"Old lady?" Uh oh again. The lady in question, was in her mid-thirties with an almost youthful appearance — calling her old was a blatant insult, something Celia was probably more than aware of. 

"Yeah that's right." Groaning from my best friend's attempt at being intimidating, my eyes shift to the other stranger who seems unamused and expressionless while Ms. Zhao's eyes send flying daggers in my direction. Raising a questioning eyebrow while taking a precautionary step back, my eyes travel to her hands where a stack of notice board papers and letters addressed to 'The Matchmaker' are held.

 Suddenly panicking, I swiftly glance around me, neither Patrick or Zander notice this, and I do something incriminating but necessary; I walk out of the apartment, grab my Landlady's arm, and drag her to the emergency stairs. 

"Why did you bring me here?" Ms. Zhao asks hoarsely.

Glancing around nervously before answering, I drop my voice to a low whisper, "those two guys don't know I'm the Matchmaker." 

"Ahh, but how do you intend to work from now on? They're with you every day." Her question posed a real crisis for me that I shrugged off for the time being. With the amount of letters in her hand, it was obvious that a string of clients suddenly popped up from nowhere and would expect to be contacted soon — I'd have to shift my focus from the President's son to other elites.

How? That was the real question. And there lies my crisis because Zander seems determined to become chummy neighbours, dare I even say friends? His ulterior motives to find the matchmaker aside, he did things that go beyond something that's considered a business relationship. I may be helping him, but he didn't have to go to such lengths. I don't even know how to begin avoiding him for the next several days without becoming cold or revealing my identity altogether.

"That's a good question Ms. Zhao, I really don't know but I'll have to think of something," I admit honestly, giving up.

"What about these letters?"

"Just leave them with the doorman on night duty and I'll come later and get them myself. I don't want to risk looking suspicious if you hand them to me. It's better if I pretend to be checking the mailbox on the lobby floor." 

A deep frown sets on her thin lips and I know she hates being extra precautionary, it was bad enough to begin with but with Zander and his random observation skills, I didn't want to risk anything. 

"Okay, I'll do it but you better pay your rent soon or I won't hesitate to kick you out!" And with a pointed finger, she gives me a hard look before taking the stairs downward.

Sighing, I walk back to the hallway only to have my ears assaulted by more bickering; Celia and the complaining tenant going back and forth while Patrick relishes in the moment of placing a defensive arm around Celia.

 Frowning, my gaze travels to Zander who looks unamused and bored. Catching me in the act of staring, he lights up and walks towards me while I instinctively retreat. This action doesn't sit well with him because his strides become more purposeful, "where'd you go Catherine?"

"Err the Landlady wanted to talk to me about the rent," I squeak out, his footsteps right behind me.

He catches up with ease and I can feel the curiosity from him burning a hole right through my shirt, "and?"

"And, ah nothing?"

"Why all the secrecy?"

"I just feel uncomfortable having my financial situation being put out there for everyone to hear." We've reached the end of the hallway, and it's a complete dead end. There was a spa on this corner towards the right, and I'm tempted to walk in there just to escape the awkward tension between us.

I finally take the liberty to look directly at him and to my relief, he seems to understand. Nodding slowly, his eyes suggest that he's filing this bit of information for later - whatever for, I don't know but I can now release a sigh of relief and the defensive walls of my mind loosen up a bit. 

 "So you're not in trouble for the karaoke mess?"

"No, she didn't seem to care. I think she's used to all the abnormality happening lately." 

Raising an eyebrow, a mild smile lights his face, "that sounded like an insult directed at me."

"...No." Shuffling uncomfortably, my eyes dart all around me. 

"You hesitated."

Shaking my head vehemently, I refuse to look at him directly in the eyes "...No I didn't."

"You hesitated again."

"I just had to think about your question a little longer." 

"Yeah okay, whatever you say, Catherine."

"But I — "

"You don't have to pretend to be nice to me. I'm pretty good at handling insults," patting his chest with a hand, he gives me a theatrical solemn look like a wounded martyr.

My stupid mouth doesn't cooperate with my brain however, because the next question comes flying out of my mouth, "even if I were to say you're ugly?"

Bull's eye.

His eyes narrow dangerously and within seconds his entire demeanour changes. Lord, I didn't know the man was obsessed with his vanity that much. Terrified, I continue shuffling backwards until my back comes in contact with a wall — I'm doomed, caged due to my lack of fleeing abilities. And I know I've sealed my tragic fate when I look up into his eyes that never leave me, he may be wearing contacts but the emotions were clearly expressed there — I was in deep trouble. 

And with the sound of every approaching step my blood starts pulsing, my heart beating violently to the point where my thoughts linger momentarily on whether I'd need to be hospitalised because my heart would beat itself right out of my rib cage. 

Barely refraining from whimpering out loud, my eyes widen as hands boldly plant themselves against the wall on either side of my face, the theatrics never ceasing, "Do you mean it?"

"Wah — what?"

"Did you mean what you said?" asked Zander.

"I was kidding."

"Really?"

"Really?" Why am I posing it as a question?

"Were you thinking it though?"

Shaking my head vehemently, I raise my hands in surrender, "...No....sir"

"You hesitated again."

"It's a bad habit?"

"Habits aren't usually questioned by the person possessing them."

How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? Should I even? Cowering, I try my luck with being completely evasive, "err, I think Celia will be wondering where I am. We better head back."

Shaking his head, he only smirks, "yeah not so fast."

"Wah — Wa — Why?"

"If you feel sorry for what you said then you'll have to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"Call me by my name. You've never actually said it, it's always, hey you!"

All I can do is blink at him ignorantly because I don't have the slightest clue as to what he could possibly gain from this. "Um..."

"Well?"

"Zander," I say directly, my voice clear and levelled.

For the briefest moment, I catch disappointment flash across his face before a frown sets, "that's it?"

"That's it, what? You wanted me to say your full name? So I said it," I state, my moment of panic subsiding as I give him a dark look, entirely unfazed. Sighing, his back straightens and he stands at his full height giving me room to finally breathe.

 "No, forget it," running a hand against the back of his neck he steps away, giving me the chance to make my escape. 

With heightened alertness, I speedily walk down the hall and nearly sprint the rest of the way into my apartment. What was all that for?  

Observation: The President's son makes odd requests and has an emotional weakness for his own vanity.

Tempted to shut the door behind me, my eyes travel to the two figures on the couch, "what are you guys doing?" I ask curiously, Patrick and Celia are so immersed in what they're doing that someone could die right in front of them and they may never notice. 

Neither one of them looks at me but Celia finally speaks up, "we're playing Go Fish, we're currently tied."

"Sounds like fun," I say drily. How do two people continue to play games all day? Were they ever going to get bored or better yet, leave?

"Hey, someone has to win that case of beer, and since we've been banned from singing, we settled for cards. Now are you in?" Patrick's dead serious tone only makes the entire situation more ridiculous, but I can't even laugh because my nerves go on edge for another reason — exactly how long do they plan to do this? 

"Um how long is this game going to last?" I ask uneasily. 

Patrick purses his lips, his eyes never straying away from the cards in his hands before responding, "Could be minutes, could be hours. Who knows."

That answer only makes me frown, and I can't leave the bitterness out of my voice, "great."

"You playing Cat or no?" Celia stretches out her hand for the top card on the deck lying between them, never looking at me, of course. 

"I think I'll pass, I'll be in my room."

Patrick's eyes finally move and he takes a quick peek at me before trying to make me cave in a sing-song voice, "suit yourself, but you know you'll regret it later Cupcake."

Giving him my best 'yeah right' look, I shove the karaoke microphones in a corner but almost fall on my face from fright as Zander bursts through the door, "PAT! It was unemotional!"

"WHAT?" At the sound of his friend's distressed tone Patrick practically leaps off the couch and hugs Zander — now here's a dramatic spectacle you don't see everyday.

"There was no reaction. No hesitation, it was blunt and crude!"

Rolling my eyes at the fake sniffles and sobs erupting, I'm stunned when Patrick suddenly turns around and gives me the stink eye, "what did you do to my Zander?"

Startled, I stand there dumbly and gape open-mouthed, "um...what?"

With a dramatic flair, he points directly at Zander, "look at him, look how damaged he is. My poor boy! My brother! My friend!"

"What did I do?" I ask incredulously.

"Oh My God, she doesn't even know what she did to you! That ain't cute at all," patting Zander's shoulder sympathetically, Patrick gives me a small glare and I merely roll my eyes and look on in disbelief, especially at his last use of words. 

"Hey Patrick, since your busy nursing your friend does this mean I win?" Celia's voice travels between us, and I glance back and forth, at a loss for words.

Lunatics. I'm surrounded by lunatics! My home is an asylum for the mentally deranged! 

"Well you guys have fun crying and playing Go Fish, I'm heading to my room," I drone out, taking a few steps towards my room. I should grab my laptop and worm myself under some blankets, with every passing moment more work was being piled up.

"See what I mean! Unresponsive!" Zander's accusation filled tone hits me square in the face and I stop in my tracks, my thoughts diminishing. 

"Ouch, you must have had it bad man." Shaking his head, I get another dirty look from Patrick and this time, I showcase a bit of my frustration with my hands. Exactly what was going on here and why am I to blame?

"This has never happened to me before. My pride!" Like a wounded animal, Zander's contact eyes bore right into me and I flinch instinctively. This of course makes him pout, for what exactly? Only God knows. 

"Oh how the mighty fall," the sarcasm in Celia's voice makes both of them turn to her in animosity but it doesn't bother her in the least; she just shrugs before stacking the deck on the coffee table.

"Am I losing my touch?" Zander asks his friend, his gaze wandering from mine to Patrick's. 

"Nah, you're just useless on the offensive." My eyebrows furrow at Patrick's use of sports analogy, or at least what I assume to be sports analogy — a cryptic puzzle to my ears.

"Really? Catherine, can you say my name again?"

"Zander...and that's Patrick, and she's Celia. And my name is Catherine. Satisfied?"

"I give up." Throwing his hands up in the air, we all look at one another in momentary awkwardness.

"Is this some kind of personal vendetta?" I ask curiously, still wondering what I was being accused of.

"Oh it's personal alright." Tilting my head, I just stare at him quizzically. 

Making a T-sign with his hands, Patrick shakes his head and ceremoniously stands resolute, "Whoa , whoa, whoa. Time out dude. You need to cheer up."

"How?" asked Zander. 

"Power dance session?"

"Dancing? That's your idea of a time out?" My expression imitates Zander's question. Out of the two of them, I still haven't decided who's crazier but I'm beginning to think Patrick might take home the prize for craziest male alive. 

Crossing his arms, he starts rummaging around the room, looking for something, "it's pretty effective. My mom doesn't do it just for the fun of it. Hey Cupcake, you got any maracas around?"

"No I do not have maracas," I declare sarcastically, not even surprised. 

"What about a tambourine?"

"I don't have that either."

"It's cool, we can invite the Landlady and get this party started."

PARTY? Nooo. No, no. Not on my watch! Next thing you know, they'll be hosting an entire dance class!

"You were banned from singing so you're going to break down these walls by having a dance party?" Bless Celia's soul for finally stepping to my defence. 

"As long as the Landlady is here, there's nothing we have to worry about."

"You're going to drive Cat out of the building! Why don't you two just settle for video games and junk food and leave the poor girl alone?"

Harrumphing, Patrick eyes her narrowly, "Traitor! We were having such a good time playing Go Fish, now your abandoning me?"

"If you behave, we can go to the aquarium tomorrow," patting his head, she enunciates her words slowly. 

"Will there be sharks?"

"Yes."

"Jellyfish?"

"Yup, and they even have electric eels."

"Okay, we have a deal."

"What about me? I need to be compensated! I didn't get an ultimate time out," Zander's whiny plea makes her look at him for a brief moment before swivelling around entirely to grin mischievously at me.

"You can go somewhere with Cat."

Baffled, I can't help but cry out, "what? Why do I need to go? You can take the both of them to the aquarium tomorrow and have a power dance session with the seals, just leave me out of this!" 

"She loves shopping, you should go on a little shopping spree," wiggling her eyebrows eagerly, I glare at Celia's smug smile. She's plotting something evil. 

Frowning, Zander's face hardens before nodding slowly, "shopping? Clearly not as fun as fish behind glass panels but okay."

Oh no, this is happening, this is really happening. "Wait a second, what about me? I don't get a say in any of this?" I ask incredulously. 

The room goes quiet before all three of them declare in unison, "NO."

I want to burst into tears and protest; I avoided public spaces like death itself but here I am with two idiots and my best friend throwing me into the lion's den. I'm going to scream my head off and show Zander the real me — the me that's terrified of people, the me that has no tolerance or patience to remain caged in capitalism central because I hate shopping. I'd rather happily browse online instead of deal with another one of my own species. 

On a more tragic note, I've just been bullied into going to the mall, and that's a new level of pathetic I wished never to reach.