Get your goat

I'm outside Madison's house. Or mansion. Or castle. Call it what you want, I call it one hell of a building.

I remember Glen giving me the tour of the town, and this building was according to Glen the best part of the tour. Apparently, the building is used as a party house at least once a month. On those weekends that Madison's parents are on their 'romantic weekends'. And don't think it's with each other, no, it's with their lovers. I guess there's a reason why Madison is the way she is after all.

Madison. Wondering who that is, huh?

Queen-bee. Yup. And the best friend of Spencer. Both in the cheerleading squad, both total bitches. You couldn't find a better couple really, they fit each other perfectly. Both
so shallow and conceited that it's dripping from every word, every move they make.

Not that they're a romantic couple or anything, I'm talking about a couple as in 'a couple of friends'.

Huh, them being a romantically involved couple would just be the funniest thing ever. Even just one of them being gay would totally rock my socks, and the rest of the school's too, because it would shatter everything for them.

Everything.

I take the thought back when I see Spencer stumbling out the door with a guy's hand permanently attached to her ass. I don't even wanna mention where her hands are.
She's so drunk, she's barely holding herself up, and the guy's more than willing to hold her up. By her ass. The sight is making me cringe, it's so not pleasant. And it doesn't help when she stumbles into the car, dragging the guy on top of her in the backseat.

No.

No way I'm driving both of them around.

I know what this will lead to, and I am NOT letting them have sex in the backseat while I'm driving the car. NO. WAY.
Still I can't get myself to say anything, 'cause of my fear or what Spencer might do.
I've still never spoken back to her, and I have no intention of starting.
I have no intention of feeling her wrath.

So I drive.

A moan, a belt buckle popping open, a zipper slowly being pulled down, breath hitching, sloppy kissing-sounds, oh I am not looking into the rear mirror, I am so not doing it.

Quick glance.

NO.

This is not happening, not happening.

I can't help but look again, knowing how creepy it is.

Spencer without a top.

Spencer with a guy attached to her neck.

I can't help but feel this sting in me, and I wonder why it's there, why I'm affected by what's happening in the backseat.

It's not like I haven't seen it all before.

I can't tear my eyes away from it, however sickening it is to me, however much it hurts.

Hurts.

That's what it does, and I have no idea why.

And when he tugs at her pants, I can't help but do something. I can't watch this unfold in front of me. Or right behind me, or whatever.
So I do the only thing I can do.

I brake.

Hard.

And it sure works, a bit more than I hope for actually.

I can hear a scream from behind me, and I'm afraid, so afraid that I've hurt Spencer.

The pitch of the sound is so high that it couldn't possibly be a man's voice. But it is. And apparently, my action didn't just get them to stop. I think it just permanently castrated the guy in the backseat, as his groin hit Spencer's knee when he was thrown forward into the back of the passenger seat.

And I can't help but smile.

«What the hell was that?»

Uh-oh.

I forgot about Spencer a minute there. Bad move.

I turn my head backwards, trying to mumble out an excuse, but do not succeed in my wild attempt to cover up the real reason for my actions. Spencer's eyes bore into me, and I feel like a dear caught in headlights, I know she reads right through me and my excuses.

Shit.

«God, I am so outta here!»

A door slams, and to my surprise, it wasn't Spencer. I kinda wish it was, because now I'm alone, all alone with Spencer, and she's still looking at me. Still boring her eyes into me. And I know my punishment is soon coming, so I wait.

And wait a bit more.

And then wait in vain.

'Cause nothing happens, she's still looking at me with this unreadable
expression, and I cannot tear my eyes away from hers.

And then it hits.

And it hits me so hard that I have no chance to defend myself, no chance to prepare.

And I can't help but join.

She's laughing. She's laughing so whole-heartedly that I'm almost
believing she actually does have a heart. The smile accompanying the giggles is so foreign that I can't help but stare at her in awe, I think I just witnessed a miracle.

Or maybe it's just the alcohol.

Thump.

That was my heart sinking at the knowledge that she's so wasted that she probably doesn't even know it's me sitting in the driver's seat, and when she suddenly starts to choke on her laughter, desperately grabbing for the door handle, I know that's exactly what this is. A wasted Spencer having no clue it's me, the person she hates, in the front seat.

God, she's retching.

And it is so not pretty.

Still I can't help but open my door reluctantly, waiting for her to slam it shut where she's leaning out of her own door. She doesn't, and I dare to walk out and bend down to her level, before taking hold of her hair and pulling it back. I'm right in front of her, using both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears, and she's looking down, never meeting my gaze. And I'm thankful, she might have recognized, and this whole moment with her would shatter.

'Cause this sure is a moment for us.

Or, for me at least.

It's not like she's even aware of my presence, for all I know she probably thinks it's Glen doing all this.

I push that thought from my mind, and try to relish in the moment of me and her being civil. However civil it is to hold someone's head while they're throwing up all the alcohol formerly inside their stomach.

Still.

It's more than being pushed out of the car and being run over 10 times. It's so much more than that.

When we get home, she's slouched in probably the most uncomfortable position ever in the backseat. I momentarily ponder just leaving her there, but I just can't do that. I just can't.

She's so peaceful asleep. I've never seen her like this, usually she's always glaring, always having this hard edge to her face, to her demeanor. But in this moment – where she's lightly snoring with her feet in the passenger seat and her torso halfway on the floor of the car, head where you usually place your ass in the backseat of the car – she looks so innocent. Her half open pants and shirtless upper body kinda kills that perception though, and I know I have to dress her up before we go into the house. There's no way I'm telling Arthur and Paula, not because I've done anything wrong, but because Spencer has. And I can't bare see them mad at her.

I don't go out of the car, but instead try to crawl my way into the backseat, hovering over her for a minute, before I manage to straddle
her in the air, one foot in the front seat, one foot in the backseat. It's
so not a comfortable position, but it's a perfect one when I want to lift
her up into a sitting position. Before I do that though, I buckle her pants, and when I reach for her shirt, I graze the skin of her stomach,
and she stirs.

I freeze.

I move my hand away like it just touched fire, and I look away from her. There's no reason for it, but I still feel compelled to do it, like I'm doing something creepy, something immoral.

I wait for her breath to become even again, before I dare to drag her shirt on again. No way I'm letting her wake up with me in my position and her in hers.

I don't even wanna know what would happen if that took place.

Please please pleeaase don't make her wake up!

I lightly touch her sides, trying not to tickle her, and slowly press my hands against her skin, getting a hold on her before I try to lift her up into a sitting position. She stirs slightly, and while I feel my hands wanting me to let go of her, I know if I do so, it's absolutely sure that she will wake up.
So I keep them there, feeling its warmth against me, and I look down at her, and what I see frightens me. Sends shivers down my spine. Makes me tighten my grasp.

She's smiling.

Eyes still closed, she's smiling this consent smile, and she shifts her feet slightly, making my right foot lose its balance in the front seat, and I crash into her side, making both of us stumble together in a heap in the car. I scramble myself off of her before my brain has time to react, I'm clutching the door in the backseat, as far away from Spencer as possible, when I see her eyes wide open, looking at me.

Oh, no.

This is so not happening.

She only glares at me, for a long while, and I'm so shocked that I can't do anything but mirror her gaze.

It's so different.

The view.

I know her view is someone shocked, someone with pancake eyes the size of, uh, giant pancakes. A frightened face with locks loosening from it's ribbon cage. Hands desperately clutching the door, feet pressed into a fetal position, body rigid of torment.

Or maybe all she sees is some kinda molester, trying to go at her in her sleep. God, I hope that's not what she sees.

My view on the other hand, consists of coldness. Hatred. Scolding blue eyes look at me, and I know it's the latter view of me she's currently
feeding off of.

I can't really blame her though.

Waking up to clothes barely on, some stranger hovering over you, touching you, I really don't blame her for thinking the wrong way.

I so need to explain myself.

«I-...»

«Shut the fuck up and get the hell out of the car!»

«But-...»

«Get out! Get away from me!»

The anger I always imagined was inside of her, just pounding to get out, suddenly do. I'm sure I see her seethe, but I can't be sure, since her last interruption sends me falling out the door, as she kicks me away from her, effectively making me pull the door handle, and down on the ground I fall.

Scrambling to my feet, I start running.