THE Obnoxious

Chapter Six - The Market Couple

Joseph's POV

Mom barely shut the front door before I swung my hoodie over my shoulder.

“You better not slow me down,” I muttered, not even giving Trish the courtesy of eye contact. I wasn’t in the mood for her dragging feet or her quiet-loud attitude.

“I didn’t ask to go with you,” she fired back.

“Yeah, but Mom did. And when she talks, you obey.”

She raised her voice, too loud for the

morning.

“Honestly, going to the market with you is even worse than living with you.”

I felt that one hit, sharp as a stray nail on the road.

“Oh yeah? Fine. Go to hell,” I snapped, heat rising in my voice before I could clamp it down.

The sun was brutal that afternoon, melting over the tar like it wanted to blind anyone dumb enough to walk outside. We hit the long stretch toward Central City Market, and every step felt like punishment. I kept half a stride ahead of her, booting stones down the road, acting like I wished someone would start a fight so I could burn some of the restless anger out of my bones.

Every few minutes, I glanced back at her with the same careless expression I always wore. But really, my head was buzzing.

We were going straight to Central City Hall, the part of town crawling with our schoolmates. And here I was, walking beside a girl. With market bags in my hand. Anyone who saw us would whip up rumors before I blinked. Living together. Dating. Married, even.

Me? Joseph Roland? Grocery shopping with a girl?

No, thanks. The moment Mom left for her business trip, I’d create some distance before people misunderstood anything.

The market was miles away, and because the roads tightened near the end, we had no choice but to walk the whole miserable length. When I finally looked back, Trish was barely standing. She looked like a ghost who ran out of batteries, sweat-drenched, gasping, bent over.

“Damn, Trish… don’t faint on me now, okay?” I laughed, though even I could hear the edge in my voice.

She kept panting, not even sparing me a single insult.

“Wow, you actually look prettier covered in sweat and grease. You sure you can make it back?” I added, poking the bear because I didn’t know what else to do.

Still nothing. She was too weak to even roll her eyes. For a moment, I realized all that attitude she used to throw at me, slapping me after I kissed her, barking back every second must’ve been held up by nerves alone. She wasn’t athletic, she wasn’t tough; she was a study-type girl trying to survive a marathon she hadn’t trained for.

We reached the vegetable stall and started picking out what we’d need for the next two or three days Mom would be gone.

After we stopped at the fish stand, I heard a voice loud enough to echo off every metal rooftop in the market:

“Joooseephhhh! My love!”

Damn.

I didn’t even want to turn, but my body rotated anyway, like it hated me. And there she was, Sabrina. One of my girlfriends. Sort of. Not because I liked her. More because she begged for three weeks straight before summer break, and keeping a legendary name like Joseph Roland apparently required dating enough girls to fill a small choir.

She sprinted toward me, almost tripping over a basket of onions.

“Joseph! I’ve missed you! Oh my gosh, I can’t wait for school to open so I can see you every day!” she squealed.

“Yeah… same,” I said, voice dead as a dry leaf.

Sabrina was rich, stupid rich. And honestly? Stupid, period. All she cared about was having “her man.” I regretted ever agreeing to sleep with her those couple of times; she clung like glue that never dried.

Her eyes finally drifted to Trish, who’d planted herself right next to me so she wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Sabrina’s expression soured instantly, like Trish had stepped on her toe.

“Hi, I’m Trish,” she said, trying to be polite.

Sabrina didn’t even hide the disgust.

“Joseph love… who is this?”

“Oh, uh—this is Trish. She’s my friend.”

“Friend?” Sabrina repeated, like the word tasted foreign.

“Well, the Joseph I know doesn’t have female friends.” She leaned into her hip, pouting.

“Only girlfriends.” She added.

My mind blanked. If anyone even suspected I had a “friend” who lived close… or anything… they’d find out Trish and I were living under the same roof. That could ruin me and worse… her life as well.

Before I could clean up the mess, Trish stepped forward.

“We’re friends,” she said calmly. “We just realized we live close to each other, so we ran into each other here at the market.”

She delivered it with the precision of someone used to covering her own tracks.

Sabrina didn’t look convinced. Her gaze flicked between us, calculating.

“Anyways, Joseph love, you don’t come around anymore,” she whined. “You don’t answer my texts. Or pick your calls. Are you angry at me?”

“No. I’ve just been busy. Sorry, I’ll try to text,” I lied with the smoothness of someone who had no intention of doing that.

“Okay, baby. You know you can come over anytime, right? I’m always open for you.”

She hugged me, too tightly, then trotted off.

I watched her vanish into the crowd, and turned to find Trish staring at me like I smelled bad. Disgust. Maybe jealousy. Maybe both.

“Joseph love,” she mocked under her breath. “Ugh.”

“Wait,” I said, unable to stop the grin crawling onto my face. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” She choked on the word. “Please. Jealous of a perv who runs around playing girls like they’re toys? Give me a break.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged. “We’ve got a market to finish. Let’s go.”

And for some reason…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something in her voice had shifted. Just a little.

Just enough to bother me.

I spent the rest of the day dragging us through the market, watching the sun crawl from morning to almost four in the evening. I had planned to hit football practice with the guys, maybe run drills before tryouts started again, but that dream died the moment Mom said take her. So there I was, hauling every bag myself while Trish wandered behind me doing absolutely nothing except complaining or looking like she could fainting at anytime.

I bought the vegetables, the rice, the oil, the spices, the stupid extra things Mom insisted on, all while she trailed after me like some tired shadow. She didn’t lift a single thing. Not one. I carried everything. Sorted everything. Paid for everything. She just lazed around, staring at stalls like she was sightseeing.

By the time we were done, my shoulders hurt, my mood was gone, and practice was long over. All because Mom said take her. If she hadn’t, I would’ve been on the field with my teammates instead of babysitting a girl who couldn’t even hold a shopping bag straight.

But I guess that’s what I get for the day.

My heart thumped, almost choking me.

We had just walked a few steps, cornering left off Ashburn Street, heading for home, when Trish unintentionally and violently went pale. She dropped to the ground like a lifeless doll.

I spun around, flinging the bags of groceries we’d bought: milk, bread, vegetables; everything scattered on the dusty pavement. I rushed to her side, kneeling, and cupped her head in my hands.

“Hey, hey, Trish. Stop this,” I barked, adrenaline spiking.

“Jo... Jos... Joseph,” she barely muttered, faint and dizzy.

I was completely shocked and confused. What the hell do you do when someone just collapses from walking? Was she that unfit? Couldn't she withstand a little sun? This part of Central City Market was parched, cut by narrow roads where no vehicle could get through… to a hospital. A lot of walking goes on here. To have her faint right here was... humiliatingly dangerous.

I grabbed her pale face again, gently but vibrantly shaking it for a response. She finally gained a better sense of consciousness, opening her eyes wider, confusion clouding her gaze.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re going to embarrass me here, too, in public. Everyone is watching!” I hissed under my breath.

“Wha... what happened?” she asked lowly, grabbing her head.

“You nearly fainted!” I snapped.

“Oh... This has happened before,” she said, trying to process the event, touching the ground to steady herself.

“You must have drained all your energy walking under the heat. It is a fiery summer, after all. And you’re clearly unfit for the weather,” I said, trying to sound lightly annoyed, though I was genuinely shaken.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, Josh,” she said, sighing.

Josh? She never called me Josh.

“You need to rest, Trish. We continue our journey home later,” I stated firmly.

“No, no. I’m fine now, thank you. Let’s go. It’s hot out here anyway,” she argued, trying to stand up on her feet.

Watching her struggle to barely stand made my gut twist. I suddenly remembered Mom. She had nearly fainted one time, too, due to stress. Thank goodness I was there that day. Looking at someone who now looked like Mom's stand-in daughter in that same circumstance made my heart ache in a way I hadn't felt in years.

I had no choice. I had to throw my pride away and act like a real man. That’s what I was made for, after all.

“You can’t walk, Trish... I’ll carry you,” I said, the words coming out tight, almost under my breath.

“What! No, really, no need for that!” she surprisingly yelled, considering she’d nearly collapsed moments ago. “I’m fine,” she assured me.

After a pointless series of persuasion, she still refused. I went ahead and started picking up the scattered goods when she nearly fell off her feet again, this time, she twisted her ankle, the sound sharp and undeniable.”.

“Ouch! My God!” she let out a loud cry, causing passerbys across the market square to turn toward us.

She looked at me like a little girl who clearly needed help, and I had no other choice. Even if I enjoyed being a complete bastard toward her, and her behavior was genuinely infuriating, I had to help her.

Not to make her yield to me, but because I had to do what was necessary if I was going to call myself the Great Joseph Roland of Mthland City.

I did the impossible. I commanded her to hop onto my back for a piggyback ride, as her ankle was clearly sprained.

“What are you doing?” she asked, startled.

“Just hop on. I play football; I’ve experienced all types of injuries. That’s clearly a sprain on your ankle. You’re not going to be able to walk for two, maybe three days at most. So just hop on. I’ll give you a piggyback ride back home,” I said firmly, letting no room for argument.

“Yeah, but… people are watching,” she muttered, still self-conscious, her arms crossing instinctively.

“Oh, please. I’m Joseph Roland, a f**king empire. Who cares? I’m going to be the best Mthland Football player someday. This is nothing,” I said confidently, my chest swelling, not just for her, but for the words I spat out,and the market that had turned its gaze toward us.

“Al… alright,” she said, reluctantly climbing onto my back.

She huffed, resting her chin on my shoulder, arms crossed like she was scolding me rather than letting me help.

“Big words for someone carrying a girl in the middle of the market. Don’t think this makes you a hero or anything,” she muttered, voice low but sharp.

I could feel the tension in her, that stubborn pride that always made her act like she didn’t need anyone. And yet, there was something in the tilt of her head, the way she gripped my shoulders – hesitant, but not entirely resistant; that made me smirk. Typical Trish. Always fighting, always challenging, and secretly… just a little impressed.

The people around the market drifted toward us, smiling and murmuring in soft amusement:

> “Aw, look at him! He’s actually carrying her! So sweet!”

“He carried her like it was nothing. If that’s not devotion, I don’t know what is.”

“Ha!... young love must be blissful…” Even the tomato guy stopped and was smiling.

I gritted my teeth, half embarrassed, half… secretly pleased.

I adjusted my grip on the bags and her thighs, and started walking. “You’re going to make it, Trish. Just hold on,” I said.

And all I could smell was Mom's scent all over her. It seemed like they shared the same perfume now. They were typical, so-called mother and daughter now.

And that’s when I realized the problem.

I admitted it: I wanted her. Not for the cheap thrills or the wild tropics I’d been getting into recently. I actually wanted a normal relationship, something tender, something real.

But who was I to promise any girl loyalty? I would just f**k things up like my f**king dad, who still runs around bars after cheating on my precious beautiful mom countless times. The truth is, I might be just like him... destined to break everything I touch.

But I can’t change now. Not for Mom, and certainly not for the new, bewildering feelings I have for Trish. I’m the freaking King of Mthland High and possibly the damn city.

Mark my words.