I stick another spoonful of yoghurt into my mouth agitatedly. Well. Fine. Who cares right? I don't. It's none of my business who he kisses. He can kiss whoever he damn well pleases, even if she's trampy and apparently a hair-puller. A species of which, you know, I thought died out after primary school – but I guess not. Her hands are all over his hair, and they're not being very gentle. Even worse. He seems to be liking this outright mistreatment.
I stick another spoonful of yoghurt in my mouth, blinking furiously. So what if he doesn't particularly care about me like he did one week ago – he's not vying for my attention, that's what I wanted. That's what I've got.
I stick another spoonful of yoghurt into my mouth. It's not like I didn't know he'd get over it so fast; I know he has a weakness for any girl that moves and wants to touch him. That doesn't exactly narrow down his list of choices.
I go to stick another spoonful of yoghurt in my mouth, but look down to find it empty. I stare down at it, taking a long, deep breath and getting up out of my seat. I'm okay. I'm alright. I'll be all good. I'm just fine. I crush the container in my hand, setting my eyes on the bin and ignoring the display I have to walk past to get to it. I walk right past him and good ol' Cassie's make out session and you know what? I'm just fine.
Blinking furiously I bump into the bin, distracted and not paying attention to where I'm going. I crush the yoghurt container to an even tinier proportion and push up the bin lid; I'm just fine, really. I toss the container into the bin, and watch it drop into the trash – right where it feels like my heart is about now. But I'm okay. I'm all good. Oh no –
I'm not.
My shoulders start to shake and I let go of the bin lid, bringing my hands to my face; he's not supposed to be sharing his precious hair with that girl – she doesn't deserve it, she doesn't like it enough. Doesn't look after it enough. Those auburn tresses are just dying to have hands weave through them, yes – but not torn through them like she's doing. She doesn't know what she's doing. She's not gentle; she's rough, and her voice is high pitched. It's hurting my ears – wait, why is she screaming?
I spin around to find her throwing her hands up in the air at him, and he's walking right towards me; she hisses and storms off in the opposite direction, out of the cafeteria. I blink at the scene, confused, and then his hands come crashing down on my shoulders; his eyes looking into mine like liquid desire. Oh no.
"Hey," he says, and then curling his arms around my waist he brings me up atop the garbage bin and then drags my hands to his hair, "kiss me, you're not my sister and I certainly don't feel very brotherly about you – and for God's sake stop calling me monsieur, my name is Micah."
"Micah," I test it out loud and he grins wolfishly as I lean forwards and place my lips onto his, "only if you kiss me back."
And he does, and my hands weave into his hair; before I know it I'm being pressed to a garbage bin, Micah engaging me in an extensive open mouthed kissing session. But I really don't give a damn where I am, what I am and who I am – I feel like I'm on fire, but in a good way; skin burning wherever his fingers touch. I sink deeper into oblivion, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, curls of his fringe pressing to my forehead; I'm in heaven.
IDEAL LOVER CHALLENGE
For write away on live journal, hope you like guys ;D Can't stay. Got to go walk dog. I'll chat longer maybe when I update Bam which will be soonish.