I Woke Up Next To A Half-Naked Bad Boy in School [18] And He Suddenly Made Me His Personal Slave?!

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A few days in New York and instead of welcoming me back with a huge hug, they attacked me.

"How...where-- what?!" Amber said, lost for words. I guess arriving with Brandon was a huge mistake too. People that noticed couldn't stop following me around or giving me odd stares...as if I was planning the biggest assassination in history since JFK.

I told him this would happen. Instead of agreeing he laughed.

I yanked my mind back to reality, and found myself staring at Daniel's blank expression and Amber's shocked face. I couldn't tell them about my...my status with Brandon Compton. That means I'll have to explain about Tom too. No one really knew about Tom or my parents or any of my crude past. The past was supposed to be history!

My blood pressure was going way too high just thinking about this. And I was just seventeen!

"Joe said you quit your job," Danny said, cocking his head to the left as if to examine me. God, I honestly felt like some kind of a frog in bio class. "Have that got something to do with you and Brandon?" he said.

"N--" I stopped myself. Of course it had something to do with Brandon and me! Brandon fired me...err, in a way. Danny looked amused and information-hungry. I knew what he was going to do. He would tease me for the rest of my life.

"I want to tell you, I really do," I said sincerely, shooting Amber a look that immediately closed her mouth. "But not right now, I just..." I cleared my throat and shook my head. "Not right now, please."

Danny and I have AP Math class to go to anyway, I almost added.

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"So Samantha," Brandon said, getting in the car after me. It was the first time I saw him in school today, and we were already going home. I looked like a mess, but Brandon was almost fine since his shirt had only a couple of dotted lines of...what looked like spaghetti sauce.

For some unknown reason, while I was discussing about how should I know who Kim Kardashian was to Amber in the cafeteria, someone out of the blue stood up on the red-colored table and screamed, "FOOOOOOD FIGHT!"

We were in the middle of the war zone of gelatin, spaghetti, sandwiches, salad...and I swore someone literally hurled a carton of orange juice towards Danny, who threw his entire tray with agression towards someone.

"Guess what?" he said, not in a friendly tone. I didn't like where this was going.

"What?" I answered cautiously. With a fake, stiff smile on his face, he said, "Do you remember Dahlia Kemp?"

"Who?"

That name rang a bell. I just couldn't quite put my finger on it...

Oh. Dahlia Kemp.

I burst into a nervous, giggling fit. Gosh, I almost forgot about that. "I was pissed off okay?" I defended. "I do so many irrational things when I get angry..." I trailed off, flustered. "Can we just drop this?"

"Drop it?" he said, turning a corner and stopping at the red light. "Do you know how confused I was when I started getting stupid messages from some stupid magazine asking me to do a fucking interview on my new 'girlfriend'?"

An interview? Wow.

"Then tell them Evelyn is your girlfriend!" I spat. He looked at me oddly and started to drive again. "No she is not!"

What?

"I broke up with her on Monique's party."

But she seem so...so perfectly fine!

"Gosh you guys are really dramatic and emotional when going through a break up," I said sarcastically, shooting a glance towards Brandon. His eyes were on the road. "We were - or at least, she was."

"Why did you broke up?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

"I didn't think it was a suitable time for a relationship, and since Eve is settling down in New York and I'm in this corporate mess in Detroit..." he trailed off. "We don't see much of each other, and she kept complaining about how I couldn't even sacrifice 5 minutes to go shopping with her."

I felt something funny in my throat, and I forced my lips to remain shut to stiffle a giggle. "And I don't want to waste my perfectly good money on...on 200 Prada shoes on every. Single. Date," he said, giving me a small, teasing smile.

I couldn't help it but laugh...and felt a bit relieved.

I didn't know why though. It was like I felt lighter, as if a few pounds of burdens had mysteriously disappeared off of my shoulder.

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Whatever 'a few pounds' that had 'mysteriously disappeared' was tumbling back to me - multiplied by 5. This morning, Brandon had so many dirty laundry on a pile around his room (plus the ones from our little New York trip) that instead of sorting it out himself, he asked me to sort it out.

That was what I was doing here - sitting on the white porcelain-tiled floor of the laundry room. The walls was painted beige, and there were white waching machines placed against it. Brandon had this idea that I was this very independent girl since I let it slip that I lived in a trailer, doing my own dishes and laundry. Back then I was scolding him about how much money he could save without so many housekeepers (which was slowly reducing. Two of them quit this morning!) around.

He said that he would learn how to wash laundry very sarcastically and rolled his eyes before going to Compton's office since his father had asked him to be there a few hours ago.

I looked around the room helplessly. Where the hell were the housekeepers when you needed them?

The truth was, by doing 'laundry', I meant washing my clothes manually with a brush and soap and everything...not dumping all of them in the washing machine since we had none!

I seriously, literally didn't know how to do laundry.

Dumping in his shirts and trousers into the washing machine, I glared at the buttons and the little screen in the midst of the buttons. Damn it, this was like the treadmill all over again, only slightly more confusing.

Slightly.

"Okay...let's see," I said, trying my best to be optimistic. "How many of these stuff do I need to put in?"

I was being serious. How many cups of laundry detergent?

I looked inside the tub of the washing machine and saw that the piles of clothes was relatively huge, so I scoop up at least 5 of them. That should be enough, I think. With my arms on my sides, I stared at the washing machine as if expecting it to roar to life automatically.

But of course it didn't do that, unfortunately.

So I punched in a few buttons and the LCD showed a list of programs - which didn't make any sense. What the hell was Programme i5600?

But compared to Pro/AK-47, i5600 sounded more err...subtle.

The machine finally buzzed to life.

YES! I did it!

I started to check the list of what Brandon demanded me to do in my head. Maybe I need a time table to sort things out for today. I looked towards the clock, and it was still 4 p.m. Wow, it took me only half an hour to do the first stage of laundry.

Right.

From 4.30 p.m. to 4.40 p.m., I can make his bed.

From 4.40 p.m. to 4.50 p.m., I could make him a light snack as a grateful gesture.

From 4.50 p.m. to 5.00 p.m., I would vacuum his room.

Thank god he didn't have any more demands after that.

BZZZZ!

I jumped.

Was the waching machine suppose to move about so much like that? And why was there a bucket load of water spilling out?!