In a Situationship with Mr. Wolf

Chapter 5: To the Graveyard

I pushed my head back and whispered the same. “Who are you?”

I tried to take the image of the man in front of my face. He was taller than me, had curly hair, a square jaw and amber eyes. I squinted my eyes and gave him a knotted forehead. “This is my house.”

“No, this is obviously my house,” he said in a serious tone, as if he was lecturing a five-year-old who didn’t understand that candy costs money and trespassed on his property.

I blinked and pointed at the knob with the key. “But the key fits, I opened the door, this is my house.”

He looked at me appraisingly for a moment. The man was about twenty-five and looked like a rugby player, his stature towered me so well that I could hide in his strong muscly body comfortably, it didn’t compare to my fragile little one. “Look here, Miss.”

“This is my house.” He kept on being firm with his words. Playing tough, eh?

“I inherited this from my mother who just recently passed away,” I pulled the paper I got from Mr. Stanley and showed it to him, “see? It’s not long enough for my name to be written on the land and property ownership, this is my house.” I emphasized the last sentence clearly and firm too, if that’s what he wants to do.

He didn’t even bother to study the paper and just glance at it before returning his gaze. “This is my house.”

That’s it! I flung my arms and pulled my long sleeves up. They’re a bit loose so it was easy to get them on my elbows. “Let me in my house and we’ll have a talk about this,” I commanded, and didn’t bother to wait for his permission and just entered the house.

I was welcomed by a clean open space with a long grey sofa and two wooden chairs with a wooden rectangular center table, the dining table was three steps away from the living room and a show kitchen behind it with a lot of drawers and hanging saucepans was partitioned by a thin wall. I gestured for him to sit on one of the chairs while I settled myself on the sofa expecting to hear a protest from him, but he didn’t and just sat on the left chair.

I almost made a sound with my shoes because of the glossy hardwood floors. I crossed my legs and rested my back, masking the surprise I felt with a blank face.

“I’m Brandi and the solicitor said my mother left me this house just recently, before she died.” I started.

The man in front of me made a guttural sound. “I’m sorry for your loss but I doubt you’re given the wrong information? This is my house, I live here.”

I rolled my eyes, and showed him the key on my palm. “No, it’s mine, if it doesn’t, why does the key fit?”

The man shrugged and gave a sour face as if he suddenly got tired from hearing all my insisting. The sound of a phone vibrating with calm relaxing music surfaced from his pants pocket and he got alerted and gave me one more dim look. “I don’t know, do I look like I care? This house is mine. End of this.”

He stood and walked towards the stairs, leaving me hanging from our conversation. I attempted to catch him but my arms grasped only the air. What a fast walker! My face flushed, I went back to my seat and covered my hands with my face. What should I do if I found a man in the house I inherited from my mom? I reached for my phone in my pocket but I hesitated to pull it. I want to call Mr. Stanley and get him here but he was old and fragile. I doubt he’ll jolt and die once he gets here.

This was more difficult than I thought. How could a man live in the house that my mother owns? Does she know this? Does she keep tabs on this and ask him to pay rent? But Mr. Stanley never said anything. Mom was a logical human; she could be a hoarder and bitchy at times, but she wouldn’t miss a chance of telling Mr. Stanley was about this not when she knew she’s going to put this in her will. A thought crossed my mind and I abruptly stood up. A pain in the back of my neck rubbed me from reverie, so I was rubbing it the entire time I walked up to the second floor of the house. I first heard the noise of someone talking before I saw the first door in the hallway was slightly open.

I inched towards it and the back of the man that greeted me and left me dumbfounded in the living room. I was about to get hold of the doorknob but I halted when I found him holding a bouquet of white roses and he was about to put it on top of a brick chimney.

I squinted my eyes and focused on it and recognized it as a tomb. He built a tomb inside MY HOUSE? What the! He stood with his arms on his back and said softly,

“I wish you could see this, for so long, a person decided to visit me, a crazy high school girl that claims our house.”

He made a little laugh as if insulting me as ‘a crazy high school girl who claims this house’ was a silly joke. Does he not have empathy? I just told him my mom had died and she left this house to me. Doesn’t he know that when the key fits it means its yours?

‘It’s been really long, my darling. When will you see me?’

I snorted when he moved aside and the framed painting of a lady that looks like she’s been part of the nineties wearing a white dress with pearl earrings on a vintage background. That answers why this lady doesn’t show up to him. He’s an impudent bastard who doesn’t know empathy. I don’t ask for his acknowledgement of my distress, just empathy. It’s okay if people don’t solace me, it’ll be awkward for me then. I’m not raised with people having to comfort me. Richard doesn’t do that. He joins in the fun with me when I was a kid, but he doesn’t care when I’m sad, he'll just let me in the corner. Sometimes I wonder why he didn’t give me the same attention to my siblings. I understand why he didn’t now.

“Hey!” I almost jumped and bounced like a ball when a hand grabbed me from behind and a lady with cat eyes smiled at me.

“Who are you?” As I whispered the words a soothing sweet scent travelled to my nose, it was so feminine and mellow that I could dream about pink petals falling on the ground.

“Wasn’t I supposed to be the one who asked that?” The lady clasped her hands together, I took a long deep breath and inhaled the scent coming from her. It calms me to know a lady showed up and gave me a warm smile in this house. It’s like she’s welcoming me into this house with just the scent of her perfume.

“I’m Brandi, this is my house.”