I'm glad both Nick and Clay were asleep, cause I noticed George's red-stained lips only under the electric light of the hallway in our house.

"Oh shit, wait," I whisper, standing infront of George in the hallway and pressing my thumb to his upper lip. Trying to wipe the lipstick without accidentally scratching him with my nails is a real challenge.

He stands still as I do my job. The only problem is that I feel like I'm making it look redder by rubbing his skin.

"It's fine, relax," George chuckles, gently pushing my hand down and licking his lips.

Great, now his lips are darker, puffier, and more kissable.

But before my mind takes me places, I think I hear footsteps. I'm not sure if it's Clay or Nick, but I quickly take off my heels and lock myself in the bathroom. I had to shower anyway, so why not escape the sticky situation too?

And I'm glad I did, cause when I look at myself in the mirror, I see something that resembles a used pad instead of my face. I hope I looked better before we kissed.

The process of me showering for an hour is followed by an exchange of empty looks between me and Clay in the kitchen. It's the same thing all over; he's refilling his water bottle, I'm getting something to eat before I can go to sleep. But this time it's way more awkward cause the house is silent. George finally went to sleep, Nick is still asleep and so is Patches.

And after 30 seconds of chewing in silence, I'm finally done with my banana and ready to go to sleep. Looks like I'm sleeping in Clay's bed.

"Good night," I smile at him sarcastically, knowing how much he hates when I mix up the mornings and nights.

"I think the earth is spinning backwards for you," he wrinkles his nose - looks disgusted as always.

"As it should," I wink at him before going, and that was his final straw. He lets go of the iconic annoyed sigh that is the highlight of my morning routine.

The next stage is getting in his bed and trying to sleep before he comes and starts obliterating his setup. He only does that when he knows I'm awake. I guess that's his way of asserting dominance.

I fail that task. Clay comes back in less than 10 minutes and aggressively runs his PC. Not even a second later he starts clearing his throat. There's nothing to clear, he's just trying to make as much noise as possible. And now he's coughing.

"Do you need life support?" I open my eyes to look at him. He turns around and looks at me with a devilish smile.

"Thought you were asleep," we both know that he's lying.

This time I'm tempted to bite back. He's getting too cocky.

"You'd be way more quiet if you thought I was asleep."

As much as Clay tries to cancel the look of realization on his face by pressing the water bottle to his lips and taking forced sips of water, I can still see the surprise in his eyes.

"You know," he swallows the water and speaks, "the thought of you going to bed one day and not waking up keeps me going."

Surprisingly that's not the meanest thing he has said to me. And weeks ago when he graphically explained to me how tight he's gonna hug me, I was horrified. Now? Unamused.

"Thought you didn't care?" I smirk.

"Thought I didn't ask?" He's trying his best, but the water bottle is screaming for help in his hand.

"You didn't ask but you still listened."

He takes in a breath. And I smile.

"I hate you." He finally admits.

I hope he's relieved a little bit after that. It's the first time he's saying it, and in our case, this is a huge moment.

"Good for you," I nod, "wanna say that again?"

"I hate you." I didn't think he'd actually repeat.

Sometimes I think I'm being mean to him even though I'm not. I've never said anything hateful to him, but I guess his hatred is enough to fill both of us to the brim.

"Do you want me to say it back?"

I feel bad from the way he's looking at me. It's like he's about to explode and is begging for mercy. And I have definitely felt the same way about him before. I can't describe the feeling. It's like wanting to rip him apart without actually hurting him.

"Go for it." His brows are furrowed.

I shrug, taking a breath and saying it with my full chest.

"I hate you, Clay."

He glances at my face and surely sees the emptiness I felt saying those words. I felt nothing.

"Go to sleep."

Clay looks and sounds done with this conversation. He turns around to look at his monitor and I lay there thinking what went wrong in our relationship. And what even is this relationship? One day I want to kill him, one day he wants to kill me, sometimes we're just ignoring each other, and the other times we're arguing as if there's no tomorrow.

Maybe I shouldn't have blinded him with the hairspray a month ago. Maybe it all started there.

All I remember is that one argument where he called me a bitch and I mentioned his ex. I remember me trying my best to bond with him, him trying his best to scare me away and forcing me to kick them out, none of us succeeding and being cocky and annoying to each other ever since.

And when I think about it, nothing is that serious. I don't see a problem.

"I don't actually hate you though," I speak after trying to sleep for 3 minutes.

I see Clay's reflection through the monitor and he smiles. But it's not the smile I'm used to seeing. It's barely there, but it's genuine.

"There's something wrong with your emotional range," he speaks, "it goes from neutral to positive and that's it."

"Isn't that how it's supposed to be?" I'm confused.

"It's missing a few things," his attention is still on the screen, "like anger, fear, apprehension.."

I roll my eyes at his words hoping that he doesn't see me. I do get angry sometimes, what does he mean?

"Yours starts with rage and ends with annoyance, it doesn't even reach neutral," I pull my brows together.

"Only when I'm talking to you," he's lying, he's always pissed.

I turn around in the bed so that my back is facing him as a sign of having enough of the conversation.

"If I oversleep, wake me up at eight," I'd give that task to George or Nick on a regular day, but they're not gonna be home at that time. And I hate alarms, so I'm gonna risk it by trusting Clay.

"Just set an alarm, it's not that hard," he could've just said okay instead of being difficult.

"I just did," I get cozy in the bed, close my eyes and relax, "don't forget to beep when it's eight p.m."