For the next few days, Wolfe instructs me to lay low. I don't know what's wrong; California doesn't sound as safe as it used to be. Wolfe is definitely hiding stuff- but again, I'm doing the same. I've always had a bad habit of overthinking things. My heart beats steadily, yet I can feel it moving my tablet every now and then. I can't focus on catching up with some of the data from the last few days, either. I need to create a model to explain the inflation and interpretation of business cycles to the strategic and marketing departments and my deadline remains at the end of the week- leaving me with only three days and no progress at all.

Anxiety thoughts are akin to driving around the block over and over, faster and faster.

It's pointless. Stop.

I feel tied down as the prison of my own thoughts takes me as an inmate. The overthinking is like a parasite; it's viral.

The link between the circular argument and biological assessment systems had long been condoned by scholars of philosophy and it represented a quantum leap in academia. It was the birth of "circular logic" as a respected field.

Shit that I blabber sometimes.

The ringing of the doorbell is what brings me out of a long trance of overthinking and circular arguments in my head. I sigh and get off of my bed and walk into the living room, peeking into the intercom. According to 'Young Master' Theodore, there are now ten guards posted around my residence, two in front of my flat and four more around Oakwood Complex itself and four others hidden between the people working around here. Dan sends me a quick text. It's Wolfe.

I open the door just the slightest bit and give him my panda eyes. He makes clear and quick work of his fingers and curls it inward. I made a face and let him in.

"I didn't mean you had to play Knock-Knock every time one of us dropped by," he mutters and plops down on the couch. I grind my teeth at his words and cross my arms. "No fun really when I've been locked inside my house, even though I'm a twenty three year old 'adult'-"

"Who asked you to go randomly fuck that guy's life in the ass?" He spat at me and then massaged his forehead. "I've told you time and again, Isa," he groans in an exhausted tone, "Your temper gets the better of you and look how much trouble you've stirred up for yourself."

"I just did what everyone else wanted to but couldn't," I mutter and sit down on the recliner opposite to him. He looks at me with a judging expression and I fidget under his stare. "I suffer from scopophobia," I murmur. He raises a brow questioningly, "Oh? That's not what you were saying when the masses of people stared at you as you looked at Nilsson like you wanted to taste his blood."

"I crave blood but even I have standards," I say, feeling insulted that he must think I wanted Nilsson's blood, "I can just demonstrate by biting my own skin. Like I said, I have standards. Anyway, I didn't regret looking at all that crimson," I shrug.

"You're weird, and I hope you get some help," he mutters inaudibly under his breath and I choose to ignore it- ignorance is bliss.

"What caused you to show up here, unwanted and uninvited?" I mutter, and it appears as if it is then that he remembers the purpose of him showing up, after all. He clicks his fingers and then shows two to me. "I'll be back in two," he stands up, stretches his arms and jogs outside. I find myself staring at the doorway curiously, and maybe with a guilty conscience.

A few minutes later, he's back- not just him, actually. There's an annoying screech.

A little bird, in a bold cap of golden feathers, comes into my view. It is inside a blue cage, screeching away to its heart's content. I put my hands over my ears and shout in irritation, "The fuck is that!?" He looks surprised and a wrinkle marrs his forehead, "It's a canary!" He shouts over the screeching.

"Wolfe," I narrowed my eyes at him, "You've been a constant character in my life up until now and you've never realized until date that I, Achelois Circe Crimson, absolutely loathe noisy stuff?!"

"Well, only if you said that to yourself," he mutters and lets his voice fade. I gaze at him sharply and he averts his eyes, raising his hands in surrender. Smart move. I shakily take the cage from his hands, staring at the bright yellow colored bird- reminding me vividly of the days we'd lay on the school fields after a long round of soccer, sweaty and malodorous all the same.

"Is it your pet?" I ask him, my tone laced with suspicion- it would be a miracle if he says that it is. Wolfe has always loathed birds, anyways. I'd second that. Calling me 'Little Bird' just signifies that 'I', to him, am a noisy little minx who can't stop getting frenzied over everything.

Oh, my cup of care is empty.

"Well, no," he turns his nose up in disgust, "I, sort of, um," he fumbles and then uses my signature 'you know' move, fumbling with his index fingers in a show of explanation, "Got it for you."

"Did you lose your marbles?!" I yelled, feeling intensely agitated, "Birds are just-" I scrunch my nose up, shaking my head, "-not my thing."

"It's going to keep you company," he says softly, scratching the nape of his neck, "And I really thought a bird is your spirit animal, so," he lets his voice fade away. I stand up, directing the hard blue of my eyes at him. He narrows his eyes on me, as if, as if I'd hit on him. Oh, please.

"Birds ain't me," I shake my head in denial and then whisper close to his ear, "Snakes are."

"Are you asking me to get you a snake?" He says it like it's ridiculous, "Don't be dramatic, gal. You'd be dead before I know."

"Well, it's pathetic if that's beyond your limit," I shrug, "I guess. But pets ain't really my thing. Plus, I neither have the time nor the patie-"

"You need to chill out, really," he says, plopping down on the couch and then pointing to the canary, "You'll get used to it."

"I just don't-"

"Try," he says gently, "If you'll hate it, give it back to me."

I take the cage in my hands again. The golden feathered bird blinks its eyes- dark pink like pomegranate. Well, maybe almost red. I breathe slowly, almost with anticipation, blinking at the bird. "Can I-" I say shakily, "-open the cage?"

"Well," Wolfe chuckles gently and stands up, hands in his pockets, striding over to me and standing behind my recliner, "Junior has a really bad temper, just like someone else in the room," he rolls his eyes, "It's quirky and kinda annoying, though, just like someone else in this room," he shrugs his shoulders and gives a look of disapproval, "But we've bonded quite a bit in the last few days. It should be more compatible with me right now, until it gets used to you."

"Junior?" I asked him curiously, "Why?"

He sat down straight on the center table in front of me, the only thing between us being the poor bird- I'm quite sure it was really stuffy for it. It was funny how he was still a tad taller than me even if the center table was shorter than the recliner. His eyes are full of suspense, "I think it's quite similar," he raised his shoulders momentarily to express his indifference, "The bird and you."

"You're comparing me with a freakin' bird?" I ask him in annoyance and express chagrin at his comparison, "I'm-"

"-anything but human," Wolfe raises his hands in surrender, "For the love of God, don't brag as if you're really human, Alaska Ice."

"Just shut up and introduce the damn bird to me," I glossed over the preposterous claim. He presses his lips in a thin line, "Now, calling it 'a damn bird' won't really help if you're truly trying to bond."

"Oh, and you're what, an animal whisperer?" I tsk at him and he rolls his eyes, "Roll them all you want, you won't find a brain back there."

"Do you want to learn or don't you?" He asks me with finality in his tone. I mock-salute him, "Aye aye, captain."

He stands up and walks around, and the next moment, I feel his breath on my neck. I start to shudder slightly, and notice the goosebumps spread over my skin like wildfire. A soundless gasp exits my mouth; I doubt if he heard it or not. I've always been very sensitive to touch. The slight brushing of his arm against my neck almost feels illicit and secretive and ignites my body faster than you could say 'damn'. I look at his arm from the corner of my eye, feeling my breath stuck in my throat. Wolfe and I have been best of friends- his touch shouldn't drag a reaction like that out of me, so this time, why does it feel different?

Why does he suddenly feel like poison that I'm dying to drink, be it a secret or a sin?

"Are you listening?" He asks, his words almost getting tattooed onto my skin. I shake my head and pinch my left thigh hard enough to make the blood clot. Once I'm sure I'm back to being immune to everything, I mumble a 'yes' in response. He takes the cage, his arms still over my shoulder as he bends over from behind me. He slowly unlocks the cage and then holds his right wrist out. I let out a laugh when the bird pays no attention to him at all, and flies away, flapping its wings. I almost get up anxiously, afraid that it'll hit a window and get injured, until I've frozen in place when I feel his fingers at the base of my neck where it meets my shoulder blade. "Stay put and watch me, little bird," he mumbles- even his words seem different.

No no no.

Not at all, not at all.

He doesn't move, either, and I curse him in my head for making it awkward to the point that I can't even straight-out diss him. He whistles. I narrow my eyes and wince. "Could you stop making godawful sounds?" He chuckles gently and I inhale deeply. Peace out, peace out, peace out.

It's just Wolfe, the guy I always slap. Cheese.

Astonishingly, the bird comes and rests on his wrist.

"Raise a finger to it," he whispers in my ear. This time, I concentrate on the yellow creature in front of him. I point my index finger at it and Wolfe grunts in disapproval. "It's not a person you intend to murder, it's your 'damn' pet bird. Don't point the finger straight towards it, as this can be intimidating. Get into a comfortable position and just hold the finger there."

I fumble with my finger.

He sighs and takes my left hand in his and places it in a position such that the tips of my fingers touch his fingers on the right hand. I tighten my hand as I watch the canary almost deciding whether it should move or not. Beguilingly, it hops onto my wrist and Wolfe snickers next to me, as he slowly removes his right hand from next to me and all of a sudden, he takes my right hand in his as well, training it towards the bird. I almost wince, so he starts to explain, "Caress it, show affection."

I almost gasp at the way he says it- as if it's scandalous, as if he means something entirely else. I'm just seeing things, am I not? My hands are unsteady as I use the pad of my thumb to touch it gently. I hear him tsk as he uses my fingers to touch it properly, like just, really. I guess my hands were just quivering nearby.

"Do something welcoming," he shrugs, "You're stiff."

"It's new and weird," I snapped at him in a disgruntled demeanor, "Obviously, I can't just go and kiss it at first sight." He raises a brow at me, his face right beside mine as he still leans on from behind me. I don't dare turn my face lest I should strike a dramatic opera pose. I just look at him from the corner of my eyes, constantly averting my eyes but not missing a single chance to assert and evaluate the shade of his eyes- an intriguing charcoal grey color, with black creeping in from the sides as a smooth deep grey, the color of ash swirls in his phenomenal orbs. In those grey eyes remained sparks of the blacksmith's fire.

Did I just say that his eyes were phenomenal- I TAKE THAT BACK, MAN. They're nothing but pure menace, and the promise of all the malignant possibilities when he has managed to trap you.

"Just try speaking to it-"

"Don't pull that shit on me, don't you dare," I warn him, snapping my eyes back to him, "I'm quite sure the damn bird can't understand human-"

"Two things," he shows me two fingers and I blink, "Point one, it's not a damn bird, and," he shoots a wary glance at me, "You're not even close to human."

"And you're way too close to me."

He shoots at me a face splitting grin and makes no attempt to move at all. "I guess I'll make you uncomfortable a little longer, Isa," he whispers and I'm afraid that if he sticks his tongue out, he'll lick my ear, "I'm just really enjoying the view, anyways."

"You're getting way too bold," I mutter, suppressing the wobbly feeling in my bones, "Not good for you."

"Nothing's bad enough if it feels good," He whispers to me in a sing-song voice, "Concentrate on the bird or I may end up concentrating on you and we may end up somewhere neither you nor I want to venture," he says it like a sweet promise of destruction.

"Not a damn bird alright," I mumble, "What should I call it?"

"Nothing weird, please," he says it like he's fed up with stuff; well, who calls me Alaska Ice?! I look at the bird carefully. "I really can't think of anything right now," I shrug, and my shoulders touch his arms again.

NO MORE MOVING, I WARN YOU, my conscience tells me.

"What happened to your theories on your human mind being built on a clunker of supercomputers?" He quotes a line from one of the write-ups in my black spiral diary; a diary that is the part of many, containing write-ups that I've written over the years. It is a bittersweet reminder of how my hobby has advanced over the years, how my styles and tastes have danced into different aspects with time.

"Ate it," I mutter as I try to look into the bird's eye.

"Speak to it or something," He says with a tch.

I take a deep breath, and nod slowly. "Hi, I' Isa, I go by the name Achelois Circe Crimson for official and educational purposes, I have two very annoying parents, I don't trust anybody, I'm twenty three and some months old, and I have a large appetite! What about you?"

When I've completed saying that stuff, I blink and when realization dawns on me, I have to suppress the urge of wanting to take my face in my hands to cover up the slight pink I know is there.

"You're too stupid, Isa," He exhales near my ear and I stiffen up. My steady composure evaporates as if I am a spinning top. A strange phenomenon swirls between us as invisible ropes, as if these chords are made of promises and secrets. I shrug dismissively again and battle eyes with the bird. "How am I even supposed to talk to you?" I mumble quietly and it resumes it's chirping.

"The bird is too stupid as well," he scoffs and pokes my shoulder blade. I stare at him sternly, flashing a satirical smile. "Hands off me before I eat them," I mutter grimly and he finally moves away, hands surrendered, twirling into the front. He then puts his hands in his pockets and gives me the toothy smile. "I'm all yours to devour, little bird."

"It hates you," I scrunch my nose at him, "I'll call this yellow dude 'Wolfe', now," I flash a cheeky smile and the peace sign, "Shove it back into the cage, please, I'm tired of holding my arms out."

He presses his lips together in a thin line and shakes his head. As he taps the bars of the cage, the bird parades back into the cage. I blink at him and then flash a thumb at him. "Nice job, how about you take it as a gift from me, a bosom pal?" I smile sweetly and he smiles, shaking his head. A very, very sarcastic exchange of smiles.

"Get out of my house, then," I smiled and pushed him away. He brushes me off as he fixes the cage on the ceiling a few meters behind the sofa. He then sits down on the sofa again, as if it were his house. He tells me to sit down. I sigh and sit down, and cross my legs, bracing my elbow on the arms of the sofa and using it to support my chin.

"I've managed to wipe your name off the records, suppressed the media," he sighs, "The thing that remains, is," he sighs again.

"Is?"

"Dartagnan Simpson."

"Who the fuck is that, now?" I rumple my nose. He takes out of his pocket a piece of paper and unfolds it, passing it to me. It's a kind of flowchart. I stare at it curiously, until it clicks.

"CareMark!?"

"Yeah."

A/N:-

That was helluva chapter. I think I'll get onto continuing the story and be as regular as I can as soon as Term-1 Boards end. There are so many butterflies in my stomach, it almost feels nasty. UGH.

Thank y'all for sticking through with my shitty writer abilities. A big heart and a chef's kiss to Nayasha_Jena for telling me that my plot is good enough and that I should write. That is what pushed me to want to write this story. Yesh.

QOTD: Paperback or Kindle?

Meanwhile, I'd love it if y'all could spread the word about the book so that I could get help from the constructive criticism and improve. I love you all and your comments and votes mean a looooooot to me!

Your shit-ass writoh
dsa🐤👊