The Wrong Right Guy

Greek God's Weren't Cliche

The shower is my sanctuary. Whenever the weight of the world feels like it's crushing me, I drown my worries in hot water.

My brother always complains about how long I spend in there, but honestly, he's the worst. I could travel to Texas, go skydiving, visit the Grand Canyon, get married, have kids, and he'd still be in there, relishing the steam.

I took my time under the cascading water, letting it wash away my stress while I replayed the earlier incident at the store in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that I could have handled it better. I should have unleashed a barrage of sharp words to make that rude guy think twice before he treated others like garbage. He needed a reality check, and I had the power to give it to him.

Two hours passed by, I finally emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel. After drying off, I slipped into some cozy clothes, but when I glanced at the clock, I realized it was already 9 PM, and dinner was still a no-show. Sighing, I made my way downstairs, only to find my brother pacing back and forth in front of the stove, looking more frazzled than a cat in a dog park.

"Everything okay?" I asked, and he jumped, startled by my voice. He let out a deep sigh, glancing at his phone like it held the answers to life's mysteries.

"I'm leaving for college tomorrow, and I'm worried about you being all alone," he said, still pacing.

"If I had to describe you in a thousand bullet points, the first would be: she's a scaredy cat." I could feel my jaw drop, and my hand instinctively shot up, ready to smack him.

"B-but that's true! Would you prefer me to leave you here alone for the next seven months?" he countered, shielding his face as if I might actually hit him.

I bit my lip and shot him a scowl. Sure, I could stand up for myself, but living alone? That was another story, especially when my mind conjured all kinds of nighttime terrors.

"Fine. Do whatever you want," I relented, walking over to the stove. The rich, tantalizing aroma of Mexican food hit me, and my mouth began to water.

Adrian was a culinary genius, and I hated to admit it, but I wouldn't survive without him. My cooking skills were abysmal—what was the point of pretending otherwise?

"The one who's going to stay with me until you're back better know how to cook," I muttered, peering over his shoulder. He was glued to his phone but gave a distracted nod.

With that, I plopped onto the couch, flipping on the TV. I got lost in a few episodes of SpongeBob until Adrian called from the dining room.

"Kris, dinner's ready!" he announced, and I sprang off the couch, racing to the table.

We said our prayers, and as we dug into the meal, silence fell between us, except for Adrian's huge grin, which piqued my curiosity.

"What's got you smiling like an idiot?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just found a babysitter for you," he said, his grin growing even wider. He didn't even look up from his phone.

"I don't need a babysitter," I huffed, a blush creeping onto my cheeks. It was slightly embarrassing to think of needing one, but deep down, it felt somewhat true. I hated the thought of being alone at night. It made me want to curl up under a rock, hiding from my own pathetic fears.