Carrero Bonus Book: Arrick's View
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L. T. Marshall
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229K
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27
Meeting Arrick for the first time: Part 1
Sophie
My temper is riling slightly because I cannot get the knack for this. I drop the wooden spoon in the bowl as batter splashes back in my face and recoil in disgust, wiping the wet mess out of my eye and huffing stroppily. Sylvana laughs at my expression and tends to my face with a dish towel over her shoulder, dabbing at me lightly to clean it off. That motherly smile and gentle manner soothe my temper tantrum, and I calm slightly at her ever-tender touch to my fiery moods, warming inside at her easy method.
“Oh, Sophie, Bambino.... Don’t be so aggressive with stirring. Be gentle with the batter, or you will pound the air out of the mixture.” She smiles softly and picks the spoon up to hand me encouragingly, pushing the bowl back against me on the wooden surface with an eyebrow lift meant to endear me to try again. I frown at the heavy ceramic beast and make another attempt at this, sighing heavily and setting my frown to one of determination.
I attack with much less grace than the first attempt, and in my overzealous efforts, I get it splashed up my Unicorn t-shirt alarmingly. I sigh and glare at the mess splattered over twinkles, my unicorn compadre.
I love this top. I’m gutted that I defiled him with raw cake mix.
“I really don’t think baking is my thing.” I point out defeatedly, my mood taking a nosedive and leaving me feeling heavy and listless. This is another cooking lesson with ‘Mamma Carrero’ that I am failing at. I have a skill for spectacular failings in the kitchen department, and it never ceases to amaze me how much I suck at cooking. We have one every few days; she calls it ‘bonding time’ to quiz me on how I am settling in with the foster parents she has placed me with, and without fail, I make something awful.
She has so much patience and no end to supplies that I make inedible; it’s a wonder she still even tries, although I like that she’s keeping tabs on me and cares enough to check that I am okay in my new life. At least I know this time I have someone to run to if my life turns out as awful as it was with my biological parents. I trust her.
She reminds me of her son, Jake, so much. She has his eyes and easy manner, and I feel like I can relax with her as I relax with Jake and Emma. Knowing that they all have the same genuine goal: to keep me safe and look after me, I appreciate it. Blessed to be given this new chance in life.
Sylvana found me a home with people who live close by. So far, so good. They seem to like me, they even let me put a lock on my door, so I feel safe around them. They are pretty awesome people, if not a little too caring. I guess in time, I can maybe relax around them and stop questioning if this is all real all the time. I have siblings for the first time in my life, and even though they all seem nice, I’m just not ready to bond with any of them yet. I mean, this could be temporary. It’s just a foster home, after all. I don’t want to get my hopes up yet and start caring about people who might not stay in my life for long. I like Sylvana, though. She doesn’t make me feel like I’m anything different. Anything broken.
She doesn’t bring up the stuff I don’t want to discuss, even though I know it’s part of her job. I mean, the support worker I see weekly is from her charity... he told me she is why I got homed so fast. It’s almost unheard of for a fourteen-year-old runaway to find a family like the Huntsbergers so easily, especially coming from poverty. I owe all this to her, Jake, and Emma. I owe them everything. Although I know it probably won’t last. I’m a lot to handle at times, and I know sometimes when something is too good to be true, then it is, so I aim to enjoy it while I can. Build my strength if I need to run or return to the streets again and fend for myself.
I look at Sylvana and feel so much love for her. I wish I knew how to express it better than I do, as it’s not particularly easy for me to show emotion. It’s easier with Emma... she gets me and doesn’t expect me to say anything. She just knows. Sylvana is a completely different kind of person, and even though she works with kids like me, I don’t think she has ever been through what we have.
“Mamma. Where are you? I’m home.” A male voice that sounds much like Jake echoes down the hall, and I falter, my mixing poised as I freeze. I am not good with strangers, yet this one sounds like Jake, so I’m unsure if it’s him. There’s something different in the voice, though, only slightly, and my heart beats faster as Sylvana walks to the kitchen door, patting the flour from her dress as she greets the voice.
I drop my eyes to the bowl and continue with the mess I’m making, gripping the spoon tight and hoping whoever it is, doesn’t stay long. My heart rate is elevating, and my breathing is getting a little shallower as nerves crash through me at the sudden intrusion of our time. Still not good at coping with my anxiety, but I’m learning to hide it and get on top of it more. I breathe slowly to combat the suffocating feeling in my chest and focus on slow stirs to concentrate.
“Ahhh, il mio, bambino.” Sylvana walks forward into a tall frame concealed behind her body, who embraces her tightly. I can see sandy hair over her head, wide shoulders over hers, and strong arms encircling her as they hug. It’s definitely not Jake; the hair color alone is wrong, although he is around the same height.
“Hey, mamma, mi sei mancato.” The male voice is low and husky, that same Jake depth of tone, and I wonder if this is the elusive brother I have been told about. Sylvana talks about Arrick a lot but is always away at college or traveling; apparently, he does it a lot. This is the first time he’s been here while I have. It would make sense because he’s bilingual and called her mom.
I pause and hold my breath. Waiting. I know she’ll introduce him, and I feel the panic start to rise in my throat. Hands going cold and body icing with apprehension at meeting a new male, an unknown stranger. They both move as she turns to me, and I duck my eyes back to what I’m doing, overcome with shyness and unable to look up as my gut twists in my body. Trying to hold myself in check so I don’t make an idiot of myself. I have the urge to check my hair is still tied up, neat in my ponytail, out of the way from nervous hands and twitchy habits.
“Arry, this is Sophabelle, our newest Huntsberger addition.” Sylvana’s voice pulls me up, almost like hypnotic magic, clever with her spells of persuasion. I connect to a pair of pretty hazel brown eyes, studying me coolly with a calm and handsome face. Surprised immediately that they are not green, like Jake’s and Sylvana’s, yet somehow these are nicer, warmer, and deeper. Shaking myself at the trance he almost causes me, forgetting myself for a second and feeling utterly stupid that a boy’s eyes halted me mid-breath.
The heat hits my cheeks as I blush and glance away; his gaze is too intense for my liking, and I instantly feel defensive as my body bristles up in alarm. I barely took in anything but his eyes and can still feel them on me. Studying me.
“Hey, how you doing?” He speaks to me, and I curse that I must do this. I’m used to the little circle of people who have surrounded me for the past weeks, and I don’t need anyone new to be around me. Strangers mean danger. Especially ones with a weird ability to render me still with just a look; it’s unnerving as hell, and my heart doing the rhumba is not exactly welcoming.
My hands start shaking like crazy, and I have to grip the bowl and spoon to hide it. I flicker up and take him in slowly, warily, as if he is no real interest to me. The broad, strong shape of a teen, maybe late teens. He isn’t ugly. He’s kind of cute; okay, perhaps more than cute, except he has Giovanni’s nose, which is a shame because it’s a bit odd at the bridge. I like his hair... it’s spiky and nice in color, like sand almost, although variations of dry and wet, and a nice cut showcases a strong neck and squarish jawline. He seems to spend time styling it too, which I guess I like.
I think men who care about their appearance are attractive, seeing as boys and men I knew never did. He has nice taste in clothes anyway; jeans, sneakers, and a tight grey t-shirt with some fighting club or something on the front, which highlights the fact he works out. Casual, good-looking, and relaxed; a dangerous combo for most young girls but not me. I have no desire to know this Romeo, and I can tell it is exactly what he is. He looks a little bit like his brother, yet not, and I decide I don’t like him. He is too good-looking to be a nice guy and poses nothing but a threat to me.
“Hi,” I respond flatly and look back at what I’m doing. Not interested. He seems too cocky, too chatty, too smiley. Boring and self-absorbed. He will be like every other guy on the planet who has good genes and knows he’s hot.
“You’re a chatty one, aren’t you?” he chuckles, and it makes me squirm because it’s nice in a completely awful way. Deep, husky, Jake-like, I glare at him for insulting me.
Ughhh.
I think he might be an asshole now that I think of it. I mean, who uses lines like ‘How you doing?’ anyway. Pretty sure it’s a lame veiled attempt at saying, ‘want a date?’. Which I don’t. He is way too old for me. I’m not even fifteen yet, and he looks.... well, not fifteen. Maybe eighteen. I don’t know. He has a youthful look, but then again, there’s something older in his eyes.
“Shhh, leave her be. Sophie is fine once she warms to you. Stop teasing her.” Sylvana scolds him and moves towards the sink to fill the coffee pot for her newest arrival, which means he is staying. Everyone in these families seems to reach for coffee pots at every opportunity, which is weird. I'm not too fond of the smell of the stuff. It makes me think of things I don’t want to. I bite down the sudden nausea that hits me in the gut with the realization that Romeo is staying and the memories coffee incites.
I jump in fright when he appears at the table in front of me, ripping my head back to the present, reaching in to dip his hand in what I’m mixing, and I drop the bowl and spoon and jump back as though he’s scolded me. Even though he didn’t touch me, my heart lurches to my mouth in knee-jerk fear. He doesn’t react, hand still in the bowl, eyes come to me, and his face straightens. A slight frown as he slowly draws away and smiles softly, movements extremely controlled like he senses he shouldn’t have done that.
It does nothing to calm me, though, and I’m tense all over as I watch him warily. My body is poised to run if he tries to get any closer. My heart races as embarrassment flows over me, and I look away, moving back to grab the spoon at speed and die of shame that I reacted so noticeably. I can’t help it. I hate people coming too close, especially men, and that’s what he is, even though he’s young.
He’s a threat. He’s male and obviously a guy who can pull girls easily with a smile and a wink. Just not me, never me. I inhale deeply, swallow hard, regaining outward control while my insides shudder, and try to return to that silent, moody aura I had a second ago.
“Tastes good... you must have the magic touch.” He says it softly, but I notice he’s moved back to give me room, and I relax a tiny mite that he has given me my breathing space back. I don’t answer, but I stare at the bowl and mix some more, unsure how to respond. He has me flighty and nervous. Even my toes tremble with a cold wave of fear coursing through my body.
“She has if she only had a softer touch and more patience.” Sylvana laughs and comes to remove the bowl from me swiftly, appearing by my side for a second as she hands me another instead that is filled with a new mixture and a fresh spoon. “You can massacre this one if you like.” She giggles beautifully, warming my ice and reminding me that her presence means safety, no matter who else is here. She would never let anything happen to me.
I glance his way as she moves and catch him looking at me, sort of up and down, as though he’s trying to suss me out, and I automatically glare at him defensively, hating his probing. He will meet his match if he’s looking for an easy target. I’m not some defenseless little kid who would let some teen Romeo have a go. I will burn his pretty face off or stab him with this wooden spoon if I have to. I have no interest in boys, men, or those in between like him.
He smiles at me, and I glare harder, warning him off. No point leading these types on and giving him the wrong idea about what he will get from me. I already met his kind at school, the first week here, and they soon learned that Sophie bites hard. He picks up an apple from the fruit bowl and leans against the kitchen counter, getting comfy as his mom makes fresh coffee and dollops my batter into cake pans simultaneously. His eyes leave me when he catches my eye and wanders around the room as he takes a bite and crunches noisily.
Who even eats that loud? Weirdo.
“You redecorated?” He says to her, and I watch that profile for a second.
Okay, he’s not ugly in any way, even with a weird nose... he’s actually kind of cute for a guy, but he’s a jackass, so what does it matter?
I go back to mixing aggressively and let out a little of my prickliness on the new mixture, sloshing some over the bowl clumsily. I curse under my breath that I’m having real difficulty keeping the contents in the damn bowl. His presence makes me antsy, and I want him to leave so we can return to our Sylvana and Sophie time. I’m starting to depend on these visits as part of my routine, and he is ruining my calm.
“Nope... Just changed a few accessories.” Sylvana smiles back at him, notices my mess, and hands him a wet washcloth with a nod toward me. Without hesitation, he puts down his apple and leans forward to start cleaning around the bowl I have on the table, straining as though he is trying to stay back, which is odd. As his arm gets near mine, I step back again, lifting the bowl to make it look like I am giving him space to clean, even though I am making sure he gets no closer. I catch the flicker of his eyes on me, yet he says nothing, just a serious glance that makes my heart beat faster, and then he looks away. He wipes the surface and hands it back to her as I put the bowl back down and only step forward when he moves away fully. Less chaotic on my innards that time, and I am a lot less antsy.
The phone starts ringing, and Sylvana takes it from the wall, utters something in Italian, then gestures two minutes to me and leaves the room. She takes the phone with her as she chats in fluent Italian and leaves us to it, oblivious as to why this is not good.
Leaves me with him!
Alone and undefended.
My breathing gets instantly heavier as anxiety builds up quickly and irrationally, brain freezing so that any sense of this will not break through. She never just leaves me with strangers. This is literally unheard of, ever. Normally Sylvana is conscious of leaving me with people I don’t know. She knows I don’t like it and don’t care if it’s her son. I don’t know or trust him.
I drop the spoon and start looking for an escape route almost impulsively, uncomfortable about being alone with him and unable to stop the gripping panic crippling my lungs. I need to get out of the corner I am hemmed in because it’s making me claustrophobic and triggering my need to run.
“Huntsbergers, huh? So, you’re Leeloo’s new sister?” His voice catches me mid panic and draws me back to him, weirdly cool and with the same insane ability as his mother to pull me back. I stare at him, wondering why he is even trying to talk to me.
Did I not make it blatantly clear that I’m not interested? God, he’s as relentless as the boys at school, thick as one of them too?
The reason I almost got expelled on the first day; for punching one square in the nose for not leaving me alone, and I am not against taking on this six-foot stranger.
I shrug as a way of an answer and decide I maybe want to go home now. The last thing I need is Sylvana getting mad because I punched her son in the face or lashed out at him violently. I’m only starting to feel at home here, and I don’t want to cause problems with the woman I depend on for my sanity. I move around the table to get past him, then jump when he shifts to pick up the apple he laid down, not seeing me until the last moment. In my panic to get back and out of his way, I back into the furniture and knock the table with my hip by accident, sending it rolling off before he grabs it. Freaking stupidly about being in his direct space and almost able to breathe in how he smells, his aftershave flowing over me warmly, I wrinkle my nose at the pleasant assault.
We both make a grab for the apple impulsively, and he gets way too close, almost on top of me, as we make a play for the shiny red roly-poly object on the floor. I recoil at the speed of light. Only somehow backing into the table again, dumbly, instead of away. He’s in my face as he straightens up, and I cringe, lifting my hands defensively in that split second, head caught in fear and flashback and almost choking on my sudden inhale as the full force of how he smells hits me harder.
He smells good, which is the weirdest thing to run through my head while my chest is on fire and my brain is crashing around in headless terror. He stops, catches sight of my posture, and lifts his hands away immediately, moving back deliberately, eyes on mine steadily as I heave in breaths and try to stop myself from suffocating with the confusion of feelings coursing through me.
“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to get so close. I’m not going to touch you.” He seems a little taken aback by the way I’m poised, apologetic, and maybe sincere, with nothing in his face that hints of deviousness. I try to uncoil my muscles to look more natural as tears bite my eyes, knowing how stupid I must look, and try to slide away from him and give myself much-needed room. I'm mortified that I’m acting this way with Jake’s brother, but this is how I am with every guy. Jake never gets close enough to see if it’s the same with him, and I am trying so hard to regulate my breathing and be normal.
“I need to go home.” It comes out so pitifully, voice shaking, and suddenly the thought of my safe lockable space is screaming for me across the street. My fight-or-flight instinct has always been strong; it is on running for the hills right now.
“I’ll go...You stay. You obviously were in the middle of something with my mom.” He half smiles, looking crazily guilty and unsure, his expression softening warmly to resemble Sylvana. I stop in surprise, looking at him dumbfoundedly, panic fading as he slowly backs away from me, making a show of keeping his hands up like I have a gun or something equally stupid, and it makes me forget myself for a moment. The good old mouth comes out all by herself.
“Put your hands down... that’s lame.” I often get verbal diarrhea at odd times, and this strange guy acting weird seems to be a trigger. He looks at his hands, then breaks into a smile that could potentially have the severe panty-melting ability if I was any other girl, and drops them by his sides.
