Yay! I finally got it done! I'm sorry for yet another long wait, and I'm afraid that there'll be another one before chapter thirteen. My knee surgery is tomorrow, and then I have to stay in the hospital for two to three days, and then after that, getting to the computer will probably be a chore, so I don't know when I can write the next section, let alone update. I promise that I'll go as fast as possible (even if I have to write it all up by hand).
Disclaimer: You lot don't really have to hear this anymore, do you?
WARNING: Yaoi action upcoming, my pretties! Might not be very good, but I wanted to give you something to tide you over. Boy x boy scene at the end!
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Twelve
Ed
I'm lucky that I don't crash the car on my way home. Al and I are talking about Russell and Fletcher's weekend—apparently they had quite the experience, what with some of their chickens literally flying the coop. And then almost got eaten by a coyote. Which was then chased off by a mountain lion.
Yeah, I don't know either.
"And why are they not dead?" I ask in disbelief. And then I almost swerve off the road, because Al's biting his lip, and all of a sudden I remember my conversation with Envy outside math class today. More importantly, I remember how his white teeth creased those perfect lips as he thought. I'm almost drooling when I realize that we're heading on a crash-course for the fields on the other side of the road, and quickly jerk the wheel to put us back on course. Al gasps.
"Brother!"
"I know, I know!" I babble, my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, that was my fault, I totally zoned out for a second…."
My heart feels like it's trying to run a marathon. I take deep breaths to calm down. Al seems to have decided that since nothing really happened that it's nothing to freak out over, and he's continuing with his story.
"Well, the reason they didn't get eaten by the cougar was because Mr. Kimblee—you know, that guy in your science class' dad?—had accidentally set one of his horses loose and it stomped on the lion's head…."
I'm still shaking when I turn the car off in my garage and stumble out. Al hops inside, leaving me to collect my backpack and try not to shake myself to pieces.
So yes, okay, Envy's totally gorgeous, but apparently he's becoming hazardous to my health. At least the fence leading to that field is flimsy and the car probably wouldn't flip. Damn it all….
I take a deep breath and yank my things out of the trunk, slinging it over my shoulder. It doesn't matter. Nothing happened. Al and I are fine and the car isn't even dented. I didn't actually get anywhere close to crashing. I'm fine. We're fine. It's nothing to be worried about.
Feeling slightly better, I go on into the house.
Al is rooting through the refrigerator when I arrive, muttering something under his breath. I pause only to snatch a glass of water and check the clock before leaving. There's still almost two hours until I have to be at the library—that's plenty of time to gather up everything I might need, and to do some of the other homework I got today.
I stump up to my room, the ice in my glass clinking against the sides, and open the door by hitting it with my shoulder. I dump my bag on the bed and turn to kick off my shoes (which were supposed to come off in the mudroom but didn't) in the direction of my closet. The one flies way off course and hits the pile of yearbooks I've peevishly stacked in the corner. I'm still blaming them a little for all the truths they have in their pages, so I refuse to touch them. Lousy things.
We did get some Physics homework today, so I pull that out and settle at my desk, automatically switching on my CD player. The song Indestructible by Disturbed comes up right away. It's one of my favorites, so I'm not complaining.
Physics is easy, as usual, and I toss it to the floor when I'm done. This occasionally leads to bent papers—whether my worksheet or the pages in the book I'm using—but it's easier than leaving them on the desk and having them take up loads of room.
Since nothing else looks terribly hard, either, I decide to forgo it for a later time and press the POWER button on my computer. While I'm waiting for it to come to life, I grab my backpack again and search for my history binder.
I find it at last, wedged into the bottom corner of my bag. How it got there I have no idea. I slap it down on my desk and open it, yanking my notes out of their carefully chosen storage spot and spreading them out all over the top of my desk. I manage to boot up my word processor on the computer and begin typing up what I've already decided are good topics. Everything from the first day in the library goes there. Once again, I'm wondering what in the name of chicken noodle soup (that was my mom's favorite thing to say when she was still alive) we are going to do to present this to the class. At least I'm less worried that Envy won't help. Something tells me that he just might follow my lead on this one.
I finish the list, feeling rather pleased with myself. Actually, this isn't half bad. We're probably farther than most of the class. This makes me feel much better about the whole thing.
I check the clock. It's just after three, so I still have time. I print out my list and put it in my binder as well, leaning it against the door so there's no way I can forget it. Then I finally get up, groaning, and trudge over towards my discarded shoe and the pile of yearbooks, grumbling all the while.
I move my sneaker and nudge open the closet door before bending to scoop up the entire stack of books. I'm lucky; as I'm maneuvering them back into position, only one of them falls. I sigh and refuse to look at it. It's only when the rest are in place that I go to pick it up, keeping my face averted from the open pages and groping behind me blindly until it's safe in my grip, any possibly offending pages hidden between the covers. I set it on top, regardless of order, and shut the doors on them.
That task finally completed, I flop back onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. There's nothing else to do for the thirty minutes until I can leave and go to the library…. Gods, Envy is so beautiful. Weird, yes, but seriously attractive. And possibly able to shoot mind-altering waves from those eyes of his. That would certainly explain why I kissed him on Friday, and why I still think that he's the loveliest thing on the whole planet. Yep. That has to explain it. Nothing else does.
But even if he is an alien, that doesn't change the fact that I'm hoping the library has private study rooms or something. Human or not, kissing him is still incredible. Taste, touch, smell—all of it seems hyper-stimulated in that situation. He's amazing.
And where the hell did all of those thoughts come from?
I shake my head to rid myself of that weird train of thought and sit up, resolute. I'm going to go downstairs and watch TV with Al. That should help the time pass more quickly.
I turn off my computer. On my way out the door, I snatch up the binder and my shoes. I'll need those to get into the library in the first place. Al gives me the Look when I arrive downstairs with my shoes in hand. He hates it when I forget to take them off and end up tracking dirt all over the house.
"I'm sorry," I apologize as I drop everything by the door to the garage and come back, sitting down next to him on the sofa. "I don't usually forget…."
His expression softens slightly. "You are getting better," he concedes.
"What are you watching?" I ask, looking over at the TV screen. A commercial on multivitamins is on, which doesn't help me in deducing which channel he's on. Those things are everywhere.
Al shrugs. "Something on the Food Network."
Oh. Like you could maybe tell, I'm not that great of a cook. I've burned water before, and one time, back when mom was still alive and dad-the-bastard still lived with us, I blew up the microwave. The door came off and everything. Thank goodness I was only five and about two feet tall. The thing sailed right over my head, leaving me unscathed. The same, unfortunately, could not be said of the counter, where parts of the microwave landed.
Al, on the other hand, is a great cook. I'm sure I've said this before. He likes watching the Food Network to get tips, even though by this point he could probably advise several of those celebrity chefs on how to cook better. Personally, the only reason I watch the Food Network is in the hopes that Ace of Cakes might be on. That show is freaking awesome.
But anyway, my hope is all for naught, because when the commercial break is finally finished, the network tunes back into some show featuring some fat guy cooking up what looks like some kind of cake. Maybe. Or it might have been pudding. I'm not quite sure.
In any case, though, I actually recognize this one. The guy's name is Gluttony (appropriate much?) and Al and I have debated whether or not he's related to Envy and Co. Al's in favor of yes (after all, how many people can there possibly be who would name their children after the Seven Deadly Sins? You have to admit, there's probably only one—their mother), but I think that it's fairly unlikely (I mean, Lust and Greed are both in very good shape, Wrath's fairly normal, and Envy's anorexic. This Gluttony guy looks like he swallowed a cow, or possibly a blimp. This, plus the fact that his eyes are weirdly pale and not purple, doesn't seem to be much a family resemblance to me). But then again, either of us could be wrong. Or even both of us. Maybe Gluttony's a half sibling or something and he took after his dad so he's sort of related but not…. I don't know.
Al likes Gluttony's show—something about him being an honest chef, whatever that means—so I lean against the arm of the sofa and listen as he explains how to make the pudding/cake/pie thing, which has a weird French name that I can't pronounce, let alone spell. At least his directions are intelligible, and not just for the cooking fanatics.
But anyway, it isn't long that I check my watch and find that it's finally a respectable time for me to leave. I heave myself up. "See you around dinner time, 'kay?"
"Sure," Al says absently, his eyes glued onto the TV. I shrug, shove my feet into my sneakers, grab the binder and the keys to the car, and make sure to shut the door quietly behind me when I leave. Al also isn't that fond of people slamming doors. He claims that it's not necessary. I could think of a dozen situations where slamming a door would be necessary (mad axe murderer, angry girlfriend/boyfriend, zombies, etc.), but I never say so. It doesn't do to get Al angry with you.
It doesn't take me more than fifteen minutes to get to the library, which I'm glad of. It could be a lot worse of a drive, knowing how far apart houses are spread around here. Come to think of it, I have no idea where Envy lives. Hopefully it's close.
I park the Subaru and clamber out, binder under my arm. The librarians here are nice, if rather vague, so my list of topics should prove useful. If you're trying to research a broad topic such as, say, the eleventh century, the South Pueblo Public Library is not the place to go. You might get a history of the number eleven but that's about it.
The place is big enough, which is nice. There's only one level but it's a large one level. Bookshelves extend into the distance until they're blocked by others. I can't see the end of them. Up in the front, by the windows, are seven tables. There are others scattered throughout the building, but everyone knows that these at the front are the best for meeting points. I select one that has a computer and sit down, pulling out my notes. I wish now that I had Envy's phone number—I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to find out what it is when he gets here. If he gets here.
But I needn't have worried. Seconds after I'm done thinking that thought, a two-person BMW motorcycle pulls up in front of the library. It's easy to recognize Envy's brother Greed when he parks it. He isn't bothering to wear a helmet, which might not be legal, but I'd like to see someone try to take on Dante Bradley in court.
The slim rider in the back is Envy, of course (if I hadn't already known, the shirt with red Japanese symbols on it would've given him away). He pulls off his helmet and shakes his long hair out, sticking the white dome in the saddlebag things on the back of the bike. He yanks a notebook out of the same one.
I look at him closely. Something is off. He looks tired, which is strange, because Envy always manages to give off an impression of huge amounts of energy. They're talking, and even Greed looks stressed. That's even odder than Envy weary. Greed is never stressed. The whole world knows that.
Envy shakes his head at something his brother says, and turns toward the door, waving his older sibling away. Greed sighs and revs the bike—it's very nice, all shiny and black—before peeling out of the parking lot and out of sight.
Envy must have seen me before he came in, which is understandable considering all of the windows on the front of the building, because as soon as he opens the door he makes a beeline for my table. He sets the notebook down before he sits, and even though he keeps his eyes on the table I can still see that they're bloodshot.
"Hey, you okay?" I ask, now more than slightly concerned.
"I'm fine." He does look up at me then, as though determined to prove that he's perfectly all right. For some reason, a faint blush rises in his cheeks and he looks away again. "So, how are we going to do this?"
"I made a list of all the things we're sure of so far," I begin, keeping a careful eye on him as I push my work towards him. "It's so much easier looking for specific topics in here than a general one. I guess we'll just divvy it up and if something interesting crops up in one of the books, pursue it."
"Okay." Envy stands up. "I know where the reference section is."
"Er—so do—"
"They moved it," he explains smoothly. Okay, now I'm sure that something's wrong. He's acting. For some reason that I still don't know, he's really very shy in one-on-one situations—or, well, he's very shy in front of me, anyway. Huh. Wonder why that is. I shove that thought aside and focus on thinking of a way to get the truth out of him.
I let him lead me to the opposite side of the library than where the reference section was previously, the list clutched in my hand. The longest strands of his wild hair brush just past his waist. I chew on my lip and try not to stare at his perfect ass.
We're lucky that there appears to be no one else in the library, so there's no one to stare when we scoot right into the section with the really heavy encyclopedias and such. Envy reaches up to pull one down. He holds it in front of him, head bent to read the cover, hair sliding in front of his face. He brushes it behind his ear impatiently, and I notice that his nails are painted a solid black.
"Nice nail polish," I say. Well, it's the truth. On most guys (or most people, even) it would look strange, but Envy somehow pulls it off. He appears to be rather good at that.
He seems surprised at my observation. "Oh. Thank you." Envy looks down at his long fingers with the oddest expression in his unusual eyes.
I check the list. "I don't think we need that one, there's nothing on here starting with the letter 'B'."
"I guess not," he agrees, pushing it back into place. He has to stand on his tiptoes to reach it, which makes me feel ever so slightly better—I can only just touch the base of the spine on those books.
He really does look much cuter with his hair down, I reflect. I hid his hairband in my locker; childish, perhaps, but he doesn't know the combination so he can't get it back. What I plan to do with it, I'm not entirely sure yet. Maybe I can use it for some kind of voodoo to make him tell me what's wrong.
Or maybe… I don't need voodoo at all….
I set the paper aside so I can't crush it as he turns back around to face me. "You listened to my advice," I chirp. When Envy looks confused, I gesture at his hair. As soon as he realizes what I'm talking about, his cheeks turn a delicious pink. The blush is back.
"Yeah, well…." He fiddles with the seam on his shirt, refusing to look me in the eye. "It's been a while since I wore it down anyway, so… s-so…."
I've touched his chin, tilted his head up, and brushed aside his bangs so he has to look at me, and something in there is apparently making him lose his train of thought. I fight the urge to smirk. He is putty in my (evidently) capable hands.
"You really should look at people when they're talking to you," I murmur, and then, before he can say a word, I pull him down and press his lips to mine.
Envy melts, his hands gliding across my face to sink into my hair. I caress him gently, trying to hold back a groan when he sighs, his sweet breath washing across my skin. I take the opportunity to do something that I've never, ever even considered doing, and slip my tongue through the gap.
His taste overwhelms me. I'm going to be addicted to apples after this, I just know it, but it isn't enough to make me stop. He clearly doesn't mind the intrusion—Envy clings tighter, his fingers undoing the tie of my braid and combing it out. God, the way his movements tug my scalp is enough to send shivers down my spine.
Envy's ribs are digging into my forearms and, strangely enough, that only serves to enhance the experience. I kiss him harder, hold him tighter, and he surrenders, his back pressing against the bookshelf. Thank everything known to man that the wooden contraption is sturdier than most. It doesn't even really wobble.
Our lip-lock breaks, and my eyes flutter open. His purple orbs are still closed—he leans forward just slightly and gives me the shyest, sweetest kiss. I smile and stroke his cheek with the back of my hand, finally coaxing his eyes open.
"So what's wrong?" I ask, kissing him again when I'm done. Hey, he's addictive, and judging by his reactions, he likes it when I do so. Maybe it'll encourage him to talk to me. And God he's good at it….
Envy shrugs. "Nothing much."
"Come on." I nuzzle his neck and press my lips against his artery. His breath is coming quicker, his fingers tightening convulsively in my hair. "It's obviously more than 'nothing much,' because even your brother was worried."
"It's n-noth—It's just—" Envy sighs and swallows hard. I pull back and look up at him seriously. He blushes again and drops his eyes to the floor. "My mother is having another affair."
"Oh." Even I can hear the surprise in my voice.
He laughs slightly, but it's cold, bitter. "Yeah. She's done it before, of course, so maybe we shouldn't be so surprised. But I mean, you'd think that she'd know better by now. And it's just…." He tilts his head back so he's staring at the ceiling. "I really, really hate her for it. I mean, wasn't our father good enough? She fooled around even when he was alive, and it's like she's, it's like she's, I don't know, insulting his memory or something." Envy sounds like he's about to cry. He grinds his teeth together and takes a deep breath. "Gods, we are so pathetic."
Envy tries to take his fingers out of my hair to brush away the three tears that have escaped, but they're tangled in my blonde locks. I raise my hands instead and do it for him, my hand lingering on his jawbone. I've never seen Envy cry before. I don't think anyone has. It makes me feel strange inside, like I'm seeing something I shouldn't, or something that I could have stopped. It doesn't make any sense, but I know that I have to calm him down.
"It's okay," I tell him quietly, trying desperately to think of what Al would say if he were here. "It sounds to me like your mom is a bitch." Okay, Al wouldn't have said that. Envy blinks at me. I try to backpedal. "I mean, about your dad's memory and all. Do you think she'd listen to you if you talked to her?"
"Dante?" Envy releases that same hard laugh as before. "No. No way."
"Well, if my dad was cheating on my mom's memory, I'd punch him, but I don't think that's a good solution here," I mutter, trying to think. "Maybe you could just sabotage it or something."
At least he's looking thoughtful now. "I never thought of that."
"I'll bet Wrath would help," I say quickly, capitalizing on my success. "It's not right that your mom should do this. She's not considering the, er, impact on the family."
Envy looks at me in some amusement. "You really are trying your best, aren't you?" There's some emotion in his voice that I can't decipher, but it sounds good, if rather disbelieving.
"That's what the psychiatrist said to Al and I after mom died," I explain. "Something about how her not telling us how sick she was hurt the family or whatever."
"Sounds like psychobabble to me," Envy says. He seems a little better, and a little is enough for me. I hop up on my tiptoes and kiss him firmly. His lips are softer than mine, more feminine; he yields to me and just hangs on tightly, like he's just glad to be along for the ride.
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And that was eleven pages rather than the usual nine or so. Huzzah!
Anyhow, please be wonderful like you've been so far and review! You should know that reviews will make me heal faster. Seriously. It has been scientifically proven that reviews are good for one's health. And if you give me reviews, when I get back and see them I'll be motivated to write faster, even if it's on paper. =D Thank you! And see ya next time!
