An Iggy Fanfiction
You really learn to love someone like him.
He's Iggy. The pyro, that's bomb-obsessed, your favorite trickster, and that class clown that you have feelings for only because of his voice.
Yup, that's him.
And you're you. Monique Johnson the mocha-skinned girl. Nudge, he calls you. The non-stop Nudge-channel, the motor mouth, the girl who always lets her heart get in the way.
It's funny, the way you met—you'd think it came out of some cliché romance or something. You sometimes wish; but some dreams just don't come true. Some people are just too good. Like Iggy.
It was your freshmen year; he was a sophomore. He turned out to be your partner in math. But you had first seen him; in the halls. When he bumped into you muttering how he didn't even see you.
Loving him, is part of you. You found yourself because of him, and without him you're afraid you'll crumble. And die into nothing. That's what you're most afraid of.
But when he smiles at other girls, or asks you if you think his hair is okay, because he wants to flirt with that one girl Mexican girl. Your heart hurts.
…
[Chat room with N-Chanel and Igthepyro]
N-Chanel: Hey igs.
Igthepyro: waz up?
N-Chanel: nothin' much. Can I come over, I got history hw to kill.
IgthePyro: ehh…? Sorry, cant. Invited Ella Martinez over for dinner, wat about friday?
N-Chanel: wow…okay then friday then? Though im having a party at my place, you better make it this time.
Igthepyro: Yah, that'd be great. Do u think she'll like roses?
[N-Chanel Has logged out. Messages will automatically sent to her Messages]
Igthepyro: Nudge?
Igthepyro: Fuck.
…
He's calling you. He has been for the past 30 minutes. He's worried, you know that. But you want him to suffer, just a little bit. Because he kills you ((your heart)) all the time.
You decide on sending him a text. A really long one with an explanation. ((mostly ranting about nothing, you don't want him to suspect))
You know he doesn't buy it, and he won't. But he takes what he gets and wishes himself luck. You reply with: LOL.
And he replies: Talk later.
…
The next day, he announces to the world that he has a girlfriend.
The next day, you don't pick him up from his house.
The next day, you don't show up to math class either. Or to lunch. Or to school at all, for that matter.
The next day, you cry. A lot.
…
On Friday you plan a party. It's your party, your big birthday bash. Everyone who's anyone from school will be there. But the only thing you're looking forward to is the lock on your door and a bottle of your dad's finest wines. And drink until you can't feel.
You open the doors to your peers, and wait for the chaos to begin. They flood in, like rushing water from a broken dam.
And you hope he shows up tonight, even though you know this isn't his "scene". You know he's probably forgotten about you and your birthday.
You thread your way away from the flood of people. The music is pounding in your ears, and you feel like your head is going to burst. You love dancing, you love music, you love attention. But right now, you feel like shit. And you convince yourself that a little liquid courage would defiantly help.
You look nice, sexy even. You know this because guys all over the dance floor are smiling at you, telling you they can give a "great time".
Your brown curls and curled perfectly so they frame your face; the light makeup makes your eyes look even darker than they are. The mascara making your eyelashes lush and long. Your dress, a dark crimson, is a sleeveless form-fitting dress that cuts right above the mid-thigh.
Yet you feel ugly, because if he comes you know he'll look right over you.
But yet, a small part inside you hopes, hopes he'll notice you, hope he'll think you look nice, maybe even attractive. And you can get the real birthday gift you've wanted.
…
[New text message from Iggy]
(Open?)
((yes)) or (no)
From: Iggy
To: me
Message: where the hell r u? your house is packed. I have been looking 4 u 4ever. Meet me upstairs?
(reply?)
((yes)) or (no)
From: me
To: Iggy
Message: coming.
(Send?)
((yes)) or (no)
[Message sent]
…
You're tripping up the fucking stairs, you're running so fast. You want to see him, yet you are afraid of what he'll say. How he will question you. Judge you.
The alcohol is running through your veins, still very present. You can't hold your liquor for your life. You really hope he doesn't notice.
You turn the corner toward your bedroom, because you know that's the only place he'd be. Once you're at the door, you hesitate. Should you knock? Should you just walk in apologizing for ignoring in the entire week? Should you make something up? Should you just tell him the truth?
You finally walk in and see him sitting on the bed facing the other way. He's looking out the window, down onto the street. But once I step in, he turns.
And he looks you. He stares at you.
His eyes walk from your eyes, then slowly down your body. As if trying to memorize you, he snaps them back up. And you can tell by his tense jaw that he's angry. Very angry.
He looks nice, in a light blue button-up clad with brown khakis. His hair is tousled, like he was running or something.
"Nudge?"
You break the gaze. Because you won't be able to handle it much longer. You're tired, oh so fucking tired. And your heart hurts from pushing him away, from ignoring him, from trying to hurt him.
You realize the only thing you're afraid of after being without him, is being hated by him. So you crumble again.
You hate loving him.
"I hate loving you,"
His eyes widen, and you realize you've said it. You told him, your feelings.
But when you look into his eyes, the only thing there kills you; pain.
"Why?" He comes up to you, holding your face is his large warm hands. Warm hands. His face is twisted in pain, and you stomach drops lower, to the late reaction. His gaze is once again locked with yours. Clear blue with dark brown meshing with uncertainty.
"Because, it… it hurts." You attempt to turn away, because you don't want to see him. But his strong hands keep you from any movement. "I've always loved you,"
His eyes bulge, and you wonder if your love for him shocks him, that much. Or scares him, maybe. Because his hands drop to his sides, and your heart drops to your toes.
"I'm in love with you, Ig… I-I can't do this thing, of ignoring you. But I can't live next to you, not being able to tell you that, every day. 'Cause it hurts. Like when you tell me you like a girl, or want to ask me to ask her if she likes you, or lie to you, anymore. Ig, it's not fair."
But you can't catch that gorgeous look on his face, because you split. You turn as fast as you can, and run the other way, your scarlet pumps kick off your feet and you run, run down the stair through the crowd of people pushing, shoving. Out the door, across the lawn, and down the street.
You run about a mile, maybe a mile and a half, you've always kinda been in shape thanks you Max Ride, your cousin who is exercise freak and always manages to have a rockin' body whenever you see her.
You stop, clutch your chest and try to breathe, your panting hard, and tears begin to spill and your full-out sobs wrench through your body, leaving you gasping for air, and you don't know how to stop. You crumble once more. And all you know is that it hurts.
You are so cold, and you feel stupid, because snow is falling. You gaze up and watch the little frail flakes fall on your nose. You wonder what it would be like, to just fall so effortlessly, so freely with no worries with no stress. To be so small and graceful. You wonder, and you envy the small snowflake.
The heels of you heels ache, and you think you saw a flash of blood on your feet, but the thought disappears quickly.
You don't know how, but this random thoughts of common sense struck your mind saying:
Get up, you look pathetic.
You suddenly will yourself to breathe, just fucking breathe.
And you do, the sobs stop and now sound like strained cries for help, then just unevened breaths. Your heart is still pounding in your ears, but at least you can breath now. Even with the over flowing feelings of sadness, you need to go home, take an hot scorching bath, and sleep until midday tomorrow. Walking back home takes awhile, you suddenly realize either you were running really fast, or you were running for a real long time. Half way there, your legs begin to ache, and once you reach you house you really feel like you're going pass out. Your legs are so numb, you don't feel the biting cold. You notice the party is dead, which doesn't make sense because it's not even sunset yet. The house looks like a tornado swept through it, but you need sleep and there's always tomorrow. You head upstairs, strip from your clothes, take a short bath, slip some pj's on and snuggle under the blankets. Your finally in bed, exhaustion sweeps over you like a wave, but before it drowns you, your phone vibrates next to you.
You look at the small phone on the tabletop beside you, and usually you'd ignore it, because come on, why should you answer a text message when you are just oh so fucking tired. Though you have this gut feeling, somesort of intuition that common sense will never understand, and you feel that maybe some high power, god maybe karma, wants you to read that text message. So you do.
[New text message from Iggy]
You freeze. Iggy texted you? You feel numb, you don't know what or how to feel. Maybe reading it will tell you.
(Open?)
((yes)) or (no)
From: Iggy
To: me
Message: I disbanded your party. Sorry. The loudasses didn't even bring gifts anyway. Monique, i really don't know what to do from here. I feel horrible, but that's the truth. But we need to talk, and I want to, but I won't make you do anything you don't want to. I'm really sorry you had such a sucky birthday. I'm so sorry, darling. I'm outside. Let's talk?
…
You head pounds, but as always you let your heart get in the way. You push yourself out of bed, and run down the stairs and catching yourself from falling. You're still running, tripping over scattered debris, you push through the door;the cold air almost splashing it against you skin. You see him, and your breath catches because he is just there. He isn't looking at you, but gazing up at your window sill with a worried look on his face. You ignore all logic and run towards him throwing yourself into his arms.
A light smile has just touched his lips, and he pulls his strong, warm, warm, so so warm arms around you, and you finally feel safe. And you melt, you crumble, crumble into the insecure mess you, the jumble of self-doubt, you crumble into his arms.
He pressing his lips into you damp hair, breathing in you lavender scent. "I think I love loving you," he murmurs, and you heart swells. You turn up to look into those clear sky eyes, and you see what you really wanted for your birthday, what you really want forever. You wrap you arms around his waist holding the him tighter to you.
You whisper something you don't think he hears into his chest, like you telling his heart a secret that the owner will never know, "I think I love loving you, too,"
…
Ugh. Finally done, that took forever.
Well that was written for my best friend who loves Iggy, and because the Niggy fandom really needs to blossom a little. I always thought red would be gorgeous color for Nudge, because of her complexion. And I always thought, blue was Iggy's color. Opposites attract?
Well. Good bye.
Oh yeah, you should review. Planning for this to state a ONESHOT, but of you really want another one, or even a Fax one you should say so in the reviews.
Yup. Yeah. That's it, thanks for reading.