Chapter 17: Chapter 17

"You shouldn't be so addicted to sugar." Tyler says as I empty a roll of cookie dough on the icecream sundae he made.

This time, it was chocolate chip. I'm never having peanut butter again.

"Shut up." I retort and spoon the combo of cookie dough and vanilla icecream sundae in my mouth.

"Whipped cream?" He asks as he shakes the can and I nod eagerly.

"You wish. What's with the craving? Especially on a work day?" He asks as he puts whipped cream on his sundae instead.

He was right.

Right after I left Mr. Robinson's house, I took him to go watch a game at the stadium. And then we'd had loads of unhealthy junkfood after the game.

And now icecream.

It's almost as if I'm trying to wash away the taste of peanut butter in my mouth...

The taste of his lips on mine...

The taste of the eventful morning filled with chaos, passion and mistakes.

Almost as if I don't want to accept that it had all happened.

I contemplate revealing to Tyler the back-to-back drama concerning Mr. Robinson and I, but I doubt he'll let me leave the house if he finds out about my steamy adventure with my boss...while I was drunk.

"Mr. Robinson let me take the day off."

"I kind of figured but why do you say it like its a bad thing?" Tyler asks and I look up to realise he has his brown eyes on me.

"I...I dunno. He had just been acting weird recently." I say and focus back to stuffing my face with icecream.

Tyler frowns.

"He didn't seem weird when he came yesterday." He says and my spoon falls out of my hand.

What?

"He came here yesterday?" I ask and Ty gives me a look, like my reaction is weird, like I should know that Mr. Robinson came here.

"Of course. Just like every other week."

What the hell?

I'm just about ready to scream but Tyler is giving me his suspicious, protective look. Any more reactions that will expose the fact that I don't know of these visits will make him think Mr. Robinson is some sort of stalker.

Which, at the point, I'm beginning to consider.

I clear my throat.

"I just didn't know he would have time to see you yesterday. We went to visit dad, remember?"

"Yeah, and then Kyle came over around 4, right after you dropped me off."

"Was he with anyone? A lady maybe? A brunette?" I ask, unable to help my curiosity concerning how he came home yesterday with his lips locked on Holly's.

Tyler gives me a suspicious look.

"A lady? No. He got some sandwiches from Arby's and we watched a game together, like every other week."

Huh. So he picked up Holly as a second thought? What the hell is going on? And why did she leave him later at night?

"Aaaaare you okay?" Tyler asks and I realise he is giving me a weird look.

"I'm fine." I say too quickly and clear my throat to sound normal.

"I just..."

I just need to figure out what the hell is wrong with my boss.

"I just need to start going. It's almost dinner time and I don't want to keep Mr. Robinson waiting."

Tyler's suspicious look lingers a little longer but he just shrugs it off and focuses back on his icecream while I drop my plate and grab my keys.

Why DID he come home with Holly?

"Did I leave the money for rent and groceries?" I ask as I head for the door and Tyler mumbles,

"Yes." Through a mouthful of icecream.

"Love youuu!" He says, as he turns on the tv and I yell back our usual reply as I leave the apartment.

My heart is thudding a little too fast as I drive home and I have to remind myself more than once to not step down so hard on the accelerator.

I don't even know why I'm nervous to meet Mr. Robinson. All I know is the series of awkward and surprising events happening between us needs a proper explanation.

And also why he has been visiting Ty without mentioning a word to me about it.

The minute the remote gate shuts behind me, I'm already out of the car but the sight in front of me chased away every curious question I had in mind.

Through the glass, there is a thick cloud of smoke coming from the oven and smoldering the entire kitchen.

Oh no.

"Mr. Robinson?!" I yell as I hurry into the house.

I can hear his coughing, then a loud clang. And then,

"FUCK!" Comes his angry, frustrated yell. I race into the kitchen, imagining 10 possible chaotic catastrophes.

The one that greets me however, has me struggling not to laugh.

Mr. Robinson is wearing a 'Number #1 Chef' apron over his shorts and t-shirt and supporting his arm as he runs to the sink and turns on the tap.

There is a pan of beef casserole on the floor and some of the contents are spilled on the ground.

Apart from the smell of burnt cheese, the aroma of mexican salsa on beef smells great.

He was cooking dinner.

My attention is drawn back to a wincing Mr. Robinson with his arm under the cold rush of water.

I grab a first aid box and rush to him.

"Mr. Robinson--"

"I'm fine." He says and turns off the tap, then leaves the kitchen.

Stubborn as a mule.

I follow him anyway and sit next to him on the couch where he is supporting his arm.

"I just want to cover it up."

"I don't want you to."

"Its my job."

"Its unfair!" He yells, making me jump a little.

His angry expression suddenly makes me feel uneasy and scared.

He looks disoriented and upset.

"I...I just...." I'm saying when he stops me.

"I'm sorry. I just don't want you to think you have to act under my control. Under my will or power." He says and I look at him, trying to figure out if a nut has screwed loose in his head.

"But, Mr. Robinson....I'm your maid."

"I know. It's just, this morning when you woke up, you looked at me like...."

He looks up at me with his eyea filled with remorse and continues.

"...Like I'm a monster. Like I have you trapped against your will. Like I went against my word not to hurt you."

I frown at the memory.

"But that's exactly what you did." I say.

"I know!" He yells, getting up and groaning in frustration.

"Don't you see Anne? I am a monster. I did go against my word. But I dont know any other way. Its not like I want you to suffer. Maybe I did, at first, but thats only because I don't know how to treat a woman. I grew up in a world of abusive mothers and foster homes." He is saying as he turns to me with his toussled hair and confused yet remorseful expression.

"You applied to be my maid and I told you that you have to listen to my every word, do as I say and shut the hell up. Because that's how I was trained to live, to rule with a high hand. But for the first time, I want to treat a lady different, I want to treat you different. Being my maid is one thing but...."

He walks close to a speechless me,

"I don't want you to think you're my slave. I don't want to be a dictator. I don't want you to look at me the way you did this morning. I don't want to be a monster."

The house is quiet with his outburst over and I'm still trying to comprehend everything he just said, but he speaks up again.

"You told me that day at the hospital that I don't help people. I don't give without expecting. You were right. And I'm sorry I've been manipulative and trying to buy your forgiveness. I'm sorry I grew up like this, but I'm trying to do better. Trying to treat you better. So don't treat the burn on my hand because youre scared I'll lose my temper or fire you. Don't work for me because youre scared. If you need to take the day off tomorrow, then fine. Just know you don't have to work under my control."

He is panting now, clearly done with his sudden confession.

Mr. Robinson is standing in front of me now, eyes searching and I know he is waiting for me to speak.

I look down at the first aid box in my hand and look up at him.

"I....um...I'm not treating it because I'm scared. I just want to help you, Mr. Robinson. You're hurt."

"I deserve it. I'm an asshole."

"Yes, you are. But I want to help because that's how I grew up. And you don't deserve to be hurt...no one does." I say and his expression goes blank.

"But...Anne, last night....I--"

"I know. But it was also my fault for getting drunk. And if you went through this trouble to prove you're trying to be better, then you're not much of an asshole are you?" I say and he gives a quirky smile, then sits next to me.

"I guess not." He says and sits next to me, blue eyes on mine.

Slowy, I divert my gaze to his arm where there is a burnt red patch just near his elbow.

"How did you even get burnt?" I ask as I rub some aloe vera gel on it.

"I was in a hurry to get the burning dinner out and when I did, I tried to balance the pan on my arm so I could close the oven door." He says and I stiffle a giggle.

"And you forgot-"

"I forgot it was hot. Yes." He says with an embarassing nod and I laugh.

"Nice reflexes you got." I say with a laugh as I wrap a bandage on his arm.

"Listen I just wanted to do something nice for once. I wanted to show I was sorry by doing something genuine without spending money." He says and I look up at him, deciding to let the question slip.

"Sorry for what exactly? For kissing me?" I ask and an unsettling silence follows afterwards as Mr. Robinson looks at me.

"I--what? No. Not really. Not precisely. I don't..."

"Is it so much of a punishment? Kissing me?"

"Anne, don't get this wrong. I'm sorry for kissing you while you were drunk and completely taking advantage."

"And the other times that we kissed?" I ask, not knowing why I can't stop asking.

You wanted an explanation, right?

"I told you, I won't apologise for kissing you this morning or that time at the pool because..."

He maintains eye contact.

"Because I wanted to do it. I don't regret it. Do you?" He asks and I want to say yes, that I do because immediately after that, he brought Holly over.

And he will probably bring another lady soon.

It's like he is trying to wipe the memory of us kissing.

"Anne?" He asks and I look up at him, at his thoughtful blue eyes searching mine.

"I'm going to clean up and start dinner." I say getting up and he stands up as well and holds me back.

"Hey. Look at me." He says and I force myself to look at him.

"You regret the kisses?" He asks and I frown at him. Frown at the fact that he acts like I'm not supposed to regret it. Like it was something to be treasured.

"Why won't I? You'll end up bringing women after women later, and I'm supposed to act like the kiss is a treasured memory?"

I spit out angrily, glaring at him. Daring him to make up an excuse good enough to convince me otherwise, daring him to prove me wrong.

Mr. Robinson stares at me with a slight frown and a thoughful gaze, almost as if he is rethinking everything he has ever done in his life.

"Anne I...." he begins, then looks up at me.

"I shouldn't have asked you that, you're right." He says, shocking me and I blink at his sudden acceptance of my accusation.

If anything, I expected him to tell me that it was none of my business on whom he brought into the house.

Before I can say anything, he moves past me and heads for the kitchen,

"I'll get dinner." He says and I turn to him.

"What? No, you have a burn."

"Its a burn not a gunshot wound." He says stubbornly but I still follow him anyway.

"Mr. Robinson, you don't have to prove anything by doing this--" I'm saying as I join him in the kitchen when I notice him standing and staring at the floor.

I follow his gaze to the spilled dinner contents on the floor.

I had almost forgotten about that.

"Dammit, this took me two fucking hours to get right." He groans and I stiffle a laugh, despite his angry state.

Two hours?

Mr. Robinson turns to me at the sound of my stiffled laughter.

"I'm glad my mistake amuses you." He says and I shrug in amusement.

"You could have just let me cook it." I say.

"That's not the point. I wanted to be at your service to once and not the other way round." He says as he turns to me and I don't like what his words are doing to me.

I don't like this feeling.

It's unfamiliar and alien and making me crave him.

Making me want to jump into his arms.

Making me weak and speechless.

But I force myself to speak.

'Mr. Robinson, you don't have to go through all this trouble, it's okay. I really appreciate your effort. Let's just go to bed.'

Is what I should have said. But all that comes out is,

"I'm in the mood for some take out. Maybe Chinese." I say and look at him innocently.

He observes my face with relief.

"You sure?" He asks and I shrug.

"Yeah, why not? I love Chinese food."

Then he walks closer to me, towering above me with those blue eyes.

"Then why don't you order while I clean this up."

"I don't think you should be--"

"I'll. Clean. Up. Place the order, Anne. You know what you want." He says and the last sentence sends a chill down my spine.

I open my mouth to reply but nothing comes out. So I clam shut and nod.

The minute I grab the telephone, Mr. Robinson's voice rings from the kitchen.

"You want a drink?"