har har har
I twitched my hand, trying to keep my eyes from opening.
"Yoo-hoo, get up."
I tried to drown out the sound to keep from waking up. My body protested against my muscles. I didn't want to move.
I shot up, nearly knocking my head on the sun-visor. I rubbed my thumb over my forehead, turning to glare at Mom. How I loathed my name.
"You know I don't like to be called..."that"," I said to her, sticking out my tongue. She stuck out her tongue as well and wriggled her nose.
"That's what you get for being such a heavy sleeper, now come on," she said and got up out of the car. I unhooked my seatbelt and got out as well, hearing a faint click as the doors locked. I shut the door and walked up my porch steps, my legs growing weaker and weaker. I was so tired.
Since I was already up to the door before Mom, I was locked outside, just staring at the wooden thing. I went over to it and rested my forehead on the smooth wooden surface.
"Mom, hurry up!" I yelled at her. I heard her climbing up the porch steps, heard her jangle her keys as she shoved them through the lock on the knob.
I kicked the door open, limping over the staircase. My leg was starting to hurt.
"Why're you walkin' like that?" Mom asked suspiciously, dropping her bag on the floor. She unbuttoned her coat and flung it over the couch.
"Leg's asleep," I replied confidently and made my way up the stairs. I walked down the hallway, turning into my room. Solace at last.
I flipped onto the bed, not caring if my shoes were still on. I felt so...cozy and warm. I just wanted to sleep and sleep and never wake up.
"Ahh," I sighed and shut my eyes. It was just magnificently "wonderful" when a picture of Real suddenly flashed itself through my mind. I opened my eyes slowly, half expecting to see him there, but of course he wasn't. I sat up right, wondering if he had already made it home. Probably went to go drop Katie off, wherever the blond devil lived.
I climbed off of my bed, padding my way over to the window. It was still open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. I wanted to take a peek, to look over to his window and see if he was there or not. The temptation was so strong that I found myself leaning over, eyes peeking out to catch a glimpse of the crazy haired bastard.
I quickly shot away as I saw him there, draped over the window sill. I hid behind my walls, chest breathing heavily. He was there then. What was he doing there, like that? His arms were jutting out as if they were meaningless, his head rested on the wooden sill.
I calmed myself down and told myself not to care. I didn't have to worry about him anymore. I looked at my drawer, contemplating on whether I should go over to it or not. If I did, then he'd be able to see me, because the drawer was positioned at an angle that looked directly into his window. I gulped and began to walk. I wanted him to see me, I wanted him to know that I didn't care about him anymore. He could do what he wanted, just leave me out of it. I wanted him to see me ignoring him.
I knelt down in front of my drawer, deciding to get my pajamas out. At first I was nervous, but those nerves soon ebbed away as I continued my search to find suitable clothing for sleep. In the end I picked out a humongous blue t-shirt that read "Jesus Juice" on the front in bold white letters. I didn't need any shorts or pants, since the shirt reached well over my knees.
I clutched the garment to my chest, realizing that Real was probably watching my every move. I gulped and got up. There was no way I was going to change in front of him. I went over to my bed (the only place in the room where you could actually have some sort of privacy without a window to bother you), unzipped my sweater, took of my tank-top and unbuckled my shorts. I draped the huge t-shirt over my head and stuck my arms through the sleeve slits. Very comfortable.
I got up off the bed and shuffled my way over to the window, hiding behind the curtains. Did I want to face him just yet? I gripped the curtain fabric to my chest, fingers idly running tiny circle patterns over them as if they had a mind of their own. I clutched the curtain to my chest, fingers clenching and unclenching. I gulped and hunched my shoulders.
It wouldn't hurt to just...rest over my own window sill. Besides, I could do whatever I wanted. I'd just play it off as coincidence if he were to see me.
I dropped the curtains from my hands, straightening out my t-shirt. Then I turned myself to the window, setting both of my palms down onto the window sill.
"AHH--," a hand shot out and clamped itself over my mouth. Something lunged at me, sending me sprawling towards the ground, a heavy weight resting upon my stomach. My legs and arms were sprawled across the floor, my hair fanning out about my head. My back was starting to hurt.
Real was on top of me, black coated fingernails pressing against my chin. His jagged hair fell around him, little pig-tails still evident. It was weird though. He wasn't smiling or giving off his usual...twisted smirk. In fact, his lips were set at a solid straight line, thin and cold.
His eyes glittered, dancing like merry fire. It seemed as if they were the only ones showing emotion.
I grabbed at his wrist, wrapping my long fingers over it. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. I wouldn't hesitate to do so either. I stared up at him, jaw set and eyes unwavering. All the memories from the fair sprung back out at me, minus the almost-getting-raped part. That...I was reluctant to remember.
"Aren't tom-boys supposed to wear boxers?"
I stared up at him, cocking an eyebrow. Boxers. I then stared down at myself. If I could have dropped my mouth open, I would have, but his hand was still covering it. My legs were spread right open. Not open enough to actually see my underwear, but...rather wide enough to discover certain things.
I quickly shut my legs, trying to stretch my t-shirt over my thighs. It was rather hard to, since he was sitting on my stomach, thus blocking the material from moving anywhere.
I didn't wear boxers. It was just typical for everyone to think that. Not me though. I liked my underwear with prints on them. Actually, as of the moment, I was wearing boys underwear, tiny pictures of a black masked Robin speckled everywhere.
I shook my head and squeezed his wrist, hoping that he would let go. He did, not because I had hurt him, but for his own reasons. He leaned back, adding more pressure onto my stomach. He looked about my room, black eyes scanning the area as a gunner would do. He stopped at my bed, a thin eyebrow quirking up in curiosity.
"You like them?" he asked quietly, looking back down at me. I looked over to where he had settled his eyes, noticing the sheets over my bed. Teen Titans yet again. I didn't answer him, I didn't feel like obeying him at the moment. I was still a bit frizzled.
I turned my head away from him, trying to focus on the window. The curtains were steadily blowing in the breeze, a cold gust of air brushing through my room and sweeping over my exposed legs. I shivered.
Real looked down at me, cocking his head to the side. I always like the way his hair moved, his bangs in particular. They were so straight and jagged, that they seemed unreal, like one of those Japanese cartoons. I looked down at my own strands of hair, frowning in distaste. How did he get it like that?
I was startled from my thoughts when I felt his finger prod at my lips, poking and poking at them. He smirked, black orbs shining.
"Smile," he whispered. "Su-mai-yul." Then he leaned down, pressing his nose against my chest. He sniffed me once or twice before he altogether laid his head down. I cringed inside. He had sniffed me, wonderful. It was like I was his bed or something. I didn't want to be his bed! Besides, his weight was really starting to crush me.
I felt his chest heave against mine, his warm breath heating my heart. I laid there, stunned. I didn't know what to do! What was I supposed to do anyway? Shove him off?
"You smell like funnel-cake," he whispered, his fingers tapping against the sides of my hips. I shifted and gulped, a picture of Zine flashing through my mind. Maybe he thought that...I shut my eyes tight and opened them again. That would be one heck of a misunderstanding.
I stiffened, focusing back to the funnel-cake thing. Funnel-cake was related to the fair. Katie had gone to the fair as well. Katie was the one I loathed. I glared at Real, his head still resting upon my chest.
My fingers were starting to fidget, tapping themselves like crazy onto the floor. I wanted to pounce on him again, to scratch and rake my fingernails at his face like I had done at the fair. Then I remember that I had injured him. I had cut him on his lip, as I recalled.
"How's your lip?" I found myself asking, smiling at the way he abruptly sat up, his orbs slashed and pointed. He glared at me, his fingers clenching the fabric of my t-shirt. Was he angry? I found myself not caring if he was or not. I watched his tongue dart out, the slippery thing gliding over his lower lip. The cut was still there, but it had already dried over. It looked like a bloody lip-ring to tell you the truth.
He brushed his fringe to the side and pressed into me. I squinted my eyes, trying not to grimace. Was he trying to crush me on purpose?
I stretched out my hands, placing them on his chest. I heaved and pushed with all my might, but he wouldn't budge. It was as if he were plastered there, like a statue.
He smiled down at me, his smirk leering and his eyes menacing. He made the most perfect evil facial expressions, seriously. He had me baffled at times.
I stopped pushing against him when his own hands placed themselves over mine, his thumbs rubbing up and down against the front of my hands. Was that a habit of his, rubbing his thumbs over someone else's flesh?
I stiffened, my nerves on edge. That voice.
"Real!! Where the hell did you go?!"
My eyes were starting to sting, my face flushing. The voice had belonged to Katie, I'd be able to recognize that mousy high-pitched tone anywhere. Real had merely turned his head to the window, ducking down so that she wouldn't supposedly see him. Why was she there? In his house no less?!
I suddenly wanted him off of me, not wanting to even come in contact with his skin. I tried to untangle my hands from his, my fingers clawing at his own. He looked back down at me and squeezed my hands, placing them up and over my head to smack them against the floor. He leered down at me, his bangs brushing against my cheeks. I seethed inside, my blood coursing with mild fire. Just wait a couple of seconds more and I'd be burning.
I looked away from him, eyes downcast. I didn't even feel like looking at him. A war was going on inside me, raging over the most strangest things. Real wasn't my property, I didn't own him in anyway, but I felt as if I wanted to control him. I didn't want him to go back to his house, to be in there with Katie swarming all over him. Why I felt this way? I had absolutely no clue. I couldn't understand anything. The twisted and gnarled pain pooling at the pit of my stomach was starting to sting, writhing and squirming with agitation. What did I want?
I did the only thing I could do. I stuck my tongue out at him.
In that split second, he quickly shot out his and tapped it against my own. Real pulled away swiftly and got up, making sure that he wasn't spotted through the window. I quickly shut my mouth, my eyes wide. What had he just...done? I shot out my tongue again, as if a whole gang of Tapatio had been poured onto it. It felt weird and I just wanted the unorthodox feeling to go away!
He pressed himself against my wall, as if he were some sort of secret spy. He smiled at me, putting a finger to his lips.
"I'll deal with you later when I have the chance," he said offhandedly, slapping his foot onto the window sill. He turned back, throwing a glare towards my direction.
"If you tell your Mom that I was here, I'll shank you 'kay?" he quickly fired, letting a tiny smirk take way on his face. He was almost half way out my window, his fingers gripping onto the ledge when he turned his head and added with a slight pinkness to his cheeks.
"Close your fucking legs." And he shimmied down. I gaped at the window, immediately closing my legs. I rolled my eyes and blushed. No sense in doing it now, he was already gone.
I scrambled up right, rubbing my fingers over my tongue. It still felt weird.
"Ew," I mumbled, wiping the saliva on the floor. I got up, heading over towards my bed. I sat upon it, criss-crossing my legs.
He was with Katie now. I didn't know why she was staying over at his house. I wanted to go over there and pull her hair out, or at least do something that would humiliate her, but of course...I didn't have the courage to do something like that. Fantasies were fantasies.
"I'm going out Mom."
I placed my hand on the brass doorknob, turning it round. I heard a click and opened the door. The cold wind rushed past me, ruffling my hair.
Mom turned her head from the TV, giving me a weird stare. Her stare made me nauseous, memories from the fair flashing through my eyes. I wouldn't tell her that I had almost been...raped. I didn't want to worry her, besides, nothing horrible had happened. The important thing was that I had made it out safe and okay. The past was the past, no sense in dwelling on the matter.
"Monkey, it's almost 10:00 girl," she chided, a spoon of chocolate ice cream held between her fingers. "I'm sorry, but you're not gonna' go outside in the dark. Out of the question." She turned her head back around, staring intently at the TV screen.
I smirked to myself. I had already planned this, so I was prepared. As much as I hated to lie to Mom...I just had to do it. I couldn't stand hearing Katie giggle from next door. I had even caught them smoking together, her and Real.
"I'm going over to...Real's house," I said, letting a smile take place on my lips. She looked at me strangely and then smiled.
"Fine, fine," she said, waving at me. "Just don't come home at 3:00 in the morning or something. If ya' need me, I'll be here in the living room. South Park marathon." I shook my head at her, sighing. Sometimes, I had wondered at my Mom's parental skills. Seriously, who would let their 9-year-old daughter go out at night without making sure where she was going?
I stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind me. I had put some pajama pants on, along with a black trench coat, so the wind wasn't freezing me to death.
I climbed down the stairs, crossed the lawn and headed out into the street, walking down its graveled path. I wasn't going to Real's. Heck no. That would be stupid of me. Besides, not like I could take it with Katie being there.
The cold air soothed me, brushing against my face and sending my hair aflutter. It felt good to be out in the night like this. Of course, I had to lie to even get out here, but it was well worth it.
I didn't know where I was going, nor did I care at the moment. I was too transfixed by the moon, its pale warmth basking my body with luminescent vibes. How I loved the night at times.
I walked past Linday's house, sticking out my tongue. How she annoyed me, seriously, even more so than Katie.
I shot out my arms, trying to balance myself. I placed foot after foot on the yellow dashed lines that divided the street, trying to keep my line of route as straight as a hairpin. Whenever I would watch Cops, the policemen always made the drunkies do this. It was standard routine.
Before I knew it, I was right before the Anderson's house, it's rotted exterior staring down at me as if I were some lonely insect. I heard the wind crackle through it, prodding against the wooden boards and creaking against the doors that hung on their rusted hinges.
What would it be like to live as a house? You didn't have to worry about feelings or emotions since you'd be an inanimate object. No one cared for you, save for remodeling or what not, but no one would notice you. You'd just be a house. If I were a house, Real would call me beautiful.
I kicked the ground, chunks of rock rolling across the ground. Then, a flash of white light burst out through a window, temporarily blinding me. I stood stiff, still stunned by the light. It died down, erasing from the air all together.
I looked about me, wondering if someone had pointed some sort of flashlight at the Anderson's rotting window. Of course, I was all alone, the streets dank and empty.
I stared at the fence that separated me from the Anderson's gnarled front lawn. Should I go in, or not? Curiosity got the best of me and before I knew it, I was already past the fence, shoes scuffling along the overgrown walk way and up the chipped porch steps.
The screen door was slightly open, blowing gallantly in the breeze like a ghost caught on a wire. Another bright flash shot across the air, once again, temporarily blinding me. I blinked once or twice to get the multicolored spots out from my line of vision.
I walked up to the screen door and opened it, poking my head inside. Everything was just as it should be. The furniture was still moth eaten and dusty, the walls chipped and dirty. I stared down at the carpet in the living room, eyes scanning the two brown spots and the infant imprint. I grimaced and stepped all the way in.
I practically jumped out my skin. The sudden voice had startled me, causing me to halt in my tracks.
A tall boy with white colored hair stood off to the side of the living room, a Polaroid camera dangling about his neck like some "crunk" necklace.
"Zine?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
He nodded, his blue eyes glinting in the dim moonlight. He smiled at me and came over to where I was standing.
"Uhhh...what are you doing here at this time of night?" he asked, brushing a lone lock of silver hair behind his shoulder. I stared at him strangely. As if I couldn't ask the same about him.
"Same question," I replied, giving him a playful glare. He stuck out his hands before him, waving them in surrender. He backed away, plopping himself down on one of the moth eaten sofa couches. A cloud of dust and fabric particles scuffled into the air, filtering around like cigarette smoke. Why would he sit on something like that?
Despite the awkwardness, I shuffled over to him, plopping down into the seat next to him. I dangled my feet in the air, tapping my fingers along the dusty sofa. I was still too short to reach the ground.
"You're taking pictures?" I asked out of the blue, turning to face him. He looked at me briefly, then averted his eyes down to the camera strapped about his neck. He ran a pale finger over the camera's surface, running over irregular shapes and sharp edges.
"Mmhm," he finally replied, a small smirk taking shape on his lips. "This place is perfect, beautiful really." I stared at him strangely. What was up with the Anderson's house being beautiful? I couldn't see it, really I couldn't. Maybe teenagers had a different eye scheme.
I heard Zine snort and I turned to look at him, giving him a curt glare. What was so funny?
"Can't see it huh?" he asked, a slight chuckle escaping his mouth. He "tsked" at me and ruffled my hair.
"Is it for school?"
"No. It's just something I like to do on my free time. Call it a hobby I guess, it's just something that makes me feel...at peace. Not sure if you'd understand that though."
He smiled at me, his eyes squinting. I frowned at him. Did he think me incapable of thinking like regular teenagers? Did he think me some ignorant child that couldn't determine some word with multiple meanings such as "peace" or "discrimination"?
I turned away from him. Is that why Real hated little girls? Were we too...immature to comprehend things? Zine must have seen my change of expression, for he patted my hand and tried to get a good look at my face.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of worry. I looked at him for a few seconds, then averted my eyes towards my feet. Is that what Real thought of me then?
"I can understand," I said lowly, watching how my feet swayed to and fro. "I can think like you sometimes." I turned to look at him, my eyes piercing and steady.
"I'm not like all those other little girls."
Zine looked guilty for a split second. I could tell that he must have felt kind of awkward, since he had not responded to my statement and the silence was as piercing as a three pronged spear.
"I didn't mean it like that," he whispered quickly. He poked my shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. I smiled at him and wriggled away. How could you stay mad at Zine? I mean...Zine was Zine, yeah?
I suddenly jumped up, a wide smile stretched on my face. I looked down at him with wide eyes and pointed at him.
"Take a picture of me!"
He stared at me oddly for a few seconds then smirked to himself. He got up from the dusty couch and man handled his camera, setting it in the right position for picture taking. After adjusting the lens, he leaned down to my height and told me to smile.
I cocked my head and brought up my hand, my fingers forming the peace sign. I smiled widely and waited for him to press the button.
After the flash had gone away, I almost tripped. Damn those multicolored orbs to hell.
We walked down my street hand in hand, a flimsy sleek paper dangling between my fingertips. The picture had developed really well, I almost didn't recognize it once it had dried and I could see myself properly.
Zine's hand was really warm, so warm that it felt like a soft mitten. He scooted his black vest closer towards his chest, shaking off the bitter cold. I smiled and thrusted my other free hand into my trench coat pocket. They were good things, trench coats.
"I don't really live that far away from you," he said, his voice shaking here and there. I could hear his teeth chattering.
"Where do you live?"
"Ehh, like...three blocks down," he estimated, pointing towards some random street in the far distance. I squinted my eyes and tried to follow his finger, but to no avail. Eh, I'd figure it out sometime.
I could see the yellow lights on through the windows of my house, the silver Nissan coming into view. I pointed towards my house, telling him that that's where I lived.
He nodded and we continued our way down the street. After a few minutes, we were standing on the curb in front of my house. Zine gave my hand one last squeeze and bent down to my height, planting a chaste kiss to my forehead. He ruffled my hair as the last sign of our departing and waved goodbye. Then he started sprinting.
"Someone might wanna' rape me!" he yelled out, his silver ponytail tailing in the wind. "You know those old men, always going for the young pretty boys!" And then he was gone, a little speck in the distance moving rather rapidly.
I sighed and smiled to myself, straightening my hair in the process. Sometimes he was full of himself, but that was one of the qualities that made me feel at ease with him, like a wonderful platonic feeling. Very comfortable.
I stepped up on the curb and dragged my numb limbs towards the house. I seriously needed a blanket.
Mom had greeted me rather distractedly (she was still watching the South Park marathon). I had clambered up the stairs raggedly and now I was in my room, peeling the trench coat from off of my body and sliding off my pajama pants. It was weird how you always felt stuffy and hot coming inside from cold and bitter weather. Right now, I was practically sweating. Well, not really. My window was still open, the curtains fluttering rapidly in the breeze. It felt good, that cold air against my flushed skin.
I went over to my bed, kicking off my shoes and placing the picture of me gently onto the bed. I stared at it for a few seconds, admiring my smile and my posture. Like "peace".
I practically threw myself upon the bed, letting the soft cushiony feel settle into my aching limbs. It was like sinking into a cloud, a soft warm fluffy cloud. It somehow made me think of bathing in soup. Would it feel nice to bathe in soup? Of course, it depended on which flavor, type, brand, temperature, ect., but how would it feel like?
I stared over at my mirror, my mind still whizzing with pictures of large bowls and gallons of bathing soup, when I saw something so startling that I nearly fell of my bed. In the mirror, stood a reflection of Real, his hair no longer in little pigtails, but instead all wild and wavy like a charred flower. He had a finger to his chin, as if waiting for my reaction.
I looked to my left and indeed, there he was, standing in all of his "real" glory. He turned to me, placing his hands behind his back like a school boy who had gotten himself caught for peeping up a girls dress. Oh, how dirty.
Out of instinct, I quickly snapped my legs shut and tucked my t-shirt down over my knees. We wouldn't want to have any other mishaps to happen now would we?
He just stood there, as if waiting for me to high tail it out of there. Instead, I shot up and rushed under my covers, pulling the black blanket up and over my head. It was always safe in the blankets.
I stayed huddled there, my knees brought up to my chest and my fingers gripping the blankets so hard that my arms were shaking.
I stilled myself and perked up my ears, trying to hear any sounds that could act against my anxiety. I heard light footsteps make their way over to my bed. They stopped and I could feel the mattress sink in as a light weight glided over the bed.
The edge of the blanket was picked up, a fraction of light streaming in. Real poked his head in, giving off a wry grin as his eyes glowed in the darkness.
I scooted away, trying to get as far away from him as possible. To my disappointment, he shuffled himself in, letting the blanket drop around his body.
He was laying next to me now, fingers tracing patterns over the inside of the blanket. A small square paper rested on his stomach, the white color of it shining like a light.
I almost gasped, but I saved myself from that when I clamped my hand over my mouth. My eyes went wide and I was staring at him. I looked around, making sure that it was really me who he was talking too. Unfortunately, it was.
"I'm not ugly," I hissed, trying to keep my hands from clawing their way at his face. As if he had never even heard me, he turned his head towards me, jagged strands of hair falling over the left side of his face. He looked sleepy, or possibly exhausted. His eyes were not as wide and menacing as was their custom; they were more slanted and squinty, as if he hadn't had a decent nights sleep in over a week. Maybe I could win against him this time?
I watched his hand fold onto his stomach, his fingers picking up one of the corners of the small square paper. He lifted it up gently and fanned it through the air, swishing it back and forth as if he were drying it.
"I hate your smile," he whispered, looking at the paper in his hands. I suddenly realized that it was the picture that Zine had taken of me back at the Anderson's house. So that was what he was referring to? It still bothered me that he had called me ugly, but I was a bit relieved that he hadn't just said it without a reason. He didn't like the picture I guess?
"I like it," I spoke up, drawing the blanket tight over my head. I didn't want to peek out into the light, my eyes would surely burn.
He scoffed at me, letting the Polaroid picture drop to his stomach.
"You like it?" he asked horsely. "I hate it. Your smile looks strange. Definitely out of place for a little girl like you." I huddled into myself, trying to drown out his words. Of course, I failed miserably. I didn't want the words to affect me, they didn't in a sense, but they still penetrated. Who liked to be criticized? I sure didn't, it made you want to lash out into the world and slap every single person who had announced your faults. That's what I wanted to do to Real. I wanted to slap him.
"It's nice, so shut up."
I inwardly kicked myself. I hadn't meant to say it like that, I was only going to say that the picture looked nice. But I guess my anger was starting to fuel. Sometimes I wish I had a zipper over my mouth to stop me from saying foolish things.
"Who took it?"
I looked over at him, glad that he hadn't lashed out at me. His eyes weren't piercing and murderous as they always did when he got angry. They were still squinted and tired looking, like he hadn't the energy to stay awake. What had he and Katie been doing all night?
Then the smell wafted in. The scent of cigarettes mixed with cherries. I cocked an eyebrow at him and wondered at Katie. I had seen them smoking together earlier, so that probably explained the tired and sluggish look he was pulling off.
"You didn't answer me," he said annoyedly, turning over on his side. He placed a slender hand on his hips, the blankets above him propping up like a tent.
"Who took the picture?"
I tried not to look at his eyes, believe me, I tried with all my might. Have you ever had that experience? You're looking no where in particular, probably sitting across a room, when your eyes travel over someone and they happen to look at you as you do so. Then you turn away embarrassed and start to think that maybe they thought you were "checking them out" or so to speak, and then you can't stop glimpsing at them because you can't control your eyes. It just feels weird.
I sighed. Sometimes I confused myself.
A ripping sound raced into the pit of my ears, rumbling against my eardrums. I stared in horror as Real's fingers held too slits dangling between his fingers. He had ripped the picture in half.
He continued to hold the two slits of paper, before he placed them both in the center of the bed that divided me from him.
I stared at it, the picture. My eyes ran over the jagged ridges where he had ripped it, seeing a rigid line split right down the center of my forehead and below. Now I really looked ugly.
I suddenly lost myself. How could he do something so cruel? He practically ripped Zine's wonderful hobby in half, as if it were nothing of importance.
I started to roll. The edge of the bed was nearing and I knew that if I rolled any further that I'd plummet to the floor. I found myself not caring.
I fell over the edge, thudding onto the floor rather loudly. The cut on my leg seared with burning fire for a second or two, then it went away.
I let both of my arms fall to either side of me, my body lying there like a lifeless corpse.
I'd have to tell Zine to take another picture of me.
It seemed like a century had passed by. The room was quite, a heavy silence engulfing everything in its presence. I turned my head and looked under the bed.
So that was where my goldfish had gone (:3).
I looked up when I heard the creak of the mattress give way, black hair falling over the edge of the bed.
Real stared down at me, only his eyes peeking out. I wanted to laugh, because he looked like a hiding child, but I kept the giggles restrained. Now was not the moment to laugh.
Instead, I stuck my tongue out at him.
He snorted in response and cocked an eyebrow.
"Close your fucking legs."
I immediately did, turning my head away from him in embarrassment.
I was surprised and a little bit frightened when he sat upright, leering over me at his perch on top of the bed. He leaned down, grabbing both of my arms and yanked me off the floor.
He threw himself back down onto the bed, over the blankets this time, and I was sent sprawling over his chest.
I went stiff and rigid, my hands and legs not really knowing where to go. How uncomfortable. I felt his chest inhale and exhale, his breath steady and calm. I shifted a bit, trying to fit into a better position.
His hands then laced themselves over my back, his fingers rubbing up and down like a massage therapist. And then I tensed.
This was wrong.
My stomach was doing little flip-flops and tiny cartwheels. It was a wonder why I hadn't thought much about the relationship between me and Real. Everything we had done together was wrong, wasn't it? A nine-year-old with a pre-teen, soon to be turning into a "full-fledged teenager". My eyes grew hazy, the lights adding to my dizziness.
What would Mom do if she up and found us together like this? What would she say? I nearly shivered in fear at the mere thought of such a scenario. I'd probably never be allowed to see Real again. I thought I would be relieved at this thought, but in truth I wasn't. Not being able to see Real...it'd just be a collapse to exciting life. I'd go back to my daily routine of playing "house" with Lindsay and her abominable cronies, back to being the retarded tomboy of the whole neighborhood. That wasn't what I wanted; I didn't want to return to that.
I shifted against him again, wanting to get off. Was this wrong?
"Don't...do that, please," he whispered. I looked up at him, shocked. He had said "please". His cheeks were slightly flushed, and when I say slightly I mean slightly, and his head was turned to the side. I shook my head once or twice, not really believing what I had just heard. He had really said it didn't he? And in such an odd tone of voice too.
"Go away," I said into his chest, my voice muffled. He didn't flinch or stop rubbing my back, I just felt his chest tense.
"I don't want you here."
A silence followed after that, but it was quickly swept away.
"What's wrong exactly?" he asked quietly. "I told you to stop being so vague, it could mean anything." I gulped and shut my eyes. I had to answer him, maybe then he'd stop being...himself.
"You're wrong," I said quickly, sucking up the saliva that had escaped and dribbled down my chin. I didn't want to slobber on him, that'd be humiliating
"I'm wrong?" he asked off handedly. Was he taking this seriously?
"Yeah," I answered. I took a deep breath and decided to say it. "We're both wrong."
"Do you really think it's wrong?"
I looked up at him, puzzled by his question. Did I really think it was wrong? Yes, his personality and his actions towards me were wrong, that I knew, but...was being "friends", or to put in slightly less informal words, "acquaintances", wrong? I thought over the newly found thoughts in my head and concluded upon something.
It wasn't wrong to be friends. Did friends hold you this closely? I shook my head and decided not to worry about it. It'd make sense sooner or later, but I really didn't want to deal with the problem as of the moment. Give it a year or two.
I felt his hands grip me tighter. I desperately tried to tug down my t-shirt, since it was riding up well past my underwear, but I couldn't get my hand to it. Reals hands were in the way.
"School's almost here," he breathed, tugging my shirt down for me. I blushed, but silently thanked him. I didn't want to thank him aloud.
His finger hooked itself underneath my chin, tilting it upward. I looked at him from my angle.
"I don't even want you to come near me when it starts," he hissed, letting a glare shoot out into the open. I gulped and nodded slightly, too afraid to move.
He was right, school was almost here. I'd be a fourth grader!
Real's words sunk into me, crawling around my mind. What did he mean by that? He didn't want me going near him when school started?!
"Why?!" I asked in defiance. How horrible! Even though I was partially relieved that I didn't have to talk to him during school times, but to just say "hi" or something like that...I couldn't even say it?!
"Because, you're just a little girl."
I went limp. Everyone, even Zine had derived upon that meaning. I was just a little girl and the most horrible thing was...that it was true. Was this how discrimination felt like? Since I was a little girl, I had no values of my own to with hold?
"Fine, I didn't want to talk with you anyway," I said quickly, trying to claw at him through his sweater. "I'll talk to Zine then, he doesn't live too far--OWW!"
I rubbed the outside of my thigh, a searing sting prickling onto my flesh. He had pinched me! He then threw me off of him, sending my body to bounce on the springy mattress. I quickly tugged my shirt down and closed my legs. I hadn't even told him who Zine was yet, but I figured he had already found out that he was the one from the fair. Real was quick like that.
He then sat up right, unzipping his sweater. He threw the thin garment on the ground and turned to look at me. What was he doing?
He pointed at me, then at the floor.
"You. Sleep," he commanded. I stared at his finger and then at the ground. He didn't possibly want me to sleep on the floor, did he? The more important question though was, was he actually going to sleep in my room?
I crawled over to the edge of the bed and peered over. I shook my head. This was my house, my room and my bed. There was no way I was going to take orders from him in my house.
I found myself too late to protest when he shoved me over the edge of the bed and I was sent plummeting onto the floor. I quickly sat up right and tugged my t-shirt down. I pointed at him.
"That's my bed!" I declared. "Get off! You sleep on the floor!"
A pillow smacked against my face and I silenced.
"Shut up and go to sleep," he said quickly, then tucked himself into MY covers. I grumbled to myself, sending him unnoticed glares to his back. How dare he! And not even a blanket to sleep with! I turned off the lights and placed my head upon the pillow.
Although grudgingly, I surrendered to the depths of sleep, my eyes closing and my mind reeling to the Sandman's haven. I had been defeated yet again.
I didn't sleep for long when I felt something prod against my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked towards my window. It was so dark out, probably around 2:00. I could tell, because I usually woke up around this time to use the bathroom.
I looked up and found Real hovering over me, his hair all messy and bed-headish. I wanted to laugh but I was too tired to do so.
"Sleep with me?"
I didn't care.
"Just let me go to sleep," I whispered. And as if I said yes, he picked me up and dragged me to the bed. He plopped me down and settled himself into the blankets. I remained on top of the blankets though. Even though it was rather cold out, I was still too tired and lazy to position myself, so I just left it at that.
"Get under," I heard him say curtly. I just curled into myself and pretended not to hear him. I was just so tired.
"Get under," he commanded again. I shrugged him off and mumbled something inaudible.
"Why?" I asked groggily. "I'm good."
"I wanna' hug you."
I was still very sluggish and tired, but I didn't let his statement escape. I sighed and shifted my body, tucking the blankets over myself. The warmth of it heated my skin, which felt really good. I snuggled into the blankets and into my non-existent pillow that was still on the floor. I sighed once again.
I felt his weight shift over to my side of the bed. His hands wrapped around my waist and brought me closer. My back was pressed against his chest, his breath tickling the nape of my neck.
I was glad that I had locked the door to my room earlier.