When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 15: 15 - Our first date

We ignored the inquisitive looks we were getting. We both knew what we were signing up for when we

decided to grab a bite at a nearby diner, me in my very expensive dinner gown and him in a full-on tux.

People were going to stare.

“Never do that to me again.” I hissed, leaning forward to steal his fries.

I would’ve ordered my own but recently, my mom has been against eating late at the night. She picked

it up from an article I wrote for the magazine on healthy eating habits. Of course she would.

Unfortunately, despite being the one to write the article, I was not a fan and neither was Olly but our

mom wasn’t to be trifled with -her word was law- so while Masked Idiot got a milkshake and fries, I

settled for iced soda and food theft.

“Need anything else?” the waitress inquired as she passed by.

We both shook our heads, returning to our conversation as soon as she nodded.

“I got caught up... working on something. The organizing team needed me,” he explained, shrugging

unapologetically.

I rolled my eyes, unamused.

“I still made it in time at least,” he offered. “Miss Most-expensive-dance-of-the-night,” he added with a

cheeky smile.

I tried to not be amused. In the heat of the moment, I had been properly furious at him but now, over an

hour later, my anger had abated substantially. At the end of the day, I was just glad he showed up in

the nick of time. That was what counted.

° ° ° Flashback ° ° °

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your final chance to win a dance. Go-innnng.” The auctioneer was

clearly having the time of his life whereas I was quickly beginning to regret my decision to go along with

this charade alongside every other decision I had made since meeting Masked Idiot.

“Go-innnng,” the auctioneer teased, drawing the word out theatrically.

My gaze, unbidden, landed on Man-child. He was now leering at me and laughing with his friend in a

way that made my skin crawl. Masked Idiot, where in heaven’s name are you?

Never, in as long as I had known of his existence, had I prayed more fervently for him to show up.

None of the other men in the audience seemed interested in rescuing me from the clutches of Man-

child and considering what it would cost,, I couldn’t blame them. It was just one dance and if I were in

their shoes, chances were I would also keep my chequebook firmly shut. Masked Idiot really was my

only hope of rescue.

“And that’s a wrap, ladies and gentlemen.”

The voice of the auctioneer rang with unmasked glee. He even went so far as to wink at me. Can you

imagine the audacity? The man was really testing the limits of my patience and in case I gave in to the

urge to kill him, the record should kindly show I was provoked to it, that it was a crime of passion.

Passion for his death.

He flashed me a winsome grin, raising his hands dramatically before proclaiming, “Gon--”

“Two hundred.”

The voice carried easily across the room to the stage. It was calm, unhurried, genuinely unperturbed.

My head snapped, turning so sharply to the direction it had come from. I was almost sold to a proper

asshole and there Masked Idiot was, casually strolling toward the stage like he had all the time in the

world. Ass-bloody-fucking-hat.

It didn’t register in my mind then that with his bid, my dance was now almost twice as expensive as the

previously most expensive dance. Nor did it register that the audience didn’t seem particularly

surprised by his outrageous bid. They took one look at him and smiled like it was to be expected of

him. Specifically.

The one thing that did register in my mind as the auctioneer announced that my dance was going to the

‘charming young man with pockets deeper than an oil well’ -the audience, of course, laughed- was the

scowl on Estella’s face as I took my place behind her, waiting for our cue to find our various partners for

the first dance. All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

Envy was an emotion I was familiar with. I was Avyanna Johnson, daughter of Steve and Jessica

Johnson, straight ‘A’ student, perfect employee and all-round perfect everything. Pretty much everyone

I knew envied at least one thing about my life. It looked too good on the outside. I did too good a job of

looking like I had it all together for them not be jealous. The voice was back in my head again, telling

me to own it, to hold my head higher and smile. It was mix of my mom’s voice and the one I was forced

to cultivate thanks to the harsh reality of how perfect little harmless smart kids are treated.

I wouldn’t exchange anything -not even Masked Idiot’s complete and total erasure from my life- to go

back to the days when I was a quiet, harmless pushover. When you get good grades, are quiet and not

disruptive, nobody pays attention. Teachers expect you to keep being a quiet perfect little student.

Parents expect perfect grades and for you to smile and be polite to their friends. Even classmates

expect you to be a teacher’s pet and an easy target. You become invisible until you need to fulfil

someone’s expectations regardless of whether you agreed with it or not. Growing my claws and finding

my voice hadn’t been easy. Becoming this version of myself, one capable of having her own back,

wasn't the least bit simple. There was nothing in the world worth giving it up for.

So I listened to it and flashed Estella a haughty smile, turning away just as the first few notes from the

orchestra filled the air. It was our cue to go meet our partners.

° ° °

“Why did you over bid on me?” I inquired, popping a fry into my mouth. “You practically ran while others

were walking.”

He need not have gone so high with his bid. Unlike Estella, I wasn’t close to a hundred thousand. I

wasn’t complaining or anything, I quite enjoyed the feeling. I was just curious.

“I didn’t know how much you were going for. I didn’t hear the last bid but the dances rarely go for over

one-fifty.” He gave a noncommittal shrug.

“There’s a relatively wide gap between 150 and 200,” I responded.

“To let you in on a little secret, the only reason the dances ever went that high was because one year,

the committee decided to have wives do it instead of daughters and girlfriends. Husbands had no

choice.” He grinned boyishly, flashing his pearly whites. “It turned into a pissing contest.”

I didn’t need an expert to tell me he was recalling some fond memory. Cue one of my infamous eye

rolls.

“I repeat,” I intoned, absently tracing patterns on the table top. “There’s a pretty significant distance

between 150 and 200.”

He shrugged.

“You looked good on stage. Really... pretty. Definitely worth a hundred and fifty grand.”

I blinked and looked away for some reason. Who says things like that? And with such a straight face?

“So I went for two hundred. I figured it’d be safer,” he finished.

He wasn’t smiling or sporting an embarrassed blush. He said it like he was reading the news; flat,

dismissive and factual. I think it was precisely because of that I found myself feeling awkward.

I swallowed.

“Oh,” I muttered as flatly as I could manage, still unable to meet his gaze. “‘Kay.”

“So,” he drawled conversationally before taking a swig of his milkshake. “How was it? Did you have

fun?”

The way he phrased the question, sat back, then gave me his full attention had me frowning. It threw

me off. It was unconscious and seamless, like we were close friends vegging out or something. It was

just odd.

“It was interesting,” I warily answered.

“Interesting?” he echoed. “Interesting how?”

Subconsciously, my lower lip slid between my teeth as I debated whether or not to tell him what I truly

thought of the escapade. He wasn’t anyone important which meant I didn’t have to give only the

socially and politically correct answer. The recycled platitudes people always give. The ones my

parents expected me to reply with whenever I was asked such a question. My parents weren’t here. No

one was going to fault me for giving it a bad review. No one important anyways.

He must have correctly interpreted the indecision on my face because his following statement was,

“Just say it. When have you ever bothered sugar-coating things when it comes to me?”

Fair point.

“Okay,” I concurred.

I had pretty much called him a brainless idiot to his face before. There was no point being courteous

now.

“It was over the top, you know?” I began. “A little too much of everything. Don’t get me wrong, the event

was nice and elegant. The decor was amazing and whatnot. It just... It’s just not my scene I guess.”

I shrugged. He nodded in understanding.

“Being paraded for someone’s viewing pleasure. All the money being thrown around and the strong

misogynistic undertones.” I shook my head in disapproval even though I was, to an extent, lying

through my teeth. I was used to being paraded. My own mom hardly bothered with me -I wasn’t

complaining for the record, I preferred being left alone- unless she needed me to put in some hours at

her firm and show the other senior partners what a perfect little daughter she raised or at a fundraiser

to impress clients. My dad was rarely home and whenever he was I was expected to be on my best

behaviour, predicting his every want like a shaman.

I got enough of being paraded from my parents. There was just no room for it from anyone else. But I

definitely wasn’t going to tell Masked Idiot that so I changed the topic.

“By the way, Ellie thinks I’m a boyfriend thief.”

A beat of silence passed before he slowly nodded, raising his cup to his lips a second too late to hide

the smile forming. Boys and their stupid ego.

“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not that cute and you’re a criminal. A bike riding miscreant. No,

thank you. I’ll pass.”

Admittedly, he looked a lot more than cute in his tux but everyone knows some outfits have the ability

to make people exponentially more attractive. Like my burgundy dress. I always looked five times

hotter in it.

“I’m plenty cute.” He scowled.

I scoffed.

“Is that what your rich boy mirror tells you?” Never had a sentence sounded more patronizingly

condescending.

“Your friends must have really thick skin,” he gritted through a very fake smile. It had too much teeth.

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. He was such a child.

“That aside, she has great taste.” I gestured to the work of art I still had on. “I’ll have the dress dry

cleaned as soon as I can so you can return it to her.”

“Oh, keep it,” he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

My head reared back, surprise coloring my features. “What?”

“Keep it. She doesn’t want it. It became yours the moment you put it on,” he replied, popping some fries

into his mouth.

“Okay, friendo, you might not know this but this dress is worth three, maybe four figures. She’ll want it

back. Trust me.”

“Four at least,” he corrected, leisurely tossing fry after fry into his mouth. “But she won’t. What will she

do with it? It’s nowhere near her size. She had them brought up for you. It’s already paid for.”

I blinked once. A second time. Then a third.

“That is some major rich people cruise.”

He smiled, a small irritatingly cute smile that drew attention to his lips

“Anyway,” I carried on a few octaves higher than normal, hurriedly averting my gaze. “I met a few girls

who weren’t so bad but there was this one girl, Estella. She was auctioned off just before me. You

missed it. She was so snobby. You need to see how she sneered at me when they made me last in line

instead of her.”

“You... get used to Estella. She’s an acquired taste.”

“You know her?”

I wasn’t sure why it was shocking to me. That was clearly his crowd. It made sense that he’d know her.

I was just having a hard time reconciling the criminal I knew with the rich kid they knew. The two

personalities were just too contrasting.

“You’re crazy, you know? This,” I gestured between us, “is all insane. I’m having dinner at a cheap diner

in a four figure dress with a boy who is both my stalker and a criminal but one rich enough to write a

cheque for two hundred thousand.” I shook my head, heaving a sigh. “That’s crazy right? It’s not just in

my head?”

He smiled. It was tight, polite and forced. I sighed.

“Are you going to tell me how you got involved in,” I paused, leaning forward before whispering the last

part, “you know what?”

“No.”

I let out a listless sigh and sat back. It was worth a shot.

“Not today,” I amended because whether he knew it or not yet, I was going to get the full story out of

him someday.

“Anyway,” I carried on before he could voice his objections, going back to our previous topic. “Estella

reminds me of this girl at my school, Claire. Same bitchiness. Same ‘I look like an angel but I’m actually

the devil herself’ vibe. And that was before you over-bid on me. I swear, for a second, I felt like she

could actually manage to wish me out of existence.”

He let out a deep belly laugh that had a few heads turning our way. I forced myself to smile, mentally

willing them to go back to their respective meals. A little part of me wanted to hide behind the menu but

I stiffened my spine and met their gaze. If my mother was here, she’d berate Masked Idiot for being

loud and uncultured.

“Funny, she reminds me a little of you,” he said. “You from another perspective.”

“Excuse me?” I hissed.

“You both like to be in control. Be the best and act like you have your shit together.”

“Not the same thing.” I rolled my eyes.

“Says you.”

“Whatever.” I waved off the idea with a flick of my wrist.

The corner of his lips lifted in an indulgent lopsided smile.

“What else?” he questioned.

“Well, there was this guy. The one who was going to win the bid before you stepped in.” I shuddered

theatrically, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

“He was a perv. With a capital ‘P’. You should’ve seen him.” My shudder was real and entirely

involuntary this time. “He was practically undressing me with his eyes. It was disgusting.”

“Unfortunately, there are a few of those in that crowd.” He nodded soberly, taking it far more seriously

than my teasing tone intended.

“There are a few of those in every crowd,” I corrected. “It was just weird being in that position with one.”

He frowned, his brows furrowing in a way that made it clear he was having trouble following.

“You know, the position where you, you know, sort of need them. Kind of in a... submissive way. I did

not... It was uncomfortable.” I grimaced.

His frown deepened, a noticeable crease appearing on his forehead.

“Needing people or being submissive to them?” he inquired, tilting his head to the side.

My lips turned down at the corners, my lower lip jutting out in what had to be an unattractive look.

“Both, I guess.”

“Yeah. Neither seems like you.” He chipped in his two cents.

I rolled my eyes heavily.

We lapsed into silence, an uncomfortable, awkward one. I focused on stirring what was left of my drink

with the straw while he diligently memorized the tile pattern.

“Hey.” His tone was tentative, soft.

I looked up, my eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What?”

“The other day,” he continued, brows furrowing, “the day I saw you... crying and stuff.”

I stiffened.

“Hmmm.”

Why was he bringing it up in that tone? Why now? Did he know something? My heart galloped, my

mouth instantly going dry.

“Why were you..., you know..., crying?”

His gaze was trained unnaturally above my head as he self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m only asking because it’s a little suspicious and you don’t seem like a crier.”

I forced a laugh. It sounded fake and shrill even to my ears.

“What do you think? That I had a falling out with the person I’m spying on you for?” I forced another

nervous laugh, hoping he’d buy my bullshit. “That I was crying because my life was danger or

something?”

His expression faltered. Realization dawned on me and with it, came relief. He actually thought I had a

falling out with whatever criminal organization I was in contact with and was scared for my life. Oh

thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

“Oh come on.” I scoffed, confident now because he was nowhere close to my real secret. “I’m not a

crier. Only two things have the ability to make me cry and endangering my life is not one of them.”

Two people, I amended mentally. His gaze slowly, reluctantly met mine.

“Because I would never put myself in a situation where my life is in danger,” I explained further.

“Anyway, it’s not something you should worry about. I’m completely certain it’s not what you think. Let’s

just say I had a cry coming.”

He frowned.

“That’s a very vague reply.”

I shrugged unapologetically. That night and every other night like it were secrets I would take to my

grave unless I had to reveal it to protect Olly. I had pictures saved away just in case. I’d be heading off

to college soon so he might turn to her. I was only seven when it started so it’s out of the realm of

possibility that with me gone, he would drag fourteen year old Olly down that road.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You tell me why and I back off completely before the end of the month.”

“What?” I blinked. “What?”

Surely I hadn’t heard that right.

“Tell me and I back off,” he repeated. “It’s the only suspicious thing about you so far. Tell me why and I’ll

leave you alone. I was getting ready to. I was going to stop but now... I need to know what that was

about before I can. You don’t cry that hard for just any reason. You were gasping for breath. And I know

it wasn’t some tragic heartbreak. You’re not seeing anyone.”

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. No. No, no, no, no. God, no. Please no. No. This could

not be happening. No.

“And don’t even think about lying. You’re a good liar but I’ve figured out your tell.”

Something about the way he said the words made it clear now was not the time to test him. That there

would be consequences. Did I really have a tell?

Any other condition, literally anything but this and I would’ve gladly agreed. I would’ve jumped at the

chance. His disappearance was all I wanted. It was everything I needed.

I sighed, a long heavy sigh.

This sucked. I finally had the chance to close this chapter of my life that would royally embarrass my

parents if it ever got out but I couldn’t take it because, of course, in return it would cost me information

that would not only embarrass my family even more but could also ruin us. My eyes drifted

shut, despair washing over me.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t tell you.”

The change was palpable. He went from friendly to hostile in the blink of an eye. His gaze hardened,

his aura turned frosty and his expression made it clear that to him, I was the enemy.

“We should start heading back,” I suggested, rising to my feet.

We’re done here. Sorry Ian but I can’t and won’t betray my father like that or give you any information

that could hurt my family. As a family, we may not have an ideal relationship but... family is forever.