Disclaimer: The day I own Degrassi is the day Marco shows up at my doorstep with hand cuffs. Oh, the song is definitely not mine either. It's 'Just For' by Nickleback, because Nickleback rules.
Author's Notes: Whoo-hoo, the next chapter! Wow, you all gave such nice reviews for the last chapter. It makes me feel loved.
Fucted Up Kid: I thought you were, but I couldn't remember. Wow, thank you for the nice review! Yeah, I liked the ending. Just had to have the fluff.
Squrlie Jack: Squrlie wrath! Sorry, I just happen to say that at random at school a lot, and that's what your name reminded me of. –cough- Thanks for the review!
almost-never: I updated, that I did! And look, I'm doing it again! Aren't I ? Yes, poor Marco, yes, bad Slade. I'm glad you liked Marco's little lie...thing. Thank you for reviewing.
Vixen-Drago16: I love you too! Yeah, new Degrassi episodes, I was bouncing up and down happily, so my family thinks I'm insane too! Ah yes, and your comment on Slade; while he could be freaky dream guy, I never really said he was. It was just made clear that he was a heartless over-sexed teenager. He is evil, though, I just haven't said that he's the evil guy. Thanks for the review!
PinkHair08: Aw, well thank you very much! I feel appreciated now. Thank you for reviewing!
mydracomalfoy: -laughs- Sorry, your sexy beast comment reminded me of a discussion the other day in which I declared Dumbledore a sexy beast...don't ask. Thank you for the review! Oh, and Spinner and Marco get a little...closer in this chapter too. –evil laughter-
Enigmus: Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the new chapters. I hope you like this one too, though, I must say, it's kind of...odd...I don't like it.
KinseySix: Don't worry, Slade will get his. All right, about the Spinner/Marco sex thing –not that you mentioned it, of course- it was going to be in chapter 14, because that's when the story was going to be over, but I just thought of a completely new ending, which will give the story three-six more chapters than originally thought. But don't worry, I'll find some way to tide you over 'til then. –winks-
Ominee: Hello, and thank you for reading and reviewing this story! I'm glad you like it!
Bridget N: Spinner is sweet. A bit oblivious, kinda idiotic sometimes, but sweet. That's why Marco needs him!
Crimson Hurricane: Oh, oh, all caps! That really must mean I'm loved! Thanks for the review!
anjel919: Loved the whole priceless thing, it was totally great. Yeah, Spinner does totally love Marco. It's so sweet! I'm glad you liked the way I described everything. Thank you for reviewing!
megtyped: Oh yeah, totally! lol, love you too! Thanks for reviewing!
Visitor-to-the-Echoside: I couldn't resist putting in a little bit of HP. My friend is always saying, "Serious like Siruis Black, yo!" –coughs nervously- Right. Running in boots is darn near impossible. I was late for the bus the other day, and I was wearing mine, so I had to run...no good will ever come out of running in boots. Thanks for reviewing!
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Chapter Twelve: Just For
"It looks like it hurt," the deep, always mocking, semi-pissed voice whispers into my ear as soft fingertips brush against the bite mark on my neck.
Taking in a deep breath, I tense, ready to flinch away, before He does the unthinkable and stops touching me. I'm –well, we're- in the desert again. The deep, almost unearthly red of the sands is clearly visible beneath the brightly glowing full moon. I wonder why it's always night here in this desert. Why there is never a bright sun, wispy clouds, a sea blue sky here. Why there are no trees, no animals, no people, basically nothing but, the sky, the sand, and Him.
"Because you don't need anything else," He says, as if it can logically explain everything.
I don't even ask how it is He can read my thoughts, because at the moment, I could care less. If He can find His way into my dreams again, then it really shouldn't surprise me that He can hear my thoughts, too.
I plop down, folding my legs underneath me as I do so. I lightly drag my fingers across the sand, tracing random patterns, reveling in the warmth I feel from the sand against my skin. I wait for Him to do something, say something, kiss me or kill me, but nothing happens.
"Drawing smiley faces?" He finally asks after a few minutes of uneasy silence –on my part at least- pass.
I frown down at the pattern, sighing as I kick the drawing with my bare foot. "If you don't like my art work, go crack into Mia Angelou's dreams," I mumble.
He laughs a little and I hear bare feet against the sand. My body tenses, because I just know He's going to come over here, and I really don't want Him to do that. I never want Him to do that. Unless I'm having those odd little lapses of sanity, which thankfully only happen every now and then.
"It looks like it hurt," He says again, settling behind me, close enough so that I can feel his breath on my neck, but not actually touching me. I'm kind of grateful for that. "Did it?" He asks.
I nod, pulling my knees up to my chest. "Of course it hurt," I tell Him, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, because I don't really want to see Him when He gets upset. "It hurt like hell. Worse than yours, which, might I add, is really saying something."
"I had to mark you," He says, conversationally. "So you wouldn't forget who you belonged to, since you have a tendency to do that."
My eyes narrow and I bite my lip, desperately wanting to say something and be strong, but desperately wanting to keep my throat intact. "Oh really? Like when?" I say softly, cursing myself as I realize that I've just admitted I belong to Him in the first place.
"Does the name Dylan ring a bell?" He asks rather coldly. "You just so confidently forgot I existed when he came into the picture. What did it take? A nice smile, blue eyes, blond hair, and a cute little laugh? You were all his. You were mine first. I had you long before he did. I-"
"You nothing! You don't own me, and neither did he! Besides...I didn't even know you were real then. I thought you were like...I don't know...a figment of my warped, lonely little imagination."
My words started out strong, filled with anger and defiance, but ended in nothing more than a whisper as I realize how pitiful that statement was. Pitiful, because it's true. I thought I really had made someone up, because I didn't think anyone else cared. Sad because, as much as I'd like to think otherwise, I do want someone to belong to. Someone who will just hold me and take care of me and love me. Someone who...
"I'm sorry," He whispers, and I realize that his arms have suddenly made it around my waist. "I'm sorry that...it hurt." He places a kiss to my ear lobe, and then...
My eyelids begin to rise slowly, allowing the harsh golden sun light that fills my room to burn my pupils ever so slightly. Making a sort of grunting noise under my breath, I turn on my side and bury my head into the pillow, inhaling an odd scent that is a mix between cinnamon, bacon, and burning leaves.
Why does my bed smell like Spinner? And yes, that's how Spinner smells. Don't ask me how he manages to smell like that every single day, but he does, and it scares me. Not that he smalls bad or anything, it's just kind of creepy. But that's just a little above and left of the actual point. Why does my bed smell like Spinner? I don't remember sleeping with him any time. Well, I mean, not sleeping with him sleeping with him, just being in bed with him. I mean, him coming...to my house, and sleeping on the bed, while I sleep on the floor, or somewhere else that's very far away.
"Hey, no, stop that! Bad kitty, bad! Go chew on a milk bone or something, that's Marco's food. Marc-o. Are you Marco? No, I don't think so. I suggest you just take your kitteny-self right over there and away from those Cocoa Puffs, missy! Hey...why are you looking at me like that? Don't you dare put your paws on that-"
Thump.
"Damn you hell cat. Damn you to the most fiery depths of some...um...really fiery place!"
Hiss.
Scratch.
"Ow! God, quit doing that!"
I blink a few times in confusion, wondering what could possibly be going on behind me. Pushing myself up, I tilt my head back, my eyes widening a little as I take in the details of the scene in front of me. Spinner is holding a tray with a small bowl of cereal, some orange juice, and a banana. There is a rather angry expression on his face, as well as a small scratch –that looks remarkably like one of Mozzy's scratch marks- underneath his right eye.
After a few moments, our eyes lock, and a smile begins tugging at his lips. I give him a quizzical look as he begins to step forward. Mozzy jumps up on the bed beside me, nuzzling into my side as I begin to sit up.
"Morning, Marco," he says brightly, glaring at the black kitten at my side. "Sleep well?"
"Uh...yeah," I answer a bit groggily. I glance down at the tray he holds, then raise an eyebrow.
With another smile, he begins to respond to my unasked question. "Breakfast is served."
He grabs a pillow and lays it across my lap, placing the tray on top of it. Mozzy begins sneaking closer, but Spinner only flicks her nose, resulting in his pinky being bitten. I merely stare blankly at the tray on my lap. Spin...made me breakfast? In bed? That's so...sweet. I allow a soft smile to come onto my features and I pick up the spoon, slowly beginning to pick at the cereal.
A few moments later, Mozzy is back at my side. I look over at her, and she merely smiles –I swear she's smiling, no really- before curling up to me. I see Spinner sitting on the floor, resting his head against the side of the bed, sighing under his breath every now and then. And for some reason, in this moment, with me, my hell cat, and Spinner, everything seems right.
How about sharing some of that chocolaty goodness, Rom Baro? Mozzy questions.
I shake my head, opening my mouth to prepare to answer before realizing that with Spinner here, answering my cat out loud isn't the smartest idea. Since when did you start saying 'chocolaty goodness'? I ask, somewhat amused, somewhat freaked by her usage of those two words. Besides, it's mine. Spinner made it for me. If you want some, go get your own.
Fine, she mumbles, adjusting her position against me. Let me starve, see if I care. I'm sure your little boyfriend doesn't.
Nearly choking on my Cocoa Puffs, I cough, hitting my chest. W-what? Boyfriend? Spinner is just my-
Friend? Ha! You're so oblivious, Rom Baro, it's almost funny. Mostly sad, though. Did you even see how he was last night? I thought steam was going to come out of his ears. Not only was he in a rage over what slut boy did to you, he was jealous that aforementioned slut boy tried to do it to you first.
...slut boy?Where does she get this stuff, I mean really?
And he held you all night. He let you cry on his shoulder and he held you. He laid there, arms around you, stroking your hair and back, whispering words of comfort into your ear even after you'd gone asleep. He was just kind of looking at you longingly, too. I swear, if I wasn't here, he would have just fuc-
"Mozzy!" I yell, feeling a blush creep onto my cheeks. I can't believe she just said that. Well, all right, I can. It is a rather Mozzy-like thing to say, but still. He wouldn't want to...you know...with me. Sometimes, I don't know how she comes up with such ridiculous things.
He held me?
"Marco?" Spinner asks, his head popping up from the side of the bed. "Is that damned cat of yours trying to steal your breakfast again?"
I give him a weak smile as I shake my head. "No, no. She just kind of scared me, that's all." He gives me an odd look, then glances at the cat on my side, who matches his glare with one of her own. "Thanks," I say, drawing his attention away from her, since I truly do fear for his life should he make enemies with my cat. "For breakfast, I mean. You didn't have to."
"It was no problem," he says. "I just thought that you wouldn't really feel like dealing with anything this morning, even breakfast."
He gives me this smile that is so full of heart that I can't help but mirror it exactly. He really is sweet. I mean, he's one of the most caring people I know. There's not many people, not many friends who would stick with you like he does. There aren't many people who would put up with so much, who would go through everything you have to go through, like he does. I'm lucky for that.
He held me?
Yes, I know she told me this a while ago, but I still can't get over it. I just can't picture it. Picture him. Holding me like that. I mean, maybe if it were Paige, or Kendra, then I could imagine it. But just not...me. I can't see him laying there –in my bed no less- with his arms around me, holding me and caring for me, looking at me with a heart breaking amount of love and concern in his dark eyes. But of course, silly me, that's not how it was, I remind myself. He would never look at me like that, I should know that by now. He was giving me a look caught between pity and anger. Pity for how weak he must think I am, and anger for Slade for hurting me.
I know that. I do, I know it. He doesn't care for me, not like that.
"I need a shower," I murmur, deciding to pull my mind from the more confusing and depressing thoughts that sometimes come when my mind is on the subject of Spinner.
He looks up at me, blinking once or twice, as if he too was deep in thought about something. He shakes his head, a few blond tendrils falling in front of his eyes. (1) Then he nods his head, giving a weak smile. "Yeah," he says. He leans forward and grasps the tray with his hands, not even making eye contact as he stands up.
I push the comforter off of me and stand up, heading over to my closet to grab some clothes. I notice that he is standing perfectly still in the door way. Staring at him, I give him a slightly quizzical look. He turns his head, opening the door, stepping out half-way before answering my silent question.
"I'll be here when you get back."
And I'm so utterly grateful for those few words that it's almost ridiculous. An appreciative smile slips on my face as I grab some random clothing items. I wasn't sure if he was staying, or if he was just going to drop the half-eaten bowl of Cocoa Puffs off in the sink and go home, be rid of me and my problems for a day or two. Unlike what I told him last night, I really do want him to stay, I kind of need him to stay. I don't know if I can deal with all of this by myself, not like I have been. But, with those seven words, he told me that he's not going to let me go through this alone.
I step into the bathroom, flipping on the light before I head towards the medicine cabinet. My head still hurts. Not too bad, just a dull aching in the sides of my temple that is going to slowly drive me insane if I don't get some Tylenol soon. The Aruba Smash is evil. Random parts of my body still hurt, mostly my stomach and my hands, which will probably be aching for a while, since I haven't really used that much so called 'fire power' in a while. I can also see a few bruises forming on my face. After downing some of those trusty little pills, I lay my clothes out and drop the dirtied ones into the hamper before climbing into the shower.
As I reach for a bottle of body wash, I grab one of those sponge dealy whacker things –it's too early in the morning to be completely articulate- and squeeze some of the pinkish liquid onto it. I begin scrubbing my arm, then move up to my shoulder, where I begin to wash gently...at first.
Dark, cold, light breeze, strong hands on my chest, teeth sinking into my flesh like it's nothing...
I shiver a little, then reach forward to turn up the water temperature a bit. I begin scrubbing my shoulder a bit harder, trying to wash Slade off of me. Where he touched me, where he marked me, where he tried to...
Unyielding lips attacking my struggling body, pulling at the clothes, tattered fabric wet with tears...
Clutching the sponge thingy in an even tighter grip, I scrub harder, pushing and pulling against my skin in hopes of erasing any trace of his presence. There is a slight burning, but I ignore it, continuing only in this little act of cleansing myself.
Blood in my mouth, in his mouth, somehow flowing off of him like it was nothing, but staining me...staining me...
I turn the water up even more, almost scolding, because what can I possibly manage to get rid of with such a lukewarm temperature? I'm scrubbing harder, desperately trying to wash him off of me. Suddenly I feel so incredibly dirty that I can't stand it. I'm scrubbing harder, not just my shoulder, but my neck, my chest, and my legs, until my usually tanned skin is more of a dark rosy color, and it's still not enough. I let him touch me. I let him put his hands and his blood and his mark on me and now I don't know if I can get it off.
Reaching down, I grab the little pumas bar –you know, those things that have the prickly things on them?- hoping that maybe this will work better. Even though I can't see it now, I know it must be there. All the dirt, the grime, everything, that is sticking to my skin because of what happened last night.
Should have fought harder, I think to myself as I drag the pumas bar across the bite mark that lies just between my neck and shoulder. That must be why I feel so dirty, because I let it happen. Because I was practically offering myself to him, in the beginning anyway. That must have been it. Because I was so forward in the beginning, he didn't care that I fought. It didn't matter that I said no. In some ways, I guess, I'd already told him yes.
Maybe I should tell Spinner that. I don't want him to get hurt. And, whether he wants to admit it, Slade could hurt him. What if Spinner tries to go to the police or someone? Then Slade would not only come after him, but he'd come after me, and then everyone would know. About my secret, about how damn dirty I am.
Spinner would hate me if he knew. If he knew what really happened. If he knew that I had dressed and acted like a slut, gotten drunk, practically dared Slade to...he would hate me then. He wouldn't ever want to be near me again, to talk to me, even to touch me. Not like last night. Not like when I came here, even more dirty than I am now, and he touched me so gently when he was dressing my wounds, like I was made of glass.
I keep scrubbing as I replay the foggy memories of what Spinner did for me last night. The way his hands were so warm, how soft they were when they accidentally brushed against me. How different they were from Slade's. How different he is from Slade. When Slade was touching me, it hurt, and it stained, but with Spinner, it was nice, and comforting.
I let the pumas slip from my hand after I feel blood mixing with the scolding water. Quickly, I turn off the shower water, as if suddenly realizing just how hot I let it get. Tears are flowing freely now as I slip down the shower wall, hugging my knees to my chest.
Spinner's touch was cleansing. It was so caring, so feather light and warm and filled with good intentions, it somehow purified where ever Slade left his mark.
I don't need a shower.
I need therapy.
For around five to ten minutes I just sit here, my skin red and my shoulder bleeding from where I got a bit too rough with that pumas, crying so hard my entire body is wracked with the sobs. Gods, how could I think that? How could I ever think that? It's not like I asked Slade to try and rape me. I didn't. I wasn't enticing him or giving him an invitation to get into my pants. It wasn't my fault. I can't sit here and blame myself. I can't let myself think that I've done this to myself. I can't let him break me down.
Can I?
Deciding that I'm done with my mini-mental breakdown, I wipe my eyes, stand up, and climb out of the shower. I wince mentally as I get a look of myself in the shower. There are small welts of crimson, which don't even clash that much with the rosy tinge to my skin, created by the obsessive scrubbing and ridiculously hot water. My eyes are red from crying, with small trails of tears still visible down my face.
Well...no more breakdowns in the shower, that's for sure.
I try to get dressed, then realize that when your skin feels like frying bacon, trying to put on Abercrombie and Fitch is a very, very bad idea. Instead, I settle for wrapping a towel around my waist. For a few minutes I just stay in here, staring at the mirror, hoping that maybe my skin will turn back to normal. After a little while, it does actually get better, even though I still think I look more like a sun burned albino then a sun loving Italian kid. Deciding that although Spinner won't be happy –not with my skin color, my shoulder, or the fact that I only have a towel around me for clothing- I'm going to have to face the music anyway, I walk back into my room.
Spinner is laying on the floor, one of my black pens curled in his hands, a white sheet of paper laying underneath him. Cautiously, I near him, only to see that he is fast asleep. I guess staying up all night would have that effect on you. As I bend down next to him, I see that he's been writing something. It's either a poem, or a song. And as sweet as Spin can sometimes be, I doubt he's much of a poetry guy. Slowly, so I don't disturb him, I begin sliding the piece of paper out from underneath his arm. I know I probably shouldn't be reading this, that it's most likely private, but I can't help it if I'm curious.
'I want to take his eyes out
Just for looking at you
Yes I do
And I want to take his hands of-
"Marco..." I hear someone say in a rather upset voice. I turn my head, feigning the most innocent look imaginable as I attempt to hide the sheet of paper behind my back. His eyes narrow, and for some reason, I don't think he's buying my 'innocent' act. "Give that back."
I am sitting up, and Spinner is sitting right across from me, a deadly look of calm on his face that I've ever seen, and it scares me more than the flying death monkeys themselves. (2)
"Give what back?" I ask timidly, beginning to scoot back a little.
"Marco, come on dude, give it back," he says. "I don't want you to read it."
"Why?" I question him. "I'm not going to hurt it, I just want to-eep!"
I jump to the side, dodging as Spinner lunges forward, reaching out to grab the...err...whatever it is. I scramble towards my bed, trying to stifle my laughter as the top of his curly head makes contact with the of the footboard. Unfortunately, while I'm giggling –hey, I said I was trying- Spinner takes the opportunity to rip the page from my hand.
"Hey!" I yell, trying to grab it back, failing as he pulls his hand back. "I wasn't finished reading that," I pout.
He sighs a little as he folds the page back up, stuffing it into his pocket. "That's the point, smart one. I don't want you to read it. It's not finished yet."
"Fine," I murmur, settling my back against the bed. "Keep your secrets."
For a moment, I just sit here, allowing my eyes to close and trying to get my body to relax. When I open my eyes again, I see Spinner's gaze seemingly glued to something. And that something, I realize, happens to be my chest. Before I can even start blushing, I slap myself mentally, reminding my little mind that he must be staring at how red my skin is. Why else would he be staring so intently?
He continues staring, absently licking his lips and taking in a deep breath. This must mean he's either angry or concerned. "Guess I didn't realize how hot the water was," I tell him, hoping he'll buy it.
His body does a little jerking thing, and he blinks, suddenly blushing as dark as my own skin. I raise an eyebrow at this, tilting my head to the side. I guess he's embarrassed he got caught staring, or something. Don't ask me, though. I have no idea what goes on in that mind of his.
"Um...yeah," he mutters, shaking his head. Suddenly, a little grin comes onto his face.
And I don't like it.
He looks up, our eyes meeting, and I see the mirth dancing behind his eyes.
There are a few things Spinner does when he gets like this. It's either A) something really stupid, B) something really funny –because it's usually really stupid- or C) something that is equally stupid, funny, with a dash of cruelty.
It's a letter C moment, and I decide to take this opportunity to attempt to run.
"No, Spinner, don't! Come on man, I'm sorry!"
"You know you like it!"
"I most certainly do not! Don't do it man, come on, I'm begging you!"
"Gotcha!"
Spinner gives me the most evil, sadistic smile I have ever seen as I stare up at him, giving him a pleading look with my eyes. His hands rest against the bottom of my bare abdomen, holding me in place, even as I try to move away.
He bends his head down, that same grin playing on his lips. "Is little Marco...ticklish?"
"No!" I scream, but alas, it does no good. His fingers are moving before I can even choke out my little protest. "P-please stop...it...it...tickles!" I gasp out, giggling insanely as try to jerk out of his grip.
He laughs at my misfortune –the jerk- and continues to torture me. I can see it in his eyes, there shall be no mercy for me today. Sometimes, I swear Spin is evil incarnate.
Spinner and I have this thing, a routine you might call it. See, sometimes, not a lot or anything, but sometimes, I do thins that make Spin less than happy. Accidentally turning his favorite Marilyn Manson shirt pink –I don't even know how I did that one-, messing up his hair dye that one time for Halloween –but he did look kind of cute with purple hair- or some other silly thing like, I don't know, setting his one-of-a-kind Darth Vadar action figure on fire –no comment-, and he'll sort of, I don't know how you'd put it, 'punish me' –wow that sounds incredibly wrong- by tickling me. Now, some people might think, oh gee, tickling him, big whoop. Well, it is. I mean, I'm like, ridiculously ticklish. It's not even funny. And I swear, Spin is like a freaking machine, or something. He can just sit there, showing no signs of exhaustion for hours at a time.
You try being abused mercilessly for hours and see how much you like it.
It's not very fun, believe it or not. It's kind of scary, actually. That's why I tend to try my hardest not to make Spinner angry. Mentally, I curse myself vehemently. They do say that curiosity killed the cat.
I resent that statement, Mozzy snorts from her position on the bed, continuing to watch Spinner attack me. Would you like me to gauge out anything for you, particularly his eyeballs?
I give her a stunned look, or I would, if I weren't too busy rolling around on the ground, screaming and giggling at the top of my lungs. When did my cat become so...sadistic?
As I twist and turn –which in retrospect is a bad idea sense he begins attacking my ribs anyway- I somehow allow fits of laughter to escape me. All right, so even though the tickling does kind of suck, it's a complete load off my mind just to be able to joke around with him like this. More of those redeeming touches are sent my way as his hands trail up my back, continuing to tickle me to the point of no return, and I can still feel those awful marks Slade made being erased by it.
A light knock on the door causes me to turn my head. I stare at it for a few moments, wondering if I really heard anything as I continue to absently reach for Spinner's quickly moving hands. Just as I am about to turn back to him, one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen greets me. The door swings open, revealing both my ma and pop standing in the entry way, mouths hanging open, a promise of death flashing in my pop's eyes.
Why do people always walk in on me when I'm the most compromising position imaginable?
"M-Marco...?!" my mother screams, finally alerting the oblivious Spinner to the presence of my less-than-happy-parents.
He stills completely, his hands still lightly resting on my stomach –right near the towel, as luck would have it- as his head turns to face them. Pink begins to color his cheeks as his mouth opens, then closes again.
"Um...hi Mrs. Del Rossi, Mr. Del Rossi. Lovely morning, isn't it?"
"What are you doing to my son?!"
"I'm not hurting him," Spinner tells my pop quickly. "I was only playing with him. Oh wait, that didn't come out right..."
I push him off of me, and he stumbles slightly to his feet. Before my pop can advance on him, I jump up as well, standing in front of my friend as a sort of shield. Unconsciously, my hands go behind me, lightly resting on his sides as I press my back against his chest. His right hand comes up to me, giving a reassuring kind of squeeze before falling back down.
Gulping a bit, I begin to speak. "Ma," I say, looking over at her. "Pop," I murmur as I give him a pleading smile. "It wasn't what it looked like. We were just, you know, horsing around."
Please buy it, please buy it, please buy it...
"Oh," my ma says apprehensively, placing a hand on my pop's shoulder. "Come along, dear, I think they really were just..."
"My God, Marco, what happened to you? Where did you get all those bruises? How did you get a sunburn during this time of month?" my ma questions me worriedly.
I can feel Spinner tensing, and take a breath, trying to think up something at least slightly believable. "No, no sunburn. The water just got too hot in the shower. I think there might be something wrong with the plumbing. And the bruises were from...um...a mosh pit last night. Yeah, there was this huge, giant, evil mosh pit of doom, and so everyone was pretty much thrashed."
I feel slightly proud of myself as they both give me nods. "Mosh pit of doom?" Spinner whispers in my ear, his warm breath moving over the back of my neck. I prepare to say something, when the sudden look of understanding that had come over my mothers face suddenly turns to horror. I raise an eyebrow while pulling my arms around myself, since it's gotten a little colder in here all of a sudden...
Oh no. Please, dear God, no.
I look down, and, because my life just couldn't get worse, I see the white fluffy towel pooling around my ankles.
-
As much fun as it was standing in the middle of my room, completely nude, pressed up against Spinner as I tried to protect him from my father, I don't think I ever want to go through anything like that again.
Currently, Spinner and I are walking to Craig's house –we were called over for practice, my ma and pop were more than happy to let us go after the tension, and I convinced myself that I wasn't going to spend the day angsting in my room- in complete silence, and I swear his face will forever be the color of cherries and blood.
Weird reference; don't ask.
I can understand him being embarrassed. I mean, seeing me naked is one thing, but while I was somewhat pressed against him –for his own protection!- and with my parents in the room...poor guy.
We reach the garage without a word uttered. He opens the door, and I give him a little smile –which he pointedly ignores- and step inside. I look up to see Craig sitting near Ash, very discretely trying to put his arm around her, and Jimmy and Hazel talking to each other over by the key board. Sighing as Ash ignores him, Craig looks up, giving a huge smile when he see both Spin and I.
"Hey guys!" he says, jumping up. "Glad you could make it. We gotta...hey Marco, dude, what happened to your face? You look like shit."
"Gee, thanks," I mutter dryly.
Jimmy begins walking over to us, a confused look on his face as he observes my bruises. "Dude...? I knew you were clumsy but...oh, damn, he didn't...?"
I shrug my shoulders, walking over to where my bass is resting against the wall. "Everyone ready to practice?" I ask them.
Four pairs of eyes are on me, getting me looks of pity, while Spinner is merely glaring at the guitar in my hands. I let out a sigh as I begin tuning the bass, getting ready for practice as always.
"Don't worry about it, guys," I tell them all, never taking my eyes off of the gleam of the metal I'm holding. "It was just cats and a mosh pit. Bad timing, I guess. Come on, don't look at me like that. You all know random crap happens to me. I..." I trail off, inhaling a deep breath as I feel tears begin to form at the edges of my eyes. I won't let them see me cry, not again. Not today. Today I want to forget what happened last night. "You called us over to practice. Are we gonna play, or not?"
They want to help, I know they do, they want to comfort me like they did after my bashing, but they can't. I think it might hurt them if they knew what really happened. As long as I lie to them, they can believe it. They won't have to go through this. Spinner can handle this; he wants to, he needs to help me. Jimmy, Ash, Craig –especially Craig- and Hazel just don't need my crap right now.
"Right," Craig says, walking over towards the microphone. Hazel and Ashley take their seats, and Jimmy comes over as well, getting his guitar. Spinner walks over, meeting my eyes only once, and they flash with something I can't quite place, but I can't help the guilt I have for knowing that I put it there. He stops on his way towards the drums, taking the piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Craig. He then takes his seat at the drums, grabbing the sticks before hitting them together.
"One, two, one two three four..."
"I want to take his eyes out
Just for looking at you
Yes I do
I want to take his hands off
Just for touching you
Yes I do
And I want to rip his heart out
Just for hurting you
And I want to break his mind down
Yes I do
And I want to make him
Regret life since the day he met you
Yes I do
And I want to make him
Take back all that he took from you
Yes I do
And I want to rip his heart out
Just for hurting you
And I want to break his mind down
Yes I do."
As the music dies down, Ash and Hazel just give Craig strange looks, but clap anyway. We wrote this music months ago, just never had words to go with it. I guess that's what Spin was writing this morning. I glance back at him, then quickly avert my eyes when he looks up at me.
Maybe he got like, sudden inspiration or something, to finish it up. The anger he felt from Slade...and his frustration with Paige...must have been it. That's all it could be. I would have to be the most egotistical, self-centered, delusional person to think he wrote a song like that for me.
He held me?
---
Um...err...don't ask. That was a weird chapter. I had to have Marco going a little crazy after the incident. And I'm like, obsessed with Nickleback, and this song. If you haven't heard it, go by Silverside Up...now.
Marco: -shaking head- What is wrong with you? Can't you make a happy chapter?
Spinner: -grinning- I saw Marco naked...I saw Marco naked...I saw Marco naked! If only you hadn't had his parents in the room...
Marco: Eep!
Please review, and I'll give you...a tickle-me-Marco doll!