Life for Rent
A Total Drama Island Story
A/N: So, uh…I got several reviews, so I was inspired by those…if you want more, keep r-ing and r-ing!
Disclaimer: Nope.
Courtney's POV:
My last class on Tuesday and Thursday is the only class I have with Duncan. You can only imagine my horrification when the teacher asked Duncan, "Who's you guide?"
He points to me. "It's princess, over there."
I can hear mingled whispers and giggles of 'princess' behind me.
The teacher seems to find this very humorous. "Very well, then go sit next to her." She smirks.
I can't believe it. A teacher, smirking, at me. Or as she would put it, with me. I plaster a fake smile onto my face that feels as stiff as my hands, which are curled into balls.
The lesson is perfectly taught, easily understandable. I take neat, detailed notes in my binder. Duncan's just sitting there, looking dumbfounded, like he has no idea what she's saying. His binder isn't even open.
"Duncan! Take some notes, okay?" I hiss.
"Why do you care?"
I sputter. "I don't, I just don't want you kicked out of school on your second day here."
He smirks, then folds his arms. "You don't want me kicked out of school? Fine. Come over after school and you can help me with my notes, and the homework."
Sure enough, just as he finishes the sentence, the teacher assigns us an essay.
"I am not going to be seen going home with the likes of you!" I say indignantly, shuddering at the thought of the remarks that are sure to be headed my way if I do.
"Then just wait a few days, cause I'll be out of here and out of your hair."
As much as I hate to admit it to myself, I don't want him out. "Fine, but I'm not riding on that crazy motorbike. I'll walk from my house."
"Good."
The bell rings. He gathers his stuff and walks out the door without another word.
Duncan's POV:
John's waiting, of course, near the entrance. A few people gawk at his motorbike. I don't say a thing, just put the helmet over my head and hold tight for the crazy ride ahead of me.
When I get there, my neighbor is waiting on his front porch. He's holding what looks like a bottle.
John doesn't seem surprised. "Duncan, you can go see James for a few minutes, but come over soon, I don't want his family to file charges."
"Whatever," I reply, going over to see what he wants.
Courtney's POV:
"Um, mom?" I call from my room. I check my watch. 3:50.
"Yes, sweetie?"
"I'm going over to…Bridgette's, to study for school," I lie hastily, using the name of my friend on the island for my made-up person
"Bridgette? Who's Bridgette?" She sounds suspicious.
"A new girl in my science class. She doesn't live far. I can just walk, I need the exercise."
She appears in the doorway of my room. "Alright, but you have to be back by six sharp, got it?"
"Yes, mom," I say, dutiful as always. I grab my stuff and head out the door.
Once I'm out, I turn the corner and hastily open the folded piece of paper in which Duncan scrawled his address. Good, it's only a few blocks from my house.
Oh my God. His house is a shack. It's gray with a wooden roof, and it's about the size of my parent's bedroom and my bedroom combined. How did he afford my school?
I ring the doorbell. Someone answers that I don't recognize, an older man with a barely-there black stubble and tired-looking gray eyes. He's watching sitcoms. "Hello?"
I try to gather my bearings. "Um, hi, I'm here to help Duncan with some homework. Are you his father?"
He says, "No, I'm his parole officer."
"Oh." Now I feel stupid.
"Come in, his room is upstairs, first door to the left. Scream if he tries to hurt you, I'll come up there."
I stand there with my mouth agape, but I manage to stutter, "O…kay, thanks, I'll do that." I grab my bag and head up to Duncan's room.
I rap on the door to his room. The door bares many scratches that are shaped like skulls. I snatch my hand back.
He answers the door. His shirt is on backwards. I decide not to question it
.
His room is totally trashed. An empty bottle and numerous soda cans are crumpled on the floor. I pick up the bottle and hold it up. "What happened in here?"
His expression doesn't even seem to register that I said anything. He's staring at me with a weird look on his face. I examine the bottle. It's…liquor?!
He's coming closer. I back up against the wall, dropping the bottle, but I don't scream in case his parole officer comes up.
I have never seen anyone drunk, to any extent. He's probably not even that drunk, but it still scares me. "D-Dun-Duncan…you're drunk." Way to go for stating the obvious.
"It shows who you really are, Courtney," he says, slightly slurred, and using my real name. He's about five inches from my face.
"Please, lie down. Um…go to sleep," I beg him. At least he'll be out of my hair.
"I want to do something first," he says, and I get really, really scared. I can't yell, his parole officer will come up. I don't want him in trouble.
"Duncan, please, stop…" I try, but he's only coming closer. He leans down and kisses me, hard on the mouth.
I try to push him away, but I'm really no match for him. The kiss grows deeper.
Finally, I manage to push him away, hard, so that he lands on his bed.
"What's wrong, Courtney?" he says, swaying from side to side.
"You're drunk, that's what's wrong!" I shout in a whisper. "And keep quiet, or your parole officer will come up." I shove him under his covers. He pulls me down onto his mouth.
"Get off me, Duncan!" I say against his mouth, shoving off him. He dutifully closes his eyes, and in seconds, he's asleep.
I'm breathing, hard. I stare at him for a second, not able to believe what just happened. After a few minutes of thinking, I decide to live up to my word, and I sit down on his desk, take out my homework, and shakily begin to write my essay.
After about an hour, at 5, I start packing up my stuff, convinced Duncan's not going to wake up in time.
But, much to my surprise, there's a loud groan from the bed.
Duncan's POV:
My head seriously hurts. I prop myself up on my hands, and a headache strikes me as hard as a bowling ball. I fall heavily back onto the pillows.
And then I realize someone's sitting at my desk, staring at me. Courtney.
"Courtney? What happened?" And then it all starts flowing back. James, the liquor…
"I got drunk, didn't I," I guess, and from the look on her face I can tell I hit the nail on the head.
"Yes, you did," she says. "I knew you were stupid, but this? This is just too much." She continues stuffing books into her bag.
"Look, I'm sorry," I apologize, sincerity marking my words. "My neighbor made me."
She stares at me disbelievingly. "He can't make you do things you don't want to do. Therefore, it was your choice." She puts the last book in her bag and zips it up. "I'm leaving now. Goodbye." She's really angry, and this time, she clearly has a right to be.
I'm not going to stop her from leaving, but I do want to know one thing.
"What did I do?"
Courtney's POV:
He was drunk. I can't believe this. Of all the things a delinquent could do, he gets drunk. I'm so angry with him.
"What did I do?"
This is going to be awkward. "Your fault you got drunk, figure it out." There. That sounded believable.
"Look, just tell me, then I'll leave you alone. You can leave."
I sigh. "You kissed me, you said being drunk shows the real you, and fell asleep. Detailed enough for you?"
He gets up and turns his shirt around in one move.
"What kind of kiss was it?" he asks, straightening out his sleeves.
"I'm leaving now," is all I say, then I open the door and head out of his house. His parole officer his dead asleep, the television still on. There's a half-eaten bowl of popcorn spilled at his feet.
I realize I'm shivering after I walk out the door. It's only five ten, and about eighty-five degrees out.
When I reach my house, my mother, father, and older sister Rebecca are in the middle of dinner. They look surprised to see me.
"Courtney? You're home early," my mom says, getting up from the table to spoon some fish onto a plate for me.
"I'm not hungry," I say. "Just put the fish in the fridge and I'll eat it tomorrow."
The steps to my to my room seem so long, but finally, I collapse onto my bed. I knew Duncan was bad but…I just can't seem to think what happened was real. Too scary. My family is too sensible to drink, but Duncan, at seventeen, really isn't.
I have everything, yet nothing, to say to him tomorrow. Maybe my actions said it all.