My Ice Prince
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I was so furious that I almost hit a couple of people, and it was uncomfortable to ride with a bent rear wheel, and my long, loose hair was in my eyes and obstructing my view of the road. When I got home, I hitched my bike to the railing, opened the door, took off my shoes, and threw them on top of the rest of my shoes.
– You're back already? So, how was your day? – Mary's voice came from the kitchen. – Are you hungry? I'll wash you a couple of cucumbers and tomatoes. And an apple!
«There she goes again with her vegetables! I told her to stay out of my way!» – I thought angrily as I hung up my coat in the wardrobe. At this moment Mary's concern irritated me more than ever.
I said nothing, went into my room, pulled off my carefully tailored suit, and scattered my clothes on the floor (I always took my anger out on them). But I didn't get any privacy: Mary came in a minute later.
– Wow, what's with the mood? – She asked, looking at the clothes strewn on the floor.
– I couldn't be worse! I got hit by a car! Or rather, it was some idiot! – I blurted out.
I was sitting on the bed, in my underwear.
– Hit? No way! – grinned my neighbour.
She grinned!
– There's nothing funny about it! I flew upside down and my skirt went up over my knees! And that idiot dented the back wheel of your bike! You think I'm joking? I'm not joking at all!» I snapped.
– You fell with the bike?
– Yes! And now my coat is covered in mud!
– But you haven't got a scratch on you.
I looked at Mary, mentally cursing her powers of observation.
– I'd just landed very luckily. And that bastard didn't even help me up! That's what men are like! – I justified myself fervently.
– But it had nothing to do with the clothes» Mary said calmly, picking up my scattered clothes from the floor.
I felt terribly embarrassed.
– No, Mary, leave it! I'll clean it up myself when I've cooled down a bit. It's like a ritual» I told her.
– You'd better get dressed, or you'll freeze» she said, still doing what she was doing.
– Mary, stop it: it's embarrassing for me when someone picks up what I've scattered. – I went up to her. – Oh, stop it, really!
She silently handed me the clothes she'd already collected.
– Is this your real hair? – Suddenly the neighbour asked.
She had never seen me with my hair loose before, for I always put it up in a high knot or ponytail so that it would not get in the way when I walked.
– Yes, of course» I replied, expecting her to admire it like everyone else.
– I can imagine how long it takes to dry them. Have you ever thought about getting a short haircut?
That question shattered everything I'd ever thought about Mary. I swear no one had ever said anything like that to me before; they'd all admired me and told me never to touch my hair with scissors. And she suggested I get a short haircut!
– What? Why? – My surprise was unrivalled.
– I could tell from the length of your hair that you don't cut it very often» Mary said. – I think you'd look good with fringes, but not bushy fringes, and something like a bob.
The last time I cut my hair was six years ago, when my mum accidentally cut off a huge chunk of it at the root when she was trying to untangle a knot with scissors, so I had to cut all my hair off, and I went around with a short guyish haircut, resentful of the world.
– No, my hair is something I'll never touch» I said firmly to Mary's suggestion, threw my things on the bed, and went to the wardrobe for clothes.
– But you've got to change! Okay, if you can't get fat because of your allergies, but your hair will always grow back! – Mary exclaimed unhappily.
– I think there's a fire in the kitchen» I said, suddenly smelling a foul smoke.
– My cutlets!
Mary ran into the kitchen, and I laughed quietly: people are so funny! When something burns on the cooker, they run just as fast as us vampires.
I pulled out an old pair of jeans, warm socks (I don't know how warm they were, but they were pretty thick), and a long, big T-shirt with the name of some football club on it (it had been given to me by Martin, who had ordered it online and found out it was too small for him, and after that it was mine, but I only wore it at home). I put my hair up in a high ponytail, put my things neatly in the cupboard and went into the kitchen to chat to Mary.
– Why are you home today? – I asked, sitting down by the window so I wouldn't interfere with my friend's cooking.
The whole house smelled of roasting meat.
– I took a day off because I wasn't feeling well, probably because of the weather» Mary said, and then turned to me with her arms at her sides. – By the way, mamselle, don't you eat anything at all? The tomatoes, cucumbers and apples are all there: I count them every morning!
«Well, why does she do that? Is she bored with her life?» – I thought wistfully.
– I'm eating! – I could only say, wondering what clever excuse I could come up with.
– Yeah, I can see you eating! – Mary grumbled unhappily.
– I am eating» I said again, but more insistently. – It's just in small portions, so you think…
– I don't believe it.
I was taken aback.
– Well, that's your business! I'm not going to prove you wrong! – I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest.
Mary turned away and started fiddling with the frying pan.
– Did you take offence? – I asked anxiously, not knowing how to interpret her behaviour.