The Broken Werewolves: The Human Mate (LGBT)

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Nigel Quintin Ulysses

To say that I'm not nervous is going to be a huge lie – sharing a car ride to my home with Mark isn't really comforting at all. I don't even know the reason why I'm nervous at all. Usually if I invite someone at my house, I will be, like, cocky about it because my house is big and pleasant. My house isn't really a mansion, but it stands up than everyone's houses. But for some reason, I'm afraid about what Mark would think about upon seeing my house. Would he like it? Would he love it? Why am I even thinking of this? Clearly it's just a house, and it's not like people gush a lot about houses when they see the beautiful ones.

My hands are getting clammy. Driving while I'm basically sweating isn't really a good feeling. It's unpleasant. Mark is eyeing the interior of my car, and even that has me thinking or asking myself what he thinks about it. Do I really have to impress him just to make him consider not to hang out with the school's basically outcast Blaine Maximus? Am I really that desperate? I mean, I don't even know why I'm suddenly hating Blaine Maximus. Perhaps it's because of my friends – they don't really like Blaine Maximus, but they don't hate him.

"Nice car," he whistles as he keeps checking the interior of my car; the interior of my car is customized, and I spent, like, a lot of money just to make it even more beautiful than it already was before. I let out a breath of relief once the answer to the dreading question that has been plaguing my head for a few minutes now.

I give him a brief glance, lips curling just a bit upwards. "Thanks." I reply, happy that he finds my car nice. "Spent a lot of money just to make it better than it was. Had to save a lot of money and had to get a job for it and in the end, it was all worth it."

Working as a cashier at an ice cream store isn't really the kind of job I dream or want – it doesn't have a good salary, but when I was working at an ice cream store just five blocks away from home, it added up to my savings when I got paid. Whenever weekends came, I would take an overtime. Sometimes I reported to work even though it was my rest day – I got two rest days. Saturday and Sunday. But I usually reported to work Monday through Saturday. Though the job as a cashier doesn't really use a lot of physical and intellectual skills, whenever I went home, I was always dead tired. So tired that my parents were questioning me if they were treating me right when I was the one who wanted to work really hard just to earn and save money so I could have my car customized. It was summer last year when I got the job, and I worked for almost three months.

"So you work?" he asks and by the tone of his voice, he's surprised to find that out. There's also something in his voice that makes me glance at him.

"Not anymore; it was last year that I worked as a cashier," I answer, swiveling to the right to my block. I can already see my house from here – a two-storey, Victorian style house. "But now I'm focusing in basketball and my studies. I want to go to a uni, you know."

"Oh," this time there's a disappointment laced in his voice, as if he doesn't want me to go to a university. Or I could just be misinterpreting it. Sometimes my head doesn't work correctly.

I have my future planned out already – Julia and I are going to attend the same university. She's going to take arts while I have yet to think what course I will take, then we'll study hard, and right before we graduate, we're going to plan our next move, the next chapter of our lives; we are probably getting married someday once financial is not a problem anymore – I mean, money isn't really the problem. We've got loads of those, but I can't just depend on my parents. I want to work hard for it so I can really consider it as mine. I just need the guidance of my parents and Julia. That's it. Sounds promising, and sounds easy, but I know it's going to be so hard.

But my plan for college doesn't sound so appealing right now. I don't know why, but I just have this feeling that it's not going to work out. Before I loved the idea because most of the students, the seniors, still don't have a plan or an idea what they are going to do, and I was glad I did plan for it. But now, thinking about it, I think it's not really for me, the one I planned I mean.

Somewhat I feel like there's something planned out for me. I don't know why I got the idea suddenly; it just came into my head a few seconds ago and now I'm pretty sure that my future is already planned, and it's not my plan but rather someone's. It couldn't be God's plan, though.

After telling him that I want to go to a university, Mark remains silent, lips in a purse, looking deep in thought as he stares outside through the window. My house is just a few meters away, and I park on the curb just in front of my house. I tap him on the shoulder to let him know that we have arrived, and he jumps when I do, then looks over to me and sees the house.

"That's your house?" he asks me, his tone now laced with amazement and another question has dissolved inside my head. He appreciates the beauty of my house. Now I feel really happy. I nod, grinning at him. Mark climbs out of the car and so do I. "Wow, it's awesome."

Before you get into the patio of the house, which has two swing chairs attached to the ceiling and two beanies – one is green and the other is blue, facing outside, you will walk through a small garden leading up to the patio. Mark eyes the flowers beginning to bloom in the garden, and based on the look on his face, he's still in awe. My mother likes to keep everything beautiful; she really takes good care of the garden and the house by cleaning – she doesn't want to hire maids as she likes to do it by herself, the cleaning I mean.

The roof of the house is painted a dark blue color, and the walls are painted white. They are made of woods, but not just any woods – they are made of ironwoods, one of the strongest woods ever. When I asked my parents about how much they had spent just to have this house built, they don't really give me the exact answer, but I know it really cost a lot. My parents are a hard-working people, but they are not really workaholic unlike some.

"Come on in," I motion for Mark to follow me inside the house. He's behind me in an instance after inspecting the flowers in the garden. Though I'm facing the door, I can feel his excitement, and it's enough to lift my mood up. The awkwardness has been long gone, as well as the uncomfortableness. In fact the more time I spend with Mark, the lesser the uncomfortableness gets. "Make yourself at home." I say once we enter the house, motioning for him to take a seat on the couch in the living room.

Mark's eyes roam around the house, appreciating the look of the house and I suddenly thank my parents inside my head for being a hard-working people and having built this house. Now I wonder what Mark's house looks like. I'm not being judgmental, but I think his house is just below average. I mean, based on his expression that he wears on his face, it doesn't seem like he owns the pieces of furniture we own inside the house thus the reason why the idea came into my head.

Now I suddenly feel bad because of what I think. I mean, he probably doesn't have a lot of expensive stuff in his house, but he seems contented about it; it's just that the sight of expensive sets of furniture awes him.

"Where are you living?" I ask him, shouting as I head through the doorway to the kitchen to get him a drink. "What do you want? Water or juice?" I add, opening the fridge. Mom always keeps a supply of juices inside the fridge so we never really run out of it.

"Just water, thank you." he shouts back. His voice sends a shiver down my spine, but I ignore the feeling. I grab a glass from the cupboard and grab a pitcher from the fridge, then fill the glass. Once done, I head back to the living room to give the glass of water. He grabs it from my hand, and his skin makes contact with mine, and it sends a jolt of electricity throughout my body, making me shiver. Hopefully he doesn't notice as he's busy gulping the water down. "Thank you again."

"So where are you living again?" I press, taking a seat beside him but keeping a distance at least a few centimeters away from him. "I haven't gotten a reply."

"Um," his eyes flicker between left and right, which makes me to assume that he doesn't want to share any details about him to me. I guess it's okay; it's just that I was expecting him to share some personal information to me. The reason why, I don't have an idea.

"It's okay if you don't want to share it with me," I reply, hiding the disappointment in my voice.

"Well... I'm living with a friend," he answers, hiding his face by turning it towards the direction of the door, as if he's already planning on bolting out of here. He's living with a friend? His answer doesn't convince me, though, but who am I to push him further and ask him to tell me the whole truth? It's clear that he doesn't want to share personal information with me. I mean, we have just met and trust should be earned, right?

"Okay," I reply back, not wanting to press. "Hey, I just want to say sorry again for ditching you out for my girlfriend. I should have at least informed you. You should have waited for at least an hour."

"I waited for more than three hours," he replies nonchalantly. I gawk at him, waiting for him to tell me Nah, I'm just kidding; I actually waited for thirty minutes then I went home, but he doesn't. "Seriously. I'm not kidding." He adds, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh my f*****g God, I'm really sorry, Mark." I say to him, eyes wide as I apologize to him.

"It's all good. But Good Lord, please don't make me wait again," he chuckles. The way he says it to me, it's like he's implying something. But it could be just my head playing tricks on me. "It's in the past."

He waited for more than three hours for me? Now I feel awful and such a jerk. If I had informed him earlier, he wouldn't have done that. Seriously, who waits that long? If I were in his position, within thirty minutes if they're still not at the meeting place, I would immediately leave without considering that they might come in any minute. But this guy, Mark Pierson, waited for more than three hours for me. f**k. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have waited for me. I mean, the only thing that I'm going to show him is movies and yeah, other stuff, but is he that interested to know about it? Looking at it, movies aren't really that special. I mean, I appreciate movies – the cinematography, the works, and the acting, but not to the point that I obsess about it.

"Just let me know what I should to make it up to you," I tell him, wearing an awful expression.

Mark puts the tip of his index finger underneath his chin and thinks, then his face lights up. "You gotta tell me the most embarrassing thing that you like in your life, the thing that you have never shared and will never share to anyone but me." There's an evil glint in his eyes. At first I think that it's really personal, but hey, what could I lose? Then I nod, already regretting my answer.