Notes: The 'get out' theme begins in this chapter! Oh my! And another shoutout to TheGoofyCat because she's pretty much the only person reviewing this. Not that I'm hinting at you other guys reading this or anything. HINT.
Disclaimer: Cobras are Stephen King's, everyone else isn't.
Chapter Ten.
Fixing a glare on my face, I twisted in my seat and forced my attention onto Ace Merrill, stood only a few feet behind my chair. "What are you doing in my room?"
Ace held up his hands in mock-offence, grinning, "Whoa, such hostility! I just came to say 'Hi'."
Still speaking through gritted teeth, I reminded him, "You said 'Hi' in the hall."
Making an obvious show of ignoring me, Ace hooked his thumbs into his jeans and let his eyes wander around my bedroom. "I expected more books," he said with vague disappointment.
Thinking to myself that this was probably another of his 'make-you-spend-time-in-my-presence-even-though-you don't-want-to' games, I forewent all prior politeness I'd managed to keep until then and told him to get out.
He cocked a smile at the words and, instead of doing what I'd asked (demanded, really), seated himself on the edge of my bed. When he finally re-acknowledged my presence, after pressing into the firmness of the mattress and glancing around the room again, he did it by looking pointedly at what I was wearing, his eyes skimming over the ugly clothes that hid everything except my neck, arms and ankles.
He clicked his tongue and sighed, "You're not even keepin' up the bathin' suit tradition for my visits."
A little louder than last time, I told him again, "Get out."
Internally thankful that my room was tidy and there were none of my clothes (though it was underwear I was thinking about) strewn about the place, I let my hand grab onto the corner of the thickest nearby textbook – a whopping three inches – on my desk and wondered what he'd do if I hurtled the thing at him.
Ace, as always, was amused by the predicaments he kept putting me in and continued his faux dissatisfaction, "Honestly? I feel like I'm the only one trying in this relationship."
Aware that, if he didn't leave right then, I was going to make some animalistic noises of rage and probably try and bludgeon him to death with a science book, I swiftly raised the book above my head, primed to throw. With some surprise and a lopsided grin, Ace silently challenged me to 'go ahead', and I silently challenged him to 'just give me another reason to'.
My arm started to ache a lot quicker than expected, and I suddenly remembered, a minute into our stare-off, the first time I'd heard that Ace Merrill carried a knife on him. I wondered if he'd ever used it. I wondered why the hell I'd thought it was such a bright idea to stand up to him. It wasn't there more than a few seconds but Ace saw the fear flicker across my face. The usual smirk appeared on his face and he appeared to lose interest, rising off my bed and letting himself out of my room without a word.
I looked through the open door, watching him make his way down the stairs, and let the book fall out of my hand, hitting the desk with a satisfying bang. Considering whether or not I had just gotten out of what could have been a dangerous situation, I smiled sourly and thought all situations Ace Merrill were dangerous.
Getting out of my chair, still feeling some of the adrenaline, I took a few strides over to the door and slammed it shut without any restraint. No doubt, Ace would have taken some pleasure in knowing how easily he got to me, and was probably laughing to himself downstairs. I considered whether or not to prop the chair I had been sitting on under the door knob, just in case he decided to pay me another surprise visit. Knowing that if he did try to get in again, the fact that I'd barred the door would probably keep the grin plastered on his face all summer, I instead chose to sit at the head of the bed with a book, allowing the door to stay in my peripherals.
The familiar rhythm of the tiles being chipped away returned twenty-or-so minutes later and I hesitantly let myself get lost in my book. It was some time later that I realized I'd missed an opportunity - that I could have used the bathroom whilst he was downstairs rather than needing to use it whilst he occupied it. Trying to concentrate on the pages before me, I felt like my door slamming had gone to waste and groaned in self-defeat. Forced contact with Ace Merrill was one thing, forced contact with Ace Merrill whilst your legs were doing the recognizable I-really-need-to-use-the-bathroom dance was another. So, rather than attempting to wait him out, which could have only ended with me embarrassing myself, I opened my door and walked to the bathroom entrance.
Tiles, whole and broken, were piled into buckets, clumps of dry plaster and dust covered the entire floor, dancing whenever a breeze came through the open window. Ace, who also had a layer of dust on him, was in the bathtub, balancing on his heels as he chiselled away at the surrounding wall.
I cleared my throat to announce my presence when he failed to notice I was there.
He offered me a glance, not turning to fully look at me, before directing his gaze back to the wall, "I'm working."
Well, that was a new game.
Folding my arms over my chest and stepping into the arch of the doorway, I told him, "I need to use the bathroom."
Ace jerked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the toilet, making no effort to leave. Seeing my glare, he tried to console me with a smile, "I won't peek."
Reminding myself that 'He probably has a knife, seriously, don't do anything to piss him off.' I peeled my eyes off the hammer that was resting on the edge of the bathtub and stated, "I'd prefer some privacy."
"So would I - I'm trying to work here." He assumed his earlier despondent tone, "You can't keep interrupting me with your window shopping."
His words hit me like a fever, and I could feel the blush spread all the way to the tips of my ears. "I am – I am not window shopping." Stopping myself from going on a tirade into how it was always him interrupting me and how I never 'window shopped', I reaffirmed that I only wanted to use the bathroom, nothing more.
Ace stepped out of the bath and stretched, "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart – I've seen the way you look at me."
My jaw dropped. All I knew was that I looked at him with annoyance and resentful tolerance. Maybe he'd interpreted that as something else. But maybe, maybe, I had been concentrating on him too much when he was painting the house - with and without a shirt on - and some other hormone-fuelled emotion filtered through and he'd picked up on it.
Still in the midst of my self doubt, Ace brushed passed me in the doorway, carrying some of the filled buckets. He leant into me and murmured, "Fucking me with your eyes."
Filled with pride, he jogged down the stairs, the buckets rattling along with his chuckle. Slamming yet another door, I only sat down on the toilet seat once I had the hammer clenched in both my fists, my ears still burning.
Back in my bedroom, I told myself that 'It's only today and when I go pick up the car, that's it' and tried to calm down, believing it was the penultimate time we'd be within three yards of one another. I didn't bother to question why he decided to keep playing those games with me, I figured it was one of the few ways he and his gang passed the time without getting into trouble - annoying society was the Cobras' forte, a talent they had clearly turned into an art form over the years.
I waited until I could hear him back in the bathroom before I let my attention wander away from the closed bedroom door and rest back upon my book, occasionally repeating 'Once more after this. Once.' in my head.
A few chapters through and it became obvious that Ace Merrill wasn't satisfied with our last interaction being our last for the day. He pushed the door wide open, with some relief I noted how he didn't attempt to shut himself in with me, and sat down near the foot of the bed.
Instinctively, I drew my legs closer to my chest and away from him. I would have moved away from the bed entirely, but he had showed more than once that he got off – in his own twisted way – at making me feel uncomfortable, so I stayed put, kept my eyes stuck to the words on the page and tried to pretend it was entirely normal for the leader of the local gang to be sat on my bed. With me.
Knowing he probably wouldn't leave if I just ignored him – I'd made that mistake before – I took to peering at him as I turned the page. Ace was already looking at me, his eyes lingering near my shoulders. Due to the heat wave we were experiencing, I'd unbuttoned the first four buttons of the shirt, but he wasn't looking at the camisole underneath - he was looking at the tan-lines wrapped around my neck, ones that had been created by the bikini straps.
I turned back to the book, holding it ever-so-slightly higher to try and obscure his view. The weight shifted on the bed, and, fearing the worst, I wondered how quickly I could make it to the door. Nothing happened. Looking over my book once again, I saw Ace, leaning back on his elbows, relaxed. At my expense. On my bed.
Our eyes met, and I quickly directed my eyes back to my book.
"What are you reading?"
He would need to be blind not to see the title, but I gave in to his attempted small talk and answered, "Jane Eyre."
A few silent seconds passed, "For school?"
"No." I was instantly pleased that I had chosen to look at him when I responded – the disbelief on his face as the thought 'people read for fun?' probably circulated through his mind was priceless.
Just as I was about to focus back on the small print, mom walked into the room. I became excited for the scolding she had never given me – there was a boy in my room! on my bed! I looked at her and hoped I wasn't grinning.
"Oh, good, you're both here."
Wait. What?
Really, I should know her by now. Of course she wasn't going to make a fuss about the most notorious teenager in town, Ace Merrill, nearly laid down on my bed like he belonged there – that would be reasonable. She surveyed us with a smile and remained in the doorway, completely unfazed. "We're out of milk, anything you guys want me to pick up in town?"
I had several problems with that statement. The first being the fact that she was more than ready to leave me alone, in the house, with Ace Merrill. Secondly, she'd grouped us together with 'you guys', just like she did when she asked me and my friends or me and Davey something - I was not comfortable with being grouped with him. And lastly, that she'd wanted to know if Ace wanted anything from town, like he was part of the family - there was being courteous and there was throwing common sense out of the window and asking what Ace Merrill wanted.
Too aghast to even answer her question, silently hoping she'd realize what the heck she was suggesting, I heard Ace speak up.
"What were those cheese things you made for me and the guys?" He was still resting on his elbows.
"The cheese twists? There's some still in the fridge – Judy'll heat them up for you."
I didn't even attempt to put on a fake smile, I just bit my lip to stop myself from screaming at the two of them.
Mom left, after confirming that there was nothing either of us wanted, and I belatedly remembered that since she didn't have a car any more, she'd be walking into town. I wrestled with the idea of going after her and offering to go, but that would have left my room unguarded and before I knew it I heard the front door slam and it was just the two of us.
Alone in the house. On the bed.
Unable to focus on anything, I stared at the book laid in my lap and hoped that my feigned indifference was convincing. The words eventually began to blur and, irritated, I asked him, "Shouldn't you go back to tiling?"
"I'm taking a break."
In my room? Great.
This chapter was brought to you by GEEZ, GLORIA, BE MORE AWARE.