Trish's POV
The relief of having a pact, a defined structure to navigate the chaos of being alone with Joseph was immediately shattered by the reality of implementation. I had barely slept, haunted by the image of Joseph's weeping confession and the calculated glint in his eyes as he shared his horrific past with me, leading to a fragile pact we both made.
The sun had just barely begun to brighten the guest room windows when the quiet was brutally violated.
I was jolted from my shallow sleep by a booming sound, followed by a fierce voice.
"Rise and shine, Author! It's time!"
My eyes snapped open. Joseph had stormed in. He hadn't just knocked; he had thrown the door wide open, violating my privacy, and leaving me in frenzy – Yes we were getting close, and on friendly terms now… but distance should be maintained!
"What are you doing in my room, and you didn't even knock!" I yelled, scrambling to pull the thin sheet higher. "Ohhh, Joseph, I'm trying to get some sleep, what is this again!"
He stood calmly in my doorway, perfectly framed by the morning light, but radiating a sudden, jarring intensity. I was immediately mortified. I was in pajamas, my hair hopelessly messy, and I knew I hadn't even washed up properly before collapsing the night before. His presence made every flaw glaring. I could practically smell the horror of my own breath and was certain the entire atmosphere of the guest room, thick with sleep and morning air, must have been a repulsive assault on his senses.
"Hey, stay at the door, don't come any closer!" I signaled frantically with my hands, trying to shield the sheer horror of my messy room and my rough morning state.
"What do you wanttt! It's barely eight a.m.!" I demanded.
"You know what time it is," he countered, his voice losing its playful edge and snapping into the ruthless cadence of The Coach.
"You need to train your stamina for the upcoming physical test. Remember why you're doing this. If you don't, your grades will drop, and that authors program you hope to attend after high school—you won't cut it. So… Get up Now!"
His energy was shocking. He was entirely invested in my success, simply because it was his ticket out. THE DEAL WAS SIMPLE: I would use my brain to ensure he aced all his outstanding summer assignments, and he would use his expertise to radically improve my physical performance, securing my dream grades. The motivation was selfish, but the intensity was real.
"Fine, fine, fine, I'll go shower first. Just please get out of my room, pleaseee," I whined, rubbing my eyes.
I swung my legs off the bed, intending to storm past him to the bathroom. The second my feet hit the floor and I put weight on my injured ankle, a piercing, sickening crack shot up my leg. It wasn't just a throb; it was an explosive burst of pain.
"Uhhhh! My ankle! Ahhh!" I gasped, collapsing immediately, clutching my leg so hard my knuckles turned white. The sudden agony made my eyes flood with tears.
"Hey, hey, what's the problem! Are you okay, Trish? Heyy!" Joseph dropped the tough-guy act instantly. He rushed toward me, concern overriding his training schedule, and knelt beside me where I lay crumpled on the floor.
"I don't think I can carry on with physical training today, Joseph. I'm sorry," I choked out, tears mixing with anger at my own body. "You got up so early to keep your promise to help me, but… my ankle won't just walk."
He gently took my foot, his touch surprisingly steady and calm as he felt the swelling. The impersonal contact, which should have felt wrong according to the pact, felt purely medical, purely helpful.
"It's completely okay. Don't get discouraged, okay? This is normal," he reassured me softly, his voice that rare, kind tone I had only heard when he was genuinely helping me. "We just overdid it yesterday. We can do it next time, after a few more days of rest and elevation."
The setback hit me like a physical blow. I had failed. I had spoiled our fragile plan. Why did I always screw things up? I felt a wave of self-pity and fury. Joseph and I were finally, tentatively, getting along like real people, like friends, not enemies. This training would have been the crucible to solidify that bond, to bring us closer. I really, desperately wanted to feel close to someone, and the terrifying truth was, I wanted that someone to be him.
Knowing I had ruined the set-up, I panicked, grasping for a lifeline.
"W…well," I stammered, still clutching my ankle. "Since we can't do training, anything else we can do… together… for the day? I mean… your mom isn't around after all."
The words tumbled out of my mouth, driven by a foolish desire to maintain proximity, but landing with the destructive force of a tactical blunder.
Joseph froze.
He stopped looking at my ankle and slowly lifted his head. He looked puzzled, then alarmed, staring at me like I had just turned into a ghost. All the trust, all the confessions, all the boundaries we had set the night before seemed to evaporate in the heat of my accidental suggestion.
"What do you mean… my mom isn't around after all?" he asked, speaking so slowly, so deliberately, that I could hear and savor every single damning word.
My mind raced, tracing the fatal phrase I had just uttered. The hell was I thinking!
"No… no, I didn't mean it like that, I swear!" I stammered, trying to crawl backward away from his scrutinizing gaze.
No, no, I definitely didn't mean S*X… I swear. We were finally having a sane
relationship! The realization that my own mouth had betrayed me, throwing us back to the exact pervy scenario I had slapped him for, was horrifying. I couldn't control myself. I was so foolish. 'Your mom isn't around after all.' How did that even come out of my mouth? And what did he think of me right now? That I was the lustful one, trying to capitalize on our alone time?
Absolutely not. Not while Miss Britney is gone. This can't happen behind her back. She deserves so much more than that kind of betrayal, especially after everything she's done for me… and to have S*X with her son? While she's away?