Chapter 8: Free Wax Treatment

I stumble through the front door, tired from work. I check my phone for the time and flop on the sofa. Wincing at the pain to my scalp, I pull out the bobble keeping my hair in a ponytail and begin the task to find the TV remote. I slide my hand down the back of the sofa cushions and spend a few minutes searching for it. Finally, my hand lands on the piece of plastic and I bring out the remote control. I lie myself along the sofa, making full use of there being no one else around. My phone pings from within the back pocket of my black skinny jeans. I already know what this is. I pull it out and sigh when I see the notification.

Alex Poole has tagged you in a video.

I cringe and swipe the screen across to unlock it, I don't bother having a passcode these days as Hannah always works it out. By which I mean requesting it so often it gets permanently engrained on her brain.

Even though I know exactly what is about to happen I cannot stop my heart from thudding dangerously. I click on the link to the video and watch it.

I see a bag of flour carefully positioned on top of the doors and will myself to not open the doors - even though it is inevitable that I will. The silver doors open and I feel like I am watching it in slow motion as the doors open and a dark-haired figure enters the kitchen. The flour falls, looking like falling snow gone wrong all over me. Instantly I begin coughing and spitting it out.

"What the hell?"

I sink further into the sofa: mortified.

Alex begins to laugh loudly, his breath messing with the sound on the video.

"Alex!"

"Brilliant!"

"This," the girl, looking ridiculous, points to herself, "Is not funny! I look like the abominable snowman!"

"You're too small to be the abominable snowman."

"Well, his or hers kid then, you know what let's stop talking about abominable snowmen," the girl starts trying to get rid of the flour, but ends up just making it worse.

Alex continues laughing, "I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not really."

"You should be," the girl snaps, grabbing a wet dishcloth and whacking him with it.

The video cuts out but I'm already hiding my head in my hands. I look at the caption and roll my eyes.

How to make an abominable snowman.

Ingredients:

One angry girl called Rowan.

One bag of flour.

A kitchen door.

I throw my phone down so I can try and push the video from my mind and focus on the TV. Before I can even press the on button my phone starts pinging madly.

Oh Alex Rossa.

Game on.

*

The alarm on my phone goes off as the time gets to one-thirty in the morning. Time to put my plan in action. I had searched the cupboards earlier for what I need. I knew mum used to have what I need before she left so it didn't take too long. Now I sit here with a wax strip in my hands. Warming it up.

After a few minutes I get off the sofa and make my way into my room; my feet sliding around in my pink fluffy slippers. As I enter, I notice that my curtains are safely shut. A precaution I have chosen to religiously take since the first video. I pull them apart to see Alex's window slightly ajar. I clench my fist tighter around the wax strip, slip out of my slippers and into a pair of blue converses. Slowly I pull myself onto the window ledge, opening my window as wide as it will go. The night air attacks my bare skin violently, I am not dressed for such a climate in my Disney themed pyjama short and t-shirt set.

I take a deep breath and jump.

After landing safely on the other size I pry the window further open so I can slip inside. Somehow, I manage not to fall over when landing. My eyes draw themselves to the bed where Alex is sleeping with not a care in the world. Annoyingly, he has wrapped himself in his covers, I was hoping he would at least leave his arm out. Plan having to adapt, I creep over to the bed and make a face as I peel some of the covers upwards. I feel like an incredibly inappropriate, but I suppose this is the sacrifice that I must make to win the revenge games.

When I see the bottom half of a leg and a foot, I carefully take off the plastic wrapping and place the strip on his leg. Out of the corner of my eye I spot his English Lit book and a pen on his desk so write him a note.

wax treatment on me xoxo Cinderella.

Satisfied with my work and make my way out of the room.

Bang.

"Shoot," I mutter under my breath, picking myself off the floor. Stupid bin. I put the object that has caused me to fall over back in its original position and brush myself down.

"Rowan?"

I turn round to see Alex sitting up in bed.

"This is just a dream," I try, backing away to the window.

"Why would I dream about you?"

"I don't know. Why would you?"

"Especially in my room."

"This is your dream Alex, not mine!" I exclaim.

He rakes his brown curls with his fingers. I cannot help but notice that even upon waking mid slumber he manages to look good. He begins to stand resulting in my protests.

"Woah. You are only in boxers! Put some clothes on," I hiss, backing further away.

"But this is a dream, so surely it doesn't matter," Alex smirks, not listening to my pleas.

"Well even dream Rowan has rules, and one of them is that you must be clothed."

"Dream Rowan who is only in tiny shorts and a T-shirt?"

"That is more than boxers and you weren't supposed to wake up!"

"So this isn't a dream," Alex smiles, triumphant.

"Neither is that wax strip,” I blow him a kiss before I quickly scramble onto the window ledge. Alex is too busy in shock at the white strip on his leg to catch me before I am safely on the other side.

"Sleep dreams sweetie," I tease before shutting my window. Little does Alex know that I have my old iPod discreetly placed face timing his reaction which is being filmed on my phone.

Two all Alex Rossa. Two all.

I hear the expected yell of pain as Alex pulls off the strip. Hopefully, he won't be wearing shorts anytime soon. Ending the facetime to avoid any further filming I pull off my shoes. Rapidly I update my Instagram and crawl into bed.

*

My phone constantly vibrating with notifications wakes me up around 10:00 am. I guess that the internet world has seen my video. I rub my eyes viciously and look with delight at the many likes pouring in on my video. I drag myself out of bed, sandwiching my feet back into my fluffy slippers and trudge my way downstairs. I grab the coco pops and throw myself onto the sofa, eating the cereal straight from the bowl.

I push my hair out of my eyes and pull it round my shoulders. Then rest my chin on my hand and flick through my newsfeed, before deciding to call Hannah. It doesn’t even ring once before I have her voice on the line.

"Rowan I'm half way to your house."

"Oh okay," I say laughing, "I guess I will see you soon then."

"Yeah you will, have you got any ice cream?"

"Think so. Although I remember someone else owing me ice cream."

"Great, set Netflix up," she orders, completely ignoring my comment about her owing me the frozen delight. Knowing I will get it eventually, and excited to have her over I don’t pursue the issue.

"On it, see you soon,” I sing back.

I run upstairs and change into a pair of denim shorts and cute white laced blouse. Whilst brushing my teeth I notice an unread message from my revenge opponent.

Bring it on Cinderella - A

Did you not enjoy your free wax treatment? - R

I preferred the cute girl in my room ;) - A

I practically choke on the toothpaste swirling round my mouth. Alex knows my weak spot and he definitely uses it against me. Feeling my cheeks reddening I type back ashamed of the blush rising onto my face.

What girl? Must have been a dream – R

I only have to wait a matter of seconds before his response flashes up on the screen.

You just cannot seem to stay out of my room. Not to mention the stalkerish filming - A

At least I don't follow you to work honey, now that's stalking- R

I hear the door downstairs open. I quickly finishing brushing my teeth before racing downstairs. I am greeted by Hannah’s head poking around the entrance.

"How did you manage to unlock the door?" I ask, frowning at her.

My phone vibrates once more and I swiftly look at Alex’s response, now knowing there is not an actual intruder in my house.

Touché-A

"Oh, I had a key made," she says casually, shrugging her shoulders. She shuts the door behind her and strolls over to me.

"I don't even know how to feel about that," I chuckle.

"Where's the ice cream?"

"Thanks Han. Love you too."

"Don't be so dramatic, let's go," she responds dragging the word “go” out as she grabs my arm and pulls me towards the basement. Her blonde hair hits me in the face repeatedly as it swings violently with each of her steps.

"Hannah," I manage after spitting out more hair, "Could you possibly keep your hair out of my face?"

"Oops," she giggles, before purposely shoving a clump of her hair in my face.

"Thanks"

Hannah's long elegant fingers wrap round the door handle and open the door. Wooden steps lead down to the floor, looking as perilous as ever. Hannah leads the way into the darkness, each step creaking dangerously with each step. I swear I hate basements! I place my hand on the helpful wall to my side to steady myself as I make the dangerous decent. Hannah jumps off the last step and runs her hand along the wall before finding the light switch.

Cobwebs create a creepy wallpaper for the stone walls and the thick layer of dust on the floor creates a carpet. I rub my hands along my arms to try and stay warm. Another reason to hate the basement - its freezing.

"Can we hurry up?" I ask to my best friend who is currently skipping over to the freezer.

"Sure," she chirps, opening the lid, "Chocolate, chocolate brownie, honeycomb, or cookie dough?"

"Cookie dough," I respond quickly, the easy go to for when watching films.

Hannah's blonde head disappears momentarily as she bends down to reach the ice cream. Within seconds she comes back up and turns round with a smile.

"All done," she chirps.

I head back up the health hazardous stairs with Hannah following behind making a face at the sudden cold object in her hands.

"Cold, cold, cold," she mutters repeatedly under her breath.

Sitting firmly on the sofa it’s time the start the main event of the day.

"Okay time for a film. What do you want to watch?" I ask, turning to Hannah.

"The notebook," She replies promptly.

"Nope. No sad films," I say, firmly shaking my head against the idea.

"Why?" Hannah pouts.

"Because I don't like sad films, I'm saving myself for when we are miserable and are in dire need of a gloomy film."

I lie horizontally across the sofa, leaving no room for Hannah. Not that it matters as she decides to just sit on my legs.

"Ouch, Hannah get off!" I hit her with a cushion and yet she stays still.

"Move your legs then sofa hogger."

"Fine," I grumble, sitting up.

"Great," Hannah grabs the tv remote off the side and begins to set up Netflix. "Never let me go?"

"Hannah I said no depressing films!" I groan loudly. "I vote unfinished business, you know with Dave Franco in. I love that film."

"Good choice, I vote you get the spoons whilst I set the film up."

"I do not vote this," I say shaking my head at the thought of having to mood.

"It’s a good job that I'm a dictator and hate democracy, so go get the spoons," Hannah orders, pushing me off the sofa.

Grumpily I stomp over to the kitchen, faking my anger. I open the draw, grab two spoons then head back to my seat. Hannah's bright blue eyes are fixated on the screen as she clicks on unfinished business. I pass her a spoon and grab the ice cream tub from the floor. I delve into the delicious treat with my spoon and shove a scoop of Ben and Jerry's cookie dough ice cream in my mouth.

Joy.

*

The credits of the film begin to roll. Our ice cream is long gone after being eaten within half an hour of the film starting. Watching this film for the 800th time reminds me how much I love it. I rub around my mouth with the back of my hand just to ensure that there are no stray bits of cookie dough left.

Three knocks to the front door puts an end to my lazy afternoon.

"I'm too lazy to get it," Hannah says looking expectantly at me.

"I got the spoons!"

"And I walked all the way to your house," Hannah attempts to pull puppy dog eyes on me, before adding that he was indeed a guest in the house and thus could not be expected to do housework.

“Guest my arse,” I laugh pushing myself off the sofa, “You have your own bloody key!” I make my way to the door and open it.

"Surprise!"

"What?"