THE Obnoxious

Chapter Three - Crossed the Line

Trish’s POV

I woke up much brighter and warmer than I expected after everything that happened yesterday. I meditated, stretched through a bit of morning yoga, refreshed myself, and breathed life back into my voice. Today felt like a new chapter, one I desperately needed. I pushed yesterday behind me: Joseph’s nasty attitude, the way he walked toward me last night, even the heavy ache… of Mom’s passing that landed me in Miss Britney’s home. All of it was behind me now. I was here for a reason, determined and focused. Nothing was going to drag me down, yesterday was the last day I shed a tear… at least, until her funeral comes.

The first thing on my list was also the most mentally draining: finally deciding to write my very first book. A historical romance about a poor orphaned teenage girl with spiritual powers, forced to marry the prince, also seventeen – to produce a prophesied child destined to save their kingdom.

Becoming a writer had been my dream since middle school. Back when loneliness wrapped itself around me like a second skin; no siblings, no friends, no one to talk to. I read novels everywhere: in class, at lunch, during free periods. I avoided people because I knew the moment anyone got close, they’d think I was a freak… and many already did. Reading was the only thing that felt right, until eventually, it sparked something bigger: the desire to write one of my own. To be a world-class writer. The problem? I had no idea where to begin. Reading was easy, writing was a mountain. But excuses didn’t matter. I promised Mom I’d become a star in my own way. Through books. Through stories.

I pulled out fresh sheets of paper, grabbed my pen, and sat upright, ready to begin. Then a gentle knock tapped at my door.

“Come in,” I said.

Miss Britney stepped inside, cheerful and beautiful as always.

“Hey, love,” she smiled. “Someone’s busy this morning. What are the papers and pens for?”

Her warmth made it impossible not to share my excitement.

“I’m writing my very first book today,” I said proudly.

“Oh really, Trishy? So you write! Your mom always said you loved reading.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never actually written anything. Today’s the day. Hardest part is starting, but… it has to be today.”

“I’m so happy for you. You’re really settling in. Just put yesterday behind you and stay focused.” She hugged me gently and kissed my forehead.

“Who knows, you might be the next Emily Brontë. Maybe even bigger.” She teased, widening her eyes,

“That might be too much.” I laughed.

“No, it’s not,” she said, suddenly serious.

“Kids your age only dream about fame, status, money… things that don’t matter. But you, Trishy, you’re different.” Her proud voice warmed me.

“You know what you want. You’re not chasing clout. You’re focused. I’ve never heard someone your age say they want to be a writer, never! I think I’m already falling in love with you, Trishy.” She hugged me again.

For the first time in so long, I felt seen. Someone actually cared about my dreams.

“Thank you, Miss Britney. I don’t know where I’d be without you. I’m going to be a world-class author one day, someone whose books sit in every reader’s collection,” I said, hugging her tightly.

“Oh wonderful, love… anything you need, just tell me. I’ll support you in your writing career however I can.”

“Really? Thank you so much. That means everything.” I said.

She cupped my cheeks gently, calling me cute over and over again. But then my stomach growled loudly, shattering the sweet moment. Miss Britney’s face switched so fast I almost laughed.

“Oh my gosh, Trish! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even cook for you since you arrived yesterday!” she panicked.

“Don’t worry, Miss Britney. I’m fine,” I chuckled.

“Hush. Your belly is complaining. Sit tight, I’ll make breakfast right now!” She rushed out.

I couldn’t help smiling. She cared so deeply… even for someone else’s daughter. She reminded me of Mom in the most bittersweet way.

A few minutes later, she called me down for breakfast – then asked me to go upstairs and tell Joseph to come eat. Why did she have to choose me for that? Going to that i***t’s room made me feel like exactly what he wanted to reduce me to: some housewife. And I was neither his nor anyone’s. I wished Miss Britney understood her son was a prowling p*****t who couldn’t resist girls. But I didn’t want tension between us, so I nodded quietly.

“Alright, Miss Britney.”

I went upstairs, hand trembling on the doorknob, praying he wasn’t inside.

“Joseph?” I called, knocking lightly.

No answer.

I knocked again. Still nothing. He was probably ignoring me on purpose. Guys like him would love the idea of me standing outside his door like some obedient wife.

After a long hesitation, I slowly opened the door and stepped inside. To my relief, the room was empty. What surprised me even more was how clean it was. Clothes folded, bed perfectly made – everything spotless. The exact opposite of the filthy p*****t he acted like. I actually stood there questioning if I’d walked into the wrong room.

After a moment, I huffed. Maybe the neatness was just another performance for his mom.

I turned toward the door to leave, when he stepped out of the bathroom.

Half. Naked.

“So she actually came into my room,” he said, voice low and smug.

“I didn’t want to,” I snapped in shock, staring at the floor.

“I step out of the shower and see you inspecting my room like you’re searching for something.” He walked closer, smirking.

He had only a towel on, and not even properly. His waistline showed, sharp and defined, and it sent an uncomfortable chill through me. My eyes flicked down then up again before I could stop myself.

Stupid body. Stupid hormones.

“Your mom told me to call you for breakfast… and I’m leaving,” I muttered.

“Don’t go, Trish.” He called.

He walked past me and shut the door. Completely. Before I could fully process what was going on, he suddenly pulled me in passionately, dragging my body against his; his skin still dripping with shower water. He landed a rough kiss that was so intense and consuming, just lips on lips, as if all he craved was the pure sensation of my mouth beneath his. He wrapped his arms around my waist with such ferocious strength that I couldn't move an inch.

I had never been kissed on the lips before, only Mom and Miss Britney had ever kissed me, and that was always on the forehead. All I could wonder about was what a real kiss felt like: the heat of lips meeting, the strange thrill of being held close in the arms of the opposite s*x… a feeling so foreign, yet so undeniably stirring. That was the first time I had ever experienced such a raw, sensational pull.

I struggled against him instinctively, but when my efforts proved futile, I simply stopped. An overwhelming stillness washed over me – almost as if, for a fleeting second, I secretly wanted him to continue. For about five seconds, we remained locked together. Then, gathering my resolve, I grasped his broad, wet shoulders, not gently, but to deliver a fierce, deep pinch that I felt tear through his flesh. Only then did he finally budge.

“What are you doing?” I yelled.

“You’re trying to force me into something, is that it? Open this door or I’ll scream. Your mom will see exactly what this is.” I said pissed.

“Relax,” he laughed darkly. “I haven’t even started yet. So tell me… how do you want it? Hard or soft?”

I snapped.

I marched closer to him and slapped him so hard his towel almost fell off his waist.

“Don’t push me, Joseph. I’ll never give my body to you or anyone. I don’t want fun. I don’t want s*x. I don’t want you. All I want is peace. So stay away from me for your mother’s sake at least. She deserves better than this.”

I shot him one final cold glare, opened the door, and walked out.

Behind me, his voice echoed:

“Don’t pretend, Trish. I see right through you. Your screws like I am. I’ll have you before summer ends. You’ll come begging.”

He laughed.

Even after I slapped him, he still laughed. Completely unbothered. A full-blown s*x addict. Stranger in his house or not, who gave him the audacity to touch me… or think he could kiss me? I should've hit him harder. I couldn’t imagine how many girls he’d already slept with at his age, but that was none of my business.

All that mattered now was survival…

surviving this house.

My final year of high school.

My dream of becoming a renowned author and inspiring others with my stories.

For Miss Britney’s sake, I had to put up with him, even though every bone in my body wanted to wipe that smug, s*x-obsessed smirk off his face.

"I won't fall for him. No, no, never." I muttered fiercely to myself.

I repeated those words, forcing myself to walk back down toward Miss Britney in the kitchen. My face, despite my frantic efforts to mask it, betrayed the raw anger burning within me.

"Is anything the matter, Trishy?" Miss Britney asked, her voice laced with concern.

"No, no, I'm fine," I quickly assured her.

“I'll help with the dishes and serve the food." I spoke as politely as I could manage.

We worked together, serving the food onto the dining table just a few steps from the kitchen, all while maintaining a pleasant conversation. It was almost comical how I had woken up that morning feeling so unexpectedly strong and ambitious, focused on seriously starting my first book to advance my writing career. Yet, somehow, Joseph had utterly ruined everything. I may never have been in a relationship, nor had many friends of either gender, but the one thing I despised about men was their inherent, foolish lust. They become so utterly consumed by the pursuit of s*x and 'fun' that they turn utterly blind and disloyal under the flimsy disguise of "just having s*x." The idea of living with such a guy – some girls might find it normal, but I absolutely did not. I hated Joseph instantly. Whether Miss Britney approved or not, there was no chance he and I would ever get along.

"Did you call Joseph up?" Miss Britney finally asked.

"Yes, I did," I replied.

"He was taking a shower," I added, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

I immediately felt stupid, embarrassed, and ashamed. Why did I have to volunteer that detail? Telling his mother he was showering could only give the wrong, unsettling impression: two unrelated teenagers living under one roof. I worried about what must be running through her mind. We still had the entire summer before school started, would she dare leave us two alone? I desperately hoped she wouldn't, because that would be the absolute worst. Who knew what that i***t was capable of doing to me when his mother wasn't around? He probably knew I had a frail build; that kiss must’ve shown him exactly what I was – big talk and bravado, but not strong enough to command an ounce of real respect.