A/N: This chapter contains literally 99.4% cussing, arguing, and suggested themes. To all those male readers out there: please have some tolerance. This chapter is significantly smaller than my others, whoops. Only 8 pages. *sigh*
Chapter Eight: Magnitism and Repulsion
You know what the worst feeling to wake up to is?
Upset stomach, headache, sore throat, stuffy nose, and a puddle of red on your brand new, white sheets.
And you know what the worst thing to realize in a time like this is?
I forgot to buy feminine products at the store, it's eleven o'clock, and I have a spar with Kiba today at noon.
How could this day get any worse?
I run to the store looking like an infected wolf and walk out looking even worse. When I arrive home I make a beeline straight to the bathroom to hurl up the empty contents of my stomach. How delightful. The instant ramen temporarily allays the discomfort in my throat, but, in retaliation, the virus forces that out of my stomach, too. My tissues seem to vanish only minutes after opening a new box, and my sheets take at least twenty minutes to scrub clean.
I throw on a black sports bra and spandex before covering myself with a gray, oversized, long sleeve top and a pair of maroon sweatpants. My hair and face look like absolute and utter shit, and I feel the exact same way. Messy waves cascade over my shoulders in stands of soft blonde, and its usual coconut aroma is replaced my a smell of sickness.
Seriously - and I mean seriously - how could this day get any worse?
It probably isn't in my best interest to jinx it; for if this day were to worsen, it would probably have to do with that fleabag.
A knock on the door supports my hypothesis and once glance through the peek hole confirms my suspicion.
"Oi, Reikoku, it's twelve-thirty." Kiba's irritated voice is followed by angry knocks on the door. I sigh before swinging the door open, and I greet Kiba's surprised face by wiping my nose on my sleeve.
"What do you want?" I wheeze, my voice muffled my a stuffy nose.
"Well then," He scoffs, taking a look at my plight. "I guess I see why you didn't show up."
"No shit, wow, I didn't know you were so smart." I retort, sniffling with a roll of my eyes.
"What's that odor? It smells like copper."
"You smell like copper, douchebag. Don't insult the smell of my goddamn house."
"Are you pmsing?"
I grit my teeth, contemplating for a moment on my anger, and finally give to slapping him across the face. My hand stung slightly after the ring on skin against skin died down. "You know," I growl, narrowing my eyes, "periods are just things that girls make up so they don't have to hook up with you."
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry." He says ironically, glaring at me with his hand on his throbbing cheek. "I didn't mean to offend you. How could I ever repay you, princess? Bring you ice cream and cookies?"
"Yeah, that'll work." I say, nodding. He stands there as if expecting something as a moment of silence washes over.
"So are you going to let me in or leave me out here?"
"Not until you bring me what you promised."
"I didn't promise you anything. It was sarcasm-"
"Dammit, you fucking motherfucker, bring me some goddamn ice cream and cookies or I will take a royal shit in your fucking sink."
"My god, woman, is that your favorite word?"
"I'm just pissed and happy at the same time." I scoff, looking aside.
"Aw, you're happy to see me? How cute."
"Tch. Never in a lifetime, loser. I'm just happy that you're bringing me ice cream and cookies. Now do me a favor and get your ass to the store." I push him toward the stairs, earning a frown. "Vanilla and chocolate chip!" I slam the door.
Oh, how I hate that guy.
After closeing the door and plop into bed, feeling suddenly ill. I take a tissue and blow my nose before wrapping my arms around a navy body pillow and closing my eyes. My head pounds against my skull in synchronization with my heart, and the goosebumps all over my skin make way for sweat.
XXX
I wake to the sound of metal against glass, and I my eyes find Kiba in the kitchen with a spoon in the ice cream box. He scoops the frozen vanilla treat into an opaque glass bowl and places a warm cookie on the side.
"How the hell did you get in my house?" I blurt, causing him to turn around and pace toward me, bowl in hand.
"Looks like you calmed down a little bit."
"Answer me you twat. How did you get in my house?"
"Did you just call me a vag?-"
"What the hell! I called you a jerk!"
"You left the door unlocked, sheesh." He hands me the ice cream, and I sit up. "Quit being so foul mouthed and be greatful that I'm even here."
"Why should I be?" I say as I shove an enormous bite of ice cream down my throat. "You're lowsy."
Kiba turns away from me. "How the hell did my dad put up with this every month for so long?" I narrow my eyes at the back of his head. What did he just say?
I polish off the remaining ice cream and savor the freshly baked cookie before turning on my side. "I'm going to bed."
"Good for you." I hear the door creak open and slam. Silence.
XXX
The question I should be asking is: Why the hell is Kiba still in my apartment and why is he sleeping on the foot of my bed?
But the question I am asking is: why the hell does he look so... cute?
Forget that: why is Kiba sleeping on the foot of my bed?
His roughly carved biceps wrap around a throw pillow and his legs are intwined with the comforter like a woven basket. His chest rises and falls from underneath his thin, cotton white tee-shirt - that oh-so-thin material that appears to transfer a lucid image of what lies below. That small, fang tooth peeking barely from his pouting lips seems to bob up and down as breath escapes his slightly parted mouth. His face is near my foot, so near that they almost touch, and his brown-copper hair falls loosely about his face. He seems so peaceful when he's sleeping, like he's a totally not a abrasive jerk.
I need to hit him. In the face. Hard. With my lips.
Wait, what?
I have been finding myself asking that question a lot more lately, but he just looks so innocent - like I could confess to him something from the bottom of my heart and he'd welcome me with open arms.
But, wait, there's nothing to confess.
It has nothing to do with him - nothing. He could be Choji and I still would be out of my
mind if he was sleeping at the bottom off my bed - any male for that matter. I'm like an ill, useless dog in heat.
Did I just use a fucking ovulating dog as a simile?
Oh, god, I hate hormones.
I am filled with terror as Kiba's eyes slowly open; he appears to be in a daze, but he won't be oblivious for long.
"Go back to bed." He says, getting up and standing beside me. His hand reaches out and rests on my forehead, and my face instantly warms; I can feel the redness all over. I bite my lip, eyes widening. "High fever."
"Don't touch me!" I swat his hand away and flip over so that I don't have to look at him. "Dumbass."
"Sorry for trying to help."
"You make things worse. Leave."
"Gladly."
"Shut up."
"Didn't you just tell me to leave?"
I lift myself up and face him, vexed and nonetheless embarrassed. I squeeze a pillow to my chest and furrow my brow. My lips quiver, but my eyes seethe. A heated rush depowers me, forcing my eyes to avert as I turn my face to the side. I can feel the color-let me add that this is a rage-fueled color-change in my face, no matter how hard I resist it.
"Why would you think it's okay for you to sleep on my bed?" I growl, still refusing to meet his eyes. He lifts his shoulders and gives a confused look.
"Huh?"
"Why were you on my damn bed?"
"Because I was tired?"
I swear I want to kiss - um, I mean kill - him so badly it hurts.
I need help. My mind says one thing and my body says another, and I'll admit that I'm blatantly confound. I feel oppressed, infuriated, and flustered at once; I want to scream at Kiba for messing me up, but I also want him to mess me up - and oh my god, I hate myself.
I hate everything. I hate Kiba. I hate being female.
All of my problems would be solved if he would leave, but at the same time I silently wonder why I slightly want him to stay.
It's just physical attraction: I promise it is. I hate him. A lot. He's annoying and vain and conceited and abrasive and loud and rude and he treats me like shit, yet he also is in my house right now caring for me while I'm sick. But I still don't like him. For a moment when we first met I thought we could become friends, but all that changed when he showed his true colors. He's uptight and analogous to me-I hate people like me-so I hate him with a burning passion. We don't fit, we oppose-friction sparks a fire between us that separates us. And I definitely am not going to douse those flames because I'm scared of what will happen if I do.
Knock me down and I'll stand back up, fighting stronger. If he's so much like me, then putting out those flames would be a mistake.
I've said it before: physical attraction does not equal emotional attraction. I'm still recovering from Aisuru-kun and them, no matter how often I tell myself I'm over it I know I'm not. I lie to myself all the time.
I know I don't like him. I'm positive; I'm not lying this time. I mean-who could like him? He's hard to get along with.
I find that my thoughts lately have always had something to do with him. Fate has a funny way of punishing me for my wrongdoings. He's been an active figure in my life ever since I came to this place, and, for some reason, he's behind every door I open.
I hate it, yet I don't mind it sometimes; it's like I'm completely bipolar. I have mixed emotions for everything. There's so much that I understand that likewise confuses me.
I'm conflicted; I'm always so god damn conflicted. I don't know why, but I also do know why.
Dammit, Mikasu, just make up your mind already.
He likes dogs, I prefer cats. He likes red, I like blue. He likes chocolate, I like vanilla. He's an idiot douchbag, I'm an insolent jackass. Well, those last two are actually the same, but that's not the point. It's a healthy, hatred-fueled relationship, and I wouldn't dream of anything more than that; however, I fret over this urge to wrap his arms around me and snuggle into his warm, comforting chest.
And that, on it's own, is enough to make me want to bash my head on a rock multiple times. Nothing about that is even somewhat healthy.
And by rock I mean those rock hard abs of his-I mean just look at him.
Forget that, because I'm not healthy in the first place. This thobbing headache has me possessed by my own stubbornness and confusion. If there's anything that applies to me right now it's confused and stubborn.
But one thing does make sense to me: I hate him, he hates me, and I definitely need some fresh air.
Scratch that, nothing I say makes sense.
And, in the midst of my terribly fluxuating personality war, I remember my promise with Hinata. The mortifying part is, I'm going to have to talk to him while I'm in this plight.
I was so deep in thought I didn't even notice he had left the room. The light from underneath the bathroom door flickers out and the door knob jiggles uncertainly. The sound of tap water from the sinks ceases as the door swings wide open, revealing a tired-looking young man. His hair looks like a rat's nest, but somehow manages to look somewhat okay. Actually, it looks terrible, but I can't bring myself to merely think that.
It's just a phase. It's just a phase. It's just a phase.
My head swirls as I sit up from my bed. Kiba gives me a glare, biting his lip in concern.
"Sit back down." He whines. "Didn't I tell you to sleep?"
"I'm done sleeping." I say, voice groggy with soreness. My throat burns as I swallow, causing me to flinch. "I promised Hinata I'd meet her for lunch."
"You're not going anywhere in that state." He growls, crossing his arms.
"Damn, you're protective. You say it as if you really care." I sigh ironically. "I made a promise that I intend to keep."
"Hinata was worried and already came, so I told her you were sick and would reschedule. It's way past lunch time, Reikoku."
"Quit calling me that, it's annoying as hell." I scoff, laying back down in the bed. "How would you like it if I called you Inuzuka? Isn't it annoying?"
"No," He breathes, sitting on my low, rounded table, "not really. In fact, it's more normal than calling me by my first name."
"Then I guess it's just you, Inuzuka."
"No, actually, It's just you."
He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back. I suddenly feel small - slightly self-conscious, even - for a second under his prying eyes, and I avert my gaze elsewhere. I can sense a smirk on his face as I nibble on my lip. I roll over to face away and feel instantly relieved, but I can still feel his eyes on me.
"I can feel you staring at me, dude." I cuddle into the blankets, sighing.
"Only because you have a stray hair sticking straight up! It's driving me nuts." He gets up from the table and I feel the bed dip. "Here."A slight tug on my scalp indicates him brushing my hair down. Oh my god he's touching my hair. Lord, help me.
"I said, don't touch me!" I whirl around, sitting up. He jumps back, his face contorting.
"Dammit, I didn't touch you!"
"Don't come anywhere near me, got it? You mutt!" I grunt, expressing my frustration. I clamp my fist into the sheets, barring my teeth. I honestly am not that angry, but I argue out of my pent up emotions.
"Who you calling a mutt? You're some satanic fox!"
"Demented? Please, am I really so worthless to you that I'm demonic?" I yell, feeling actual rage.
"Yeah, you are! You're absolutely terrible! You're violent and impulsive and rude!" He spits, venom dripping from his lips.
"Same goes for you, jackass. How about you check yourself for once! You're not much better!"
"Then why am I even here? In fact, I don't even know the answer to that! Because I definitely don't care!"
"Really? Then go ahead and leave. I'm done with your games."
I can't tell you how scary it is to me to actually feel hurt by him storming out the door, slamming it so hard that the whole room shakes. Tears spring in my eyes for no reason at all, because I hate him. I guess I hate him so much it would make me cry.
But in reality, I know I'm crying because he hates me proabably more than I hate him, and that is something I wish I didn't know.
It seems we have a thread of magnetism, and a stronger blade of repulsion.
Ooh, drama. :) The plot will progress massively soon, and I had to get in a chapter with a fight! Hehehe. Question: does anyone want a Kiba's POV? R&R, Thanks! .^.
