DODGING THE BULLET
A TOTAL DRAMA ISLAND STORY
A/N: Once again, sorry for the late update. School is so hectic, and my Latin teacher is so mean. My parents won't even let me get on for fifteen minutes during the week, so this story might take a while…
Songs for this chapter:
Can't Stop the World, by Gavin Rossdale
This Love, by Maroon 5
She Will Be Loved, by Maroon 5
This chapter is pretty much Courtney returning to school, wondering about Duncan, and her friends asking her about him. Enjoy, if you can. Please R&R me if you think I should change the rating to M. I don't think so, they're not going to go that far yet, but there are heavy hints.
Not much actual DC, but there are implications about Courtney's…er…well, true feelings about him. Though she refuses to admit that.
Oh, and sorry to the author of 'Fortuitous' (I don't have your name in front of me, sorry). I know the beginning and middle bits sound a bit like yours, but I swear, I was writing it and then you published that chapter. I was inspired by a moment in 'Breaking Dawn', and then I thought the next part should includes bit about a dream, because that's what happens in Twilight. You know…about Edward…and Jacob turning into a werewolf…in that dream?
Warning: Chapter contains not-quite-explicit, but still rather uh, mature, content.
CHICAGO718
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CHAPTER EIGHT: DREAMS, OR RATHER, NIGHTMARES
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Courtney let out a small scream as her head popped up from her nearly-soaked pillow, breathing heavily, sweating through every pore of her body. Ew. That had been disgusting. She kicked away her sweaty, sticky sheets, but she seemed to be tangled in them from all the thrashing that had gone on. Her heart was beating out of time, uncontrollably, her blood pressure higher than normal, her pulse jumping erratically in her wrist and neck. She could practically feel her veins throbbing, throwing jagged purple lines in zigzag patterns across her now white-marbled body, due to the lack of running blood. She didn't need to look in the mirror to know that she was severely red in the face.
That had been so unlike her. No! Those kinds of dreams were for those disturbed teenagers who need sex at least once a day, or had a severe lack of such content in their lives. She was not desperate like that. Sensuality was not, by any means, a big part of her life, if a part at all. But that dream had been…gosh, her parents would be appalled. She was horrified with herself. What was wrong with her? What was happening?
She hated this. Normally memories of dreams were cloudy, coming back in minimal, unclear bursts. This one, however, was vivid. And X rated.
She couldn't even put it in description; the flashes of images clear in mind's eye, but such an enigma that she couldn't put it into words if she tried. It was so weird, the unbearable heat, and the passion, lust, and desire were flaming in the pit of her stomach, threatening to scorch her throat. Heat was building in her head. She clawed at her skin, feeling herself sprout imaginary rashes.
Of course, it starred Duncan. Who else would it be? Who else could take such a toll on her imagination?
She closed her eyes but that didn't work. The images became only clearer; becoming longer and more flowing into one distinct thought. Those sounds she had been making in her dream she hadn't even known she'd been capable of. It had come from deep inside her, half panting, moaning, and a sort of purring put together to form one lustful sound that Courtney didn't even know existed. But it sure was a sound of pure pleasure.
She doubted the dream would come true, she wouldn't allow it. Still, the thought of her, the picture of him near (or in, due to some cases) her body, and specific parts of it was perfectly mapped in her head.
Words to describe the possibly indescribable Duncan had given her in the dream: passion…lust…desire…overwhelming heat…pleasure…and sensation. The words were a throaty hiss in her head.
You're growing up Courtney, said the angel within. Don't worry, it's just a dream you have when you start becoming…ah, mature.
Don't be stupid, said the devil on the opposite side. It's the hormones. He turned you on, even in your imagination.
It was just a nightmare, said the angel in defense.
Yep, just an appallingly graphic, dirty, full-of-ecstasy nightmare.
Shit! What was happening to her? Her brain? Her mind? Her thoughts? Her body?
Courtney distractedly pulled on a pair of jeans and a blue striped tee shirt where the scoop neck hung off both her shoulders and a silver star in the middle. She brushed her hair. When she stared in the mirror, she seemed different to herself, like she was older, more informed about the secret world of guys. Of course she was no more informed about guys then she had been a week ago, but still, it felt that way. She had been…uh…kissed by one of the guys in 'The Clique'. She had also had a dream about…well…being with him in more than one way…dammit. She had a hard time admitting it to herself. She didn't want him! He had kissed her!
She jumped up and bounced on the balls of her feet out of pure adrenaline and nerves. What did this mean? She hated the whole situation. She thought back.
This is all his fault, she complained in her head, if he hadn't saved me, or asked me to Mount Shasta, and hadn't kissed me, we would have remained in the same spot we were before: archenemies. I wish it was back that way.
But did she? She didn't even know.
She bit into a cinnamon granola bar, too distracted to have an appetite. For some reason she couldn't fathom, she brushed her teeth using the stuff that tints the plaque blue, and then used two gulps of mouthwash. Her breath was so minty she could practically feel it stinging her eyes. She drank a glass of icy water; it stung her throat where the mint remained.
She heard her mom's engine sputter and cough, then leave with a short burst of gas.
Oh, God. Would she walk to school? It was so unlike her mother to leave her stranded, or forget something.
Okay, logic. If she ran five miles an hour…school was three miles away. There was no way she could make it. Twenty minutes till school started.
She ran downstairs. Maybe her bike was still big enough?
The sound of an engine cut off her frantic thoughts. She turned around. A black truck was in the driveway. Her heart rose to her throat then dropped to her toes. A few inappropriate images flashed into her eyes.
She walked around to the driver's seat and stood on her tiptoes to reach the window. "What are you doing here?" she asked, heart beating crazily, suddenly imagining him with no clothes. Stop it!
Duncan shrugged. "I saw your mom's car leave when I was passing by; I thought I'd give you a lift."
Courtney looked at him suspiciously. "That was convenient."
"Yep. So are you going to get in or not?" Duncan asked, unrepentant.
Courtney sighed. She had no choice. She rounded the car and got in the back seat. She was afraid that Duncan might try something on her. She was afraid her nightmare would come true.
He looked around at her in the backseat. "You should sit in the front."
She glared. "Why?"
He got out of the car, not answering. She inched away. Still, he managed to lift her up and sit her in the front seat, after much protest on her part.
"You are so pushy. I don't see why I'm in the front anyway," Courtney complained as he started driving.
He was silent again, eyeing her nearly-bare shoulders. She internally hated herself for wearing the shirt and put a hand to her flaming cheeks. She grasped the shoulders of her shirt and pulled inward so her shoulders wouldn't show. He rolled his eyes and looked away, pulling into a spot in the parking lot and getting out. She walked unwillingly with him into the school. Not that she wanted to, but he took the shortest route, and she couldn't be late for calculus. Still, she couldn't help looking at him and imagining him with…no…damn…clothes.
"By the way," Duncan remarked, shaking her out of her little fantasy, "Geoff told me Bridgette wants to know what's going on with you. And me."
Courtney bit her lip. "What should I say?" I've been having a few increasingly vulgar dreams about him?
Duncan shrugged. "Whatever she wants to hear." He took a piece of her hair and tucked it behind her shoulder. Her heart beat hyperactively. She imagined that her bra straps were melting off her skin…oh, Jesus, help me.
They walked into the busy hall quietly. Duncan turned to her. "Oh, yeah, sorry about yesterday and…what I did…and all. I couldn't control myself."
He meant the whole kiss. Courtney's cheeks could have lit a fire. "It's fine."
"Okay, then…" he trailed off awkwardly. "Well, see you."
"Yeah." She nodded equally as uncomfortably and turned in to her calculus room.
Bridgette was in the back row, practically bouncing off her seat with eagerness. Courtney had no choice but to sit next to her.
"Tell me everything," Bridgette demanded.
Courtney sighed. "Duncan?" Just the word brought her back to the morning, when she had woken up in a cold sweat. It was like a horror movie.
"Yes."
"We aren't dating." However, I have had it with him, in my dreams.
"Oh, please." Her expression was skeptical.
"We aren't!" Panting, feeling, sensation…
"So why did I see him drop you off this morning?"
"Cause I didn't have a ride." Touching, pleasure, desire…
She bit her lip so hard that she felt the skin break. She quickly moved her arm to cover it with her sleeve. She didn't want Bridgette suspecting something. The girl was awfully good with conclusions.
"I heard you two went to Mount Shasta together. That's something," Bridgette reminded her.
"Not a date. As friends," Courtney insisted through her sleeve. Friends? How stupid. Her nightmare, the desire…the feeling came back with a vengeance, along with strong nausea.
Hor-mones, sang the internal devil. Not nausea.
"Yeah, right."
Courtney was exasperated. "If you don't believe me, I won't bother telling you."
Bridgette rolled her eyes. "You're kidding. I think something happened."
Courtney bit her lip and leaned closer to Bridgette's ear. "Okay, here's something. You should have seen the waitress flirting with him at Sain Havannah. It was over the top."
Bridgette gaped. "You went? What did he do?"
"He didn't really pay her any mind."
"Was she pretty? Was she young?"
"Yeah, and she was like, twenty."
Bridgette's eyes glowed. "That's good." She smiled hopefully. "Anything else?"
Courtney blew out her breath heavily. Bridgette squinted. "Man, why's your breath so minty?"
Courtney blushed. "Uh, nothing. Alright, I'll tell you, but don't tell anyone. Not Gwen."
Bridgette mimed zipping her lips shut. "I won't."
"Okay. When we went to Mount Shasta, he…uh…kissed me." The last two words were so quiet that she wasn't sure Bridgette heard. She added the rest of the dialogue in her head: Oh! And by the way! I also had a dream about having sex with him! Isn't that dandy?
"He kiss-mphhh!" Courtney desperately pressed Bridgette's mouth with her hand as Bridgette finished her sentence beneath it. "Oh my God! That's so sweet."
"Shush! It is not!" Courtney said, kicking the table leg out of frustration and bottled up want. She kept on saying the sentence about her dream to herself; even in her thoughts it seemed impossibly bad. She tried to insert it in a few example sentences, but it still was so wrong that it fit nowhere.
"I just love those relationships where you pretend to hate each other but you really like each other," Bridgette gushed, sounding a bit like Lindsay.
"Yeah well…" Courtney couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Are you going to prom with him?" Bridgette demanded. "I heard they're holding in the Charlatan ballroom."
"As in the Charlatan hotel?" Courtney asked, mouth agape. The Charlatan hotel ballroom was expensive. So was the Charlatan itself. Its huge glass dome ceiling, the fancy blue-and-gold wallpaper, the black marble dance floor…it was romantic, to be sure. Which was why she wasn't going.
"Yep." Bridgette looked happy. "Geoff already asked me."
"Wow. Great. I'm not going."
Bridgette lowered her voice as the teacher entered the room. "Why not?"
"Too intimate," she confided. Like she hadn't had intimate thoughts about him.
"Sheesh, you kissed already, get a grip," Bridgette said, overlooking this apparently lame excuse.
"Shh! Does the whole world need to know?" Courtney hissed. "Just because you feel no need to keep your love life a secret doesn't mean you have a right to expose mine."
"I do not expose my love life," Bridgette said defensively.
"Please," Courtney reminded her. "You and Geoff were nearly naked in the hallway when you were kissing a few days ago. Your top was halfway off. He was pulling at your zipper."
Bridgette reddened. "Oh. That."
"Yes! That! Your love life is not as secret as mine!"
"So you admit you do have one," Bridgette said superiorly.
"No, Bridge! You take everything the wrong way," Courtney groaned, aggravated.
"Are you in love with him?" Bridgette asked abruptly.
"No," she insisted. "At least, I don't think so. Like, whenever he tries to…uh…like, I don't know, get me turned on, I try to push him away, but inside I kind of enjoy it, okay? But not like it…like it. I don't want to be, like, sexually harassed or anything."
"It's not sexual harassment if he rightly justifies his desire of it and you agree," Bridgette explained.
"Gee, thanks, but I don't agree."
Courtney thanked the world when the bell rang. She picked up her books and sped out of the room hastily, not wanting more cross-examination from Bridgette. Everything Bridgette had been saying was bringing another awfully clear popup of unwanted, and graphic, images into her head.
Maybe she could go to the nurse. But no, nurses could only help with physical problems, this was a mental one. A psychologist? No, she'd rather die than confide in one of those weirdos about her most personal thoughts.
She sat down on a cloth covered bench, pulling her knees up and resting her forehead on them. Maybe if she just thought about the dream in its entirety, she would stop getting flashes of her thoughts and just forget about it.
Okay, she forced herself. You've got to do this to get rid of it. Think. One: How did he make you feel? Two: How did you react? Three: What did you want from him?
1: Incredibly lustful, wanting, delirious with pleasure, like I could rule the world.
Not good.
2: By returning the passion, heat, and desire…
Worse.
3: I wanted him to continue. I wanted him never to stop—
O-kay, stop it right there! She didn't need to hear any more. It obviously wasn't working, she was even more disturbed now than before. And had a dying curiosity of what was really under Duncan's clothes…
I don't…she insisted. Please, no, I really don't like him, it's the aftereffects of my dream…or rather, nightmare.
Please, stop! She begged herself, slinging her backpack onto her shoulders. Thank God her mother was waiting there instead of Duncan.
"How was school, darling?" her mother asked while pulling out of the school.
"Fine, Mom, please, I just want to go home," Courtney pleaded, thoroughly exhausted.
Her mom gave her a funny look. "Are you alright, dear?"
"Yes, fabulous," Courtney informed her. "I'm just really tired, I want to take a nap."
"Okay," her mother said, shrugging.
As soon as she was safe in her room, she flung herself onto her bed, pulling the covers over her head, shaking like a three year old waiting for monsters in the closet.
She wanted to scream. She needed a sort of portal to drain away this increasing want of him. But what? Having it with him wouldn't do it, she refused to it, not to mention that if she did it, she'd probably want more instead of having her needs pacified.
I DON'T! she screamed to herself silently. I DON'T WANT HIM! I DON'T WANT TO HAVE IT! IT'S THE DAMN DREAM! PLEASE, STOP IT! STOP IT WITH THE THOUGHTS! IT'S NOT ME, IT'S A DEMON! TEEN PREGNANCY IS DANGEROUS ANYWAY!
Now, she wanted to cry. But she would not let tears fall. She would not be weak. She would not want a thing. She would not have another dream similar.
A/N: Gosh, how bad was that? Thank you, reviewers, for remaining eternally faithful, even if I suck. I hope this chapter wasn't too graphic, otherwise people will hate me. Should I switch the rating? Tell me! Or if its too similar to 'Fortuitous', and too explicit, I can delete this chapter and write another. No flames, I beg you. Try to tell me in a nice way. Or flame if you dare. Whatever.