Nine
1088 Words
Abigail stared mouth open at her visitor, this late at night. He had a bored expression etched on his face, his left brow raised slightly.
"Can I come in?" He asked.
The question was enough to pull out from her temporary trance, she slapped her forehead at her forgetfulness and sudden loss of manner.
Still dumbfounded, she moved to side her left arm gesturing him inside.
Apart from the embarrassing fact, her apartment was a bit little for him considering how his head was mere inches away from the ceilings of the living room, she cursed herself for letting it get this messy.
She rarely gets any visitors, which justifies her.
Clearing her throat, "Erm...feel at home and pretend my living room isn't this messy." Feeling hot from her embarrassment and how his grey orbs tailed around her movement lazily she wished right there she never existed.
Despite her offer to sit, for some reason he remained on his feet.
She picked up the crackers boxes and some pillows strewn on her wooden floor, managing the junk in her hand she let a nervous smile on her face before she ran to the kitchen to throw them in the rubbish can and compose herself.
Why is he here? Was one of the many questions that rained in her thoughts.
Elliot scanned his eyes around the little apartment the red-haired lived in, it was okay. He scrunched his nose at his lie.
He has lived in luxury all his life, this wasn't in any way comparable to what he has seen.
The living room was small and compacted, she had little furniture, just one little couch and a circular centre table. Where loads of books rested on.
A wide TV screen rested on the dull-coloured walls.
He threw a glance at the other walls and noticed a straight staircase leading to some other parts of the house but that wasn't what caught his attention.
A collection of photo frames were arranged in specific shapes, one a heart and another A letter. He then realized it was a message, I (heart) some Big Photo Frame which had gentle yellow lights illuminating it.
A gentle thud on the wooden floors had his attention and he steered it to Abigail who had her big blue eyes rested on him, for the first time he noticed she had it encased under a rounded lense.
Her lips pursed, twitching slightly.
She tug gently at the dark joggers she wore giving off how nervous she looks, "Mr Elliot?" She called noticing his long stare at the frame.
"Who's she?" For the first time, his voice came out soft while talking to her, his gaze returning to the photo frame of her mother.
Her only family.
She took a few steps towards him, standing a little behind him.
"My mother, " she whispered, doubting if he caught on. Her answer was barely audible.
He gave a little nod, "She lives with you?" He asked, looking down momentarily at her.
She avoided his gaze to prevent him from seeing the sadness that her eyes tells, "No, she doesn't live with me. She died last two years."
He craned his head to her, a solemn look laced with little surprise crossing his face, she expected him to express his condolences or offer some sympathy but he remained mute.
A little frown crossed her face at his insensitivity, walking back to the centre of the room she stood waiting for him to follow suit.
He did, his hands tucked carefully in pockets he seemed almost tense.
"Please have your seat, " she offered, her voice coming out little than she meant for it.
She hated that the air in the room carried so much tension, it could be sliced with a knife. His presence in her little home left many questions unanswered.
One seems more pertinent than others.
Why, why is he here? In this quiet, solemn mood, normally he has muttered a lot of threats and warnings to her person.
Her presence, extremely irritating to him.
She watched as he managed himself on her little couch she cleared her throat, "Erm, what can I offer you?"
His right hand waved her offer off, his eyes strained gravely against hers now.
"I only want to talk, " he said.
Confused she asks, "To me?"
A little frown grew on his face at her question, "Is there anyone else here?"
His question made her feel a little stupid but she brushed it off. Hating how controlling he wants to be even in her home. Drawing the little stool, she settled on it ignoring the little looks he threw at the stool legs.
He was probably judging her weight underneath the stool, she knows she has a little weight in her other side but not enough to break a stool.
Putting a scowl on her face, she retorts his questioning stares, "It would hold me just well, Mr Elliot. Worry not."
He cleared his throat and straightened his already erect back, knowing he was struggling to find his words. She put in, "What do you talk about? Is it about Ivan?" She paused, why didn't she think of it.
Ivan?
She looks straight at him, her demeanour suddenly serious, "Is Ivan okay? "
" Ivan is fine."
A sigh of relief escaped her lips are his response.
"I want to request something from you, " he started.
Her attention was piqued now as she stared at him wondering what he needs from her.
"I need someone to care for Ivan, I am busy and can't possibly stay around him especially when I am at work."
"Like a Nanny?" She asks.
"Not quite."
"Well, I can find some experienced baby carers, if you want some fancy name for a nanny," she slipped in sarcastically and continued, "Since Ivan is like my baby, you need to give me little time to ensure he gets the best. I also pray you continue in your nice streak and still let me see him."
Silence followed from his side for a little moment.
"Ivan doesn't need a nanny, " he repeated except this time exhaustion was laced in his voice and body expression.
"I want a mother for Ivan. I want you to be Ivan's mother."
Her lower jaw slackened from its once closed position hanging low now, her voice lost.
His lids shut close as his eyes as the next words made her stand on her feet.
"I am proposing a marriage to you, Abigail."
- Writer
