They say too much of something is annoying, well, I found that out myself when I decided to crawl out of bed after three hours of non stop interaction with it. I never thought I could hate my bed given its comforting nature and tranquility but here we are. Unmade, with food scraps dusted all over it, I detested it for the first time in years. Turns out, having a sick day isn't as glorious as they make it out to be.

I trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen, my tired eyes spotting a yellow sticky note plastered on the refrigerator door , mom's handwriting adorned over it;

Remember to reheat the chicken noodle soup, don't eat it cold!

Incase of emergency, just call me. Love, Mom

True to the letter, the soup sat idly by inside the microwave with another note stuck to the soup bowl, reminding me yet again to reheat the soup. I mentally rolled my eyes at how overbearing mom can be. Ripping it off, I crumpled it into a tiny ball before tossing it into the trash and proceeded to preheat the soup on a 5 minute timer.

The house was a graveyard, the atmosphere uncanny as I darted glances behind me , afraid that there might be some unseen apparition looming by. Heck, sometimes, I got heavily paranoid , it felt ridiculous considering the fact that I usually watch horror movies alone with the lights turned off, at night. Now I'm supposedly 'scared' of the possibility of being alone at home, in broad daylight?

The microwave dings to a stop and I quickly fish out the bowl, subjecting my fingertips into scorching burn from the overheated glass bowl, setting it down for it to cool before grabbing a spoon from the counter. The tantalizing smell of the soup made my stomach growl and I couldn't wait to dive into it to quench this everlasting hunger. As hot as it was, burning my tongue as I shoveled a couple of spoonful into my mouth, I gabbled it up in record time. By five minutes, I was done, licking the bowl before tossing it into the empty sink, neglecting the duty of rinsing it, heeding to my lazy bone.

The rest of the day would be spent watching boring daytime talk shows, some sports highlights, playing video games and once that took a toll on me, I would find myself roaming around the house, entering various rooms and snooping around the cupboards with zero purpose , like an aimless drifter. Dad's study room, nothing of interest , except for his files that had his previous court documents from being sued by either a unscrupulous employee or by an disgruntled client. One document particularly held my eye, from a previous female employee by the name of Rosa Cruz. She claimed to have been sexually abused at work by one of my father's closest friends. The case went cold, she was allegedly paid some huge amount of cash in order to buy her silence because were this to go public , it would definitely tarnish my father's 'good' name and reputation.

I hate my father. I hate that he resorts to such dealings. So he's rich, but at what cost? Silencing victims? How low can he go? And he has the audacity to call me all sorts of degrading names just because I didn't get an A plus in my Calculus test? Such a loser!

I was busy thumbing through various court documents-because let's face it, there's a lot of them considering the type of man my father is- when I heard something. Like a door being opened. I didn't know my heart could stop in a trice but right there and then, it did. Almost like somebody hit a pause button on my pacemaker or something. I ceased to breathe, holding it like a survivor clinging on to the edge of a cliff , to prevent himself from plunging to his imminent death.

With lightning speed, I hurriedly grabbed all the documents, stuffed them all inside one binder before zipping it inside a black leather briefcase underneath my father's desk. Silently, I snuck back upstairs , into my room and silently shut the door, leaning against it, my chest rising and falling with each harsh intake of breath. If they rob this house with me in it....

That's when I heard , light footsteps right outside, padding against the carpeted floors and they seemed to get nearer and nearer to my door.

I should call mom....or maybe 911?

My eyes landed on my baseball bat. Maybe I can scare them off with it? Attack them with it, pound them with it until they go unconscious . That was the brightest idea I had at this moment of panic before a knock reverberated throughout my room , coming from my door.

I almost screamed.

Maybe this is how I die. Or they came to kidnap me and possibly ship me off to Abu Dhabi. Or maybe I-

"Hello? Maxwell?"

The voice sounded muffled from behind the closed door with my back painfully pressed against it in hopes of barring it from the impending intruder. But I knew that voice. That voice was like poison, forbidden yet mildly enchanting.

That voice , was enough to draw a snake outside from its darkened hole. The voice of the one person I didn't want to see today, the one I had been avoiding or at least that was the plan. I wasn't ready to face her, I was mature enough to have a conversation with her about yesterday's events. My only hope was to either jump in bed and play dead until she gets bored and leaves the premise or jump out the bedroom window in hopes that I don't break a leg and maybe bolt for the woods and never come back.

My immature brain was leaning towards the second option. I was bad at playing dead. So maybe running for the hills would do....

"Max? Are you in there?" Fuck! She sounded so beautiful-her voice, I mean- her voice was beautiful and I was afraid I'd cave. What does she want? Why is she here in the first place? To disrupt my peace of mind?

I was about to race to my bedroom window, in an effort to jump out of it and not get injured hopefully, when she twisted the golden painted doorknob.

Too late!

My brain was on autopilot, juggling through fear, panic and anxiety when I found myself darting underneath my bed, effectively knocking my forehead against the side rails before the door creaked open.

"Son of a -" I cursed , the pain shooting all the way from my bruised forehead to my spinal cord before centering on to my chest, advertising the pain all over my body and I momentarily forgot that I was meant to be hiding in the first place. The impact was too hard and I was already envisioning a swollen bump on my forehead from this freak accident.

"Um.. hello? Max?" And she was making her way to this side of the bed, the side where I lay , half of my body submerged underneath the dark underside of my bed while the other half was visibly writhing in pain from knocking my head on the rail.

"Max? What are you doing down there...?" Busted! There was no way out of this. I had to face my demons....my fears.

Having already exposed myself from my 'hiding spot' , I was left with the only option in my bracket- to crawl out of there and pretend to be stunned to see her even though I knew nothing when it comes to pretending or acting .

Can this day get any better?

"Oh, hi, there, Amanda!" My voice betrayed my facial expression as soon as I was out , still seated on the hard floor, massaging the spot where my forehead ached, swallowing the tears that accompanied the soring pain.

"What are you doing down there....and what's wrong with your head?" She looked excessively worried , kneeling right next to me, her black skirt riding up her thighs to expose that smooth radiant skin of hers as she reached to gently pry my hand off from massaging my forehead.

Her fair and soft fingers touched around my forehead before pressing on the aching spot, awakening a wince from my part.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

I was too stunned to speak , perturbed at how caring she suddenly was to me after she'd slapped me yesterday as though I was trying to mug her.

"Come here, let me take a look and see what we can do about it , okay?"

I didn't think it would be possible for me to have a hard on during this excruciating and pain filled moment but alas! The beast behind my grey sweatpants awoke at her smothering request and like an obedient kid, I happily obliged.