She's humming the lyrics to that Katy Perry song, while rummaging through the fridge and it just grinds my last nerve. The sad part is, it's not even because of the insulting lyrics, it's the fact that our little arrangement, in actuality, is far less admirable than all the cheap suggestive content of that song. I'm starting to feel dirtier and dirtier, how could I have fallen to such depths, where my life's situation is failing in comparison to someone who sang "you're so gay". I mean really Perry do you even know what you're talking about? "…sitting in the rain reading Hemingway"? Hemingway might just be the heights of masculinity, as far as writing style is concerned, and nobody should dare defend her because she probably can't even spell irony. Fucking bar sexual. Hmm, why do I feel like an angry feminist blogger right now?
Damn it, now she's looking at me funny from behind the refrigerator door. I probably have rant face. Haha, I do tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve.
"What?" I ask, doing my best to sound annoyed.
Alice Cullen slams the fridge door, holding her recently acquired can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. She's staring at me in the couch, slowly taking in my no doubt scruffy appearance, cut off short shorts, wife beater, tangled hair and all. It almost seems like she's going to snap back, when she opens the can. Her distaste seems to dissipate with the slow hiss of the alcoholic beverage.
She tilt's her head to the side and scoffs. It's a cute gesture, really it is, but then again half the cutest things in the world are poisonous, tree frogs for example.
"Nothing...jeeze!" she finally says while throwing one hand in the air in mock surrender. "It's like you're holding world war four in that big head of yours, half the time, or you're holding in a fart." She scrunches up her nose cutely and saunters off.
"Yeah, I am holding one in, and when you least expect it, it's gonna be dutch ovens all round"
Never said I was classy.
She turns around to face me and stares up at the ceiling, her expression halfway between amusement and disgust.
"Gaa, bella, I swear, you should have been a guy" Yeah and you should have been a tree climbing monkey. Cute as a button but you still throw shit around when you're pissed.
"That may be true, but then you probably would have to seek your jollies else where" I say with a smirk.
"Oh fuck off you' aren't that good, and dykes are atleast 70% male any ways, something to do with your jeans and t-shirts" she smirks at her cheesy pun.
Is life really this serious? Half the time I don't know whether she's joking or not. She's definitely not the best or the brightest(she might be the prettiest so it's not too far fetched to assume she's highly deluded.
"I'm not a dyke" I respond testily.
"haha, sure you aren't, your just my personal pussy licker, freelance of course. No attachments, no questions." She's smugly replies. Knowing we've had this conversation before.
"Don't"
"Don't what Bella?" She says with a pout while slowly making her way over to me.
"Don't try to make me out to be a lesbian, because you'll implicate yourself as well."
She's right beside me now, slightly hovering over my sulking form.
"implicate?" she says as if she's either confused about the actual meaning of the word or debating how that could ever apply to her in this situation.
"That's where you're wrong Bella" she continues while straddling me on the couch.
I go rigid, of course, when she starts leaning into me. She holds the side of my face with her free hand, in a parody of a tender gesture between lovers. She suddenly twists my face to the side forcefully and whispers in my ear.
"I can't be "implicated" The emphasis on the word causes me to cringe a little."…because I, never returned the favor"
"well..umm" awesome comeback, I'm trying out for the debate team tomorrow.
She remains perfectly still in her current position, letting out little puffs of warm air on the side of my face, while I try to formulate a response. She suddenly leans in close enough to make contact and grins into my cheek before she licks the side of my face.
She hops off of me before I can even register what has happened.
She's back to hovering over me, with a triumphant gleam in her eye.
"Oh yeah" she says as if an afterthought has just struck her. "I also can't be implicated, because I don't get wet just thinking about our little one-sided activities." That said, she poured out some of her beer, which landed right on the front patch of my denim shorts, seeping quickly to my core.
"Bitch!" Is all I could manage to squeal out, before she ran away through the front door of our shared dorm.
A/N: I'm not sure how this works, so I'm just going to ask if anyone is interested in being my beta for this fic.