Chapter 5 The bully

{Adrian}

I opened the door at the third ring of the doorbell.

Annabelle bend on my front porch, her hands propped over her knees. But when she noticed my presence, she stood up, revealing the 5 o'clock bags under her eyes. She sighed, running her hand over her hair to tuck the loose strands into the bun.

Annabelle's eyebrows slumped, and her face was sagged like she'd only gotten two hours of sleep.

Maybe she had, judging by the ashen color of her lips and her intermittently blinking of her eyes as if to clear them of the dark fog of sleep.

Annabelle still looks beautiful even when tired.

Her ears were flushed with cold, and the tiny freckles strewn on her button nose hadn't disappeared into the pool of pink blotches on her face.

My hand itched to pull her in, wrapped her in my warm embrace, and smoothed the line of tiredness that wrinkled up her face.

But I could not. In fact, I should not, and I would not.

Annabelle looking like she'd run a 100mm race here was nothing compared to how I'd slept on her front porch for a week. She'd broken up with me, left the town without explaining shit to me. She made our three years of relationship seem like nothing but a useless dalliance.

And if she hates me that much, it's only normal I ignored the voice that desperately needed to make some warm tea for her.

Instead, I darted my gaze to my wristwatch before I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the door.

"You're 20 minutes late, Ms. Dick. Should we be bothered about this being a habit of yours?"

Annabelle sighed, tilting her legs forward and exposing the horrible sight of her black heels to my eyes. Those heels looked like they'd be better discarded inside the furnace than being worn by Annabelle Dickson. Which made me even more curious.

The Dickson might not be overly rich, but they're well-to-do. Why Annabelle had ended up with nothing but ugly cheap knockoff stuff that didn't only end with her heels but all she was wearing, to the fake-looking leather-strapped watch on her wrist.

I ached to know her story. How the last six years had been for her. And most importantly, why she'd broken it off with me. But I could not. I'd been unable to bring myself to run a background check on her.

What if I cannot handle the truth? Or what if I decided not to hate her anymore? No. She deserves to be punished. She deserves to know how it hurts when people you love suddenly turn their back on you.

It's more like being thrown into a fiery pit. I was burnt for years, and I am still healing.

"I'd been here since, Mr. Armstrong. I rang the doorbell..."

"Exactly three times, Ms. Dick." I cut her off. "And the first rang at exactly 7;20. Correct me if I'm wrong."

The blush on her face deepened, slithering down to her neck that was adorned with fake jewels.

A sigh escaped her lips, and her eyes misted momentarily before she blinked away the threat of tears, leaving in its wake, a jutted jaw, and a subtle glare.

"If you could just have told me..."

"I assure you Ms. Dick, everything you need to know is in my profile sent to you. If you could just have make reference to it."

"You want me to email you every time to ask if you'd be coming into the office?"

"Exactly Ms. Dick. Emails, not calls."

Annabelle exhaled deeply. She ran her palm over her face before she slid over to her hair. Her jaw clenched, and the free hand balled into a fist.

Oh. C'mon, lose it! Lay your anger on me, Dickinson.

But Annabelle did not, instead, she exhaled deeply again, unclenched her balled hand, and her shoulder sagged.

"I am sorry, Mr. Armstrong." She mumbled. "I'll do better."

I ignored the quiver of her tone and pretended not to notice her wipe the corner of her eyes to stop the fall of her tears.

Good for her. She can endure my bullying and pretend that it has nothing to do with her shredding my heart years ago. I'm the petulant one who can't let go of the past, and I hope to God she knows I won't be letting it go soon.

I let my eyes wander to the cheap faded blue bag hanging loosely on her shoulder. The bag was small enough that it couldn't contain more than her phone and pens. Old enough that it'd tear right away if it's subjected to heavy load.

I leaned back, pulling the edge of my lips into a smile.

"Ah, Ms. Dick. I'm assuming you're aware that I'd be working from home today."

"Yes, Sir. That's why I'd come all the way here, Mr. Armstrong."

Annabelle darted her gaze past me as though expecting me to invite her in so she could rest her seemingly shaky legs. Instead, I stepped outside, closing the door behind me to cut off her daydream.

Her eyes darted wildly, then snapped back to mine, her mouth twitching, and eyes shimmering with unshed emotion.

Oh no. I was not about to let her work outside. Even if that sounds exciting and perfect. But I'm not that forgiven enough to do that.

So I tilted my head forward, nodding it towards her empty hands.

"Then I guess it'll be no problem for you to return to the office and collect those files I was working on yesterday, Ms. Dick. Since, ah... you're not aware to bring them along with you."

"You want..."

"And of course, not that it's my fault. Only if you'd mailed me as stated in the to-do files sent to you, I'd have let you know what you're to bring when coming here. But then again," I pinched the bridge of my nose and pretended not to notice Annabelle's opened mouth. "But then again, Ms. Dick, I won't have been able to eat those chicken wings from the restaurant across the street since I happen to be craving for one now."

Annabelle's shoulders slumped. Her words frozen on her parted lips. And for an instant, her lashes glistened with unshed tears, but she blinked rapidly, cleared her throat, and masked her emotion with a strained smile.

"Sure, Mr. Armstrong. That wouldn't be a problem, Sir."

"Good."

Good? No. It's far from being good. I want to push her to the breaking point, to hear her beg for mercy and relish in her tears.

But then again, Annabelle Dickinson was the strong one, wasn't she? An epitome of strength she is.

"I hope it's safe to say I'll be expecting you back in the next thirty minutes, Ms. Dick. Along with my wings, that is."