Chapter 8: Like A Drug That Gets Me High
Comments: Ah, more humor is this one…but be forewarned the next chapter I plan to put some angst in. Edward has cat-like reflexes.
Mood Song: Forget It by Breaking Benjamin.
Strange bright colors that took on the shape of bunnies flashes before my eyes and the pain from my groin shoots through my body. I hit the floor sideways, my hands shooting instinctively downwards.
Edward backs away on his butt, his eyes widened to almost popping out of his sockets. Great. Just great.
Way to go, Mustang, you have succeeded in scaring the shit out of the kid. Time to save your illicit, underaged statutory rape for some other time.
Rising unsteadily to my feet, I stumble to the door, clutching the frame for support. Edward remains motionless on the floor looking nothing short of paralyzed.
Groaning in pain, I manage to make it to my freezer where I grab a pack of frozen snow peas and unceremoniously dump them on my lap.
Ye gods, that felt good.
It wasn't long before I am joined by another being, who kept himself pressed against the counter, a table separating us.
"Mind explaining what the hell that was all about!" he demands.
"Calm down, FullMetal. You're making this into too big of a deal."
"Of course I'm making this a big deal cause it is a big deal. You practically molested me on your bedroom floor!" he screeches.
I glance up at him. His usually meticulously braided hair is loose. Stray golden strands contrasting with the red of his jacket, a faint blush spread on the bridge of his cute button nose.
I don't know what it is.
Maybe it's the pain from my groin, the pills still floating in my system.
Or maybe last night, I had inadvertently vomited up my brain as well.
Because all rational though flies out the window on angel wings and in a tutu.
I grip Edward's arm and pull him to me, my lips pressing to his still-open mouth.
His reaction was to be expected yet I guess some sort of warning could've been helpful, to say in the least.
All I knew, was positively sure of, was that a foot found its way, yet again, to my already injured groin. I bring my head to the table with a loud thunk, willing myself to resist the urge to bawl like a baby.
"STOP DOING THAT," Edward screeches, backing quickly away.
"YOU STOP DOING THAT," I yell back, my eyes brimming with moisture.
Mother of god, it hurt.
I really meant my voice to sound better than that. Yet it came out in a half-squeak that ended in a high-pitched yelp.
Oh yes, my ingenious well-though-out plan (note the sarcasm) was going straight to hell in a lovely hand basket.
Complete with a pretty pink bow.
Mask of Mirage