belle continues to show her resentment towards the new love in her brother's life. will she finally push him away?
The next morning I lazily opened one eye to be greeted by a massive amount of distinctly smelling white fur. I closed my eyes against the light and brought my hand up to rub over the soft fur mechanically. Hemingway turned his face in my direction, covering my cheek in his "morning breath". I giggled and pushed him further down on the bed to escape his relentless "smooches".
I rubbed my eyes with my fist and opened them groggily to be met promptly with Pete's. I smiled as he reached up to my face and let his rough fingertips graze the skin of my flushed right cheek.
"Mornin'," He said simply, still continuing his slow pace against my cheek. I smiled and brought my hand up to his, pulling it down and tracing my fingers over the calloused palms of his hands.
"Mornin'," I replied, propping my head up on my hand. His hand reached up to tuck my hair behind my ears as he smiled.
"This is the time when you tell me how gorgeous and peaceful I look while I'm sleeping," I informed him, letting a smile play at my lips.
"I sang you "Don't Want To Miss A Thing" already, but you missed it. Sorry," He said, and I chuckled as I let my head rest on his chest.
His fingers continued to play in my hair and I felt my eyes become heavy again.
The noise from his mouth reverberated in his chest, causing my eyes to flutter open.
"Mmmhmm?" I replied, not having the energy to actually move my mouth.
"You look stunningly beautiful and serene while you sleep,"
I laughed and turned my head so I could see his face.
"Alright casanova, I'm hungry. Let's see you whip me up a gourmet bowl a cereal," I told him, climbing off of the bed, grabbing his hand to help him up.
I pulled a sweatshirt out of my bag (I still haven't unpacked) and slipped it over my tank top that I had fell asleep in. I don't remember the last time I changed my pants, but they were comfy from being seriously worn in. No sense in changing now.
When I reached the kitchen I stood in the doorway to see Pete, who was standing at the counter with a box of Count Chocula in one hand and a box of Cap'n Crunch in the other. He scrunched up his nose as if in concentration before pouring the Count Chocula in both bowls. I watched as he grabbed for the other box and shrugged his shoulders, adding the substance in both bowls as well.
He heard me laugh from the doorway and looked up with a smile on his face, handing me my bowl. I took it eagerly and we both took a seat at the table.
"Cap'n and Count is not such a bad mixture," I told him, my mouth stuffed with the overly-sugared substance.
"Your table manners are exquisite, Tinkerbelle," He said with a sarcastic smile.
I swallowed my food before replying. "This coming from the guy who made a game of quoting "Ren and Stimpy" during thanksgiving dinner last year," I finished, digging in my bowl for the spooky marshmallows. I always eat those first.
I heard Hemingway whine from the bottom of my chair. I bent down and used both arms to pick him up and place him on my lap, reaching for my bowl and picking out a marshmallow for him.
"You know he's going to turn into a beggar now," Pete said, eyeing me as I reached for another.
"He'll be fine. Remember when I fed Pandora that carton of ice cream?" I aked, as Hemingway happily licked any trace of the sweetness off of my fingers.
"Yea, and as it turned out Pandora is lactose intolerant. Who woulda guessed?" He added sarcastically, flinging a marshmallow in my direction.
"You don't want to start another battle with me, Wentz," I said, putting Hemingway on the floor as if to prepare.
"Of course I do," He said, using his spoon as a catapult and flinging another piece of cereal my way.
I stood up and grabbed my cereal bowl and I watched him flinch.
"Calm down," I told him with a smile, waltzing over to the sink and rinsing the dish. He stood up and followed me, looking at me skeptically before dropping his in the sink next to mine.
When his bowl hit the sink he grabbed for the sprayer and I immediately soaked him. He began to battle against the current of water until he had turned me around and his chest was flat against my back.
"Ahh!" I screamed, trying to bend forward as far as I could, keeping him away from it. He spun around and grabbed my arm, pulling it from me and spraying me. I quickly jumped on him and hugged him tightly, wrapping my legs around his waist.
"You can't get me without getting you too!" I screamed, trying to reason with him as I wrapped my arms and legs securely around his body. He wrapped one arm around my back and I heard him drop the sprayer in the sink before wrapping his other around me firmly to be sure I couldn't let go and reach for the weapon.
"Do you give up?" He asked, and I laughed into his shoulder.
"Do you give up?" I countered.
"I can stay like this all day," He said and I could hear the smile in his voice.
Hmm. My evil self devilishly devised a plan.
I brought my lips to his ear. "Do you think you have that kind of stamina?" I whispered, trailing a finger on his back.
"I...ugh," He stopped and cleared his throat while I continued to smile, "I know what you're trying to do," He said, moving over to the counter and lifting me up a little to sit on the edge of it. He kept his arms around my back, but his grip loosened.
I pulled my head back and he tightened his grip. "Do you not trust me?" I asked innocently as I looked into his eyes.
He smiled back. "Hell no I don't,"
I leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his lips, much like a teenager would when playing "Spin The Bottle".
"What about now?" I asked, bringing my fingers up to play with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.
I leaned forward again and nuzzled in his neck, placing a handful of gentle kisses on his chin before pulling back again and finally placing a lingering kiss on his lips.
I heard footsteps coming from the stairs and we pulled away from each other quickly, him returning to his spot at the sink. I folded my legs indian style right before Patrick and Greta walking in.
"Good Morning," I greeted him, picking nervously at my jeans.
"Can we go talk somewhere?" Patrick asked looking over to me with an icy glare.
At this point I have two options.
A.) Talk to Patrick and tell him I hate her, giving him reasons like "She's a dirty whore" and "She's a dirty slut"... not that eloquently, I'm sure.
B.) Refuse to talk about it and hope he gives up as well.
"I don't really have anything to talk about," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You've already came to the conclusion that you're being ridiculous and belligerent? Because any other time it would have taken me at least an hour to talk you to this point," Patrick argued hastily.
Maybe option "A" is better...?
"Not quite, Patrick," I said, uncrossing my arms jumping off of the counter to walk closer to them. "Because you usually use the head on your shoulders and not the one in your pants. Because any other time you wouldn't be jumping the first opportunity," I finished, pointing to Greta.
"You have no idea what you're talking about. You need-" She said, and I quickly interrupted her. Who invited her into this conversation?
"Don't talk to me like that. I'm not a child," I spat. I was tempted to throw in "dirty whore" but my mind had used that insult on her too many times in the past 24 hours.
"Don't act like a child," She retorted, narrowing her squinty eyes on me.
I felt my face warm and it took every ounce of self-control I have to not pounce on her. Actually, it was probably the fact that she out-weighs me, and with my luck she has the reflexes of Mike Tyson.
"Don't act like a slut," I said coolly.
So much for not using that line.
She took a step closer to me and I saw Patrick, and Pete lined up and gawking.
"You have been nothing but a bitch to me since you got here," She said, inches from my face.
"You've done nothing but stick your tongue down my brother's throat since you got here. Oh, and you slept with him. I'm pretty sure it's your fault I think you're a sleaze," Hmm, that one was pretty good.
"That's enough!" Patrick screamed, coming up next to us and grabbing my arm. I narrowed my eyes at him before pulling out of his grip and stalking off to Pete's room, with Patrick quickly on my heels.
I heard Pete trying to calm Greta, who I'm sure wanted nothing more than to follow me and throw some low blows my way. Oh well, she missed her chance.
Patrick grabbed my arm when I reached the top of the stairs, causing me to stop, and he backed me into a wall. His eyes were wide, and he was practically foaming at the mouth. His eyes pierced through me, temporarily paralyzing me.
"You're being a fucking bitch, Anabelle," He said, using my full name.
"You're being a whore-monger, Patrick," I said, my voice matching his.
He grabbed my other arm when he felt me trying to move away. I reached my arms out to push him, but he used them against me, again pushing me into the wall and I felt my head bounce from it.
"I'm leaving this house," He said forcefully dropping my arms. "I can't stand you anymore," He said with steel in his voice, only succeeding in making me even more upset.
I took the chance to swing, and without aiming, my hand collided harshly with his left cheek.
He almost instantaneously raised his hand, and the back of it met my cheek before I could blink.
The action caused me to grab my face, nestling it comfortingly in my hand. More out of surprise than real pain, tears were dripping like a faucet from my eyes, causing my vision to blur. I slid down the wall and pulled my legs up to my chest, not bothering to wipe the droplets from my eyes.
I heard screaming and I just sat with my head in my hands.
Was she honestly worth this to him? Did she mean that much to him? Again, the words "whore" and "slut" are the only to come to mind. I need to expand my vocabulary.
When I looked up I saw Pete's eyes intently on mine, and he reached a hand down to help me up.
He followed me as I walked aimlessly into his room and used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe my eyes.
"Did he really hit you?" He asked when I took a seat on the bed. I just looked forward until he came into my line of view, bending over to be eye level with me.
"Belle? Are you-" I reached my head up and placed a kiss on his lips, letting him mumble the rest of the question into my mouth. He started to pull back and I snaked my arm around the back of his neck and laid down, pulling him down with me.
He used his arms to balance his weight as I shifted under him, shifting oddly up to the headboard and bringing him with me.
I felt the tears sting my eyes again, and Patricks condescending tone in my ears.
I wrapped both arms around Petes neck, numbing one pain with the nearest pleasure. I was giving Pete no choice but to collide his lips more passionately against mine.
I pulled away for a second, fumbling awkwardly with my sweatshirt until I pulled it over my head; the static electricity bringing my tank top with it. It had to have been one of the most clumsy moves I've ever pulled, being that my nerves were shot. When I finally peaked threw, Pete looked at me like I had two heads.
I reached up to pull him back down, and wasn't surprised when I was met with resistance.
I sighed and pulled myself closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder, not because I wanted to be comforted, but more because I didn't want to lay back down and expose my body to his uninterested eyes.
"I know what you're doing, Belle. I'm not going to make that argument disappear," He said in a low tone, his breathing at a quick pace.
Well, so much for that idea.
I just nodded my head against his shoulder and laid back down in the fetal position, pulling the blanket around my body.
I felt him move closer to my body, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing my bare back.
"Don't try to make me feel better about this, Pete," I warned, closing my eyes tightly.
Authors Note: This update should not have taken as long as it did. But it's my birthday, and (traditionally) i've cried more times in the last 18 hours than i have all year. Bah.
happy birthday to me.
so leave me a present in the form of a sweet review.