Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Dam's Point of View:
I hate those mornings when you blurrily open your eyes and glance at the clock, praying that it will guarantee you an hour or two more in bed, only to be informed by the glaring numbers that it is, in fact, only one or two more minutes until you must be up. That is seriously the worst way to start an already bad morning. Already bad because it is currently six thirty a.m.-what isn't horrible at such an unholy hour?
I growl at the clock that lies halfway across the room (at Cale's insistence-he claims that I wouldn't get up, otherwise…probably true, though I act offended when he tells me that) and blindly reach for an object, any object, to toss at it in the hopes of halting what is soon to be the most horrible noise in human history. Unfortunately, the alarm starts before I can, so I let out a curse, uncurl myself from my tangled green sheets, and make my way over to shut it off. I'm sure that if I wasn't so fucking tired, what I would be doing could be called stalking, but it's too early for that. For anything, really. As usual, the only thing that keeps me from returning to my nice, warm, amazingly soft bed is the knowledge that if I don't get ready now, I'll be late to pick up Cale, and he'll most likely have my head.
And not even in the perverted way I wish I meant it.
I arrive at his house to see him, of all things, in his front lawn dancing in the rain. He doesn't notice me at first as I pull up, so I just sit there for several moments, leaning on my steering wheel and watching with an amused smile. When he finally looks up and sees me there, he gets a little embarrassed smile before scooping up his shit.
I laugh as he holds his backpack over his already soaking head to protect him from the rain.
What a fucking moron.
I push open the door and watch as he practically falls into the car, shaking his mane of wet hair around, tossing his bag to the floor, and slamming the door behind him.
"Good morning," he greets with a cheery smile even as he shivers lightly from the cool air on his drenched body.
Idiot. I'd say that he deserves to freeze to death if I didn't love him so much.
I offer some half-assed reply to his sunny salutation before cranking up the heat and pointing all of the vents in his direction to aid in staving off the cold that he has succumbed to.
He smiles gratefully and puts his hands up to the vents, rubbing them together in an attempt to warm his frozen joints.
"Moron," I grumble out to him, though I grin even as I do.
"Jerk," he retorts with false anger, not even glancing up.
I stick my tongue out at him and respond, "Pansy."
He makes a lewd expression in return, sliding a hand up my thigh and winking suggestively. "Was that an invitation?"
I quell the urge to shift uncomfortably away (or, even worse, towards) the hand that drifts further and further up my leg, and instead reply, "Only if you want it to be."
He giggles to himself in amusement before suddenly going silent. I, however, am used to the change in his very bouncy emotions, so am not really bothered that much. Yes, he is generally this bizarre.
I pull into the school parking lot just as he tells me, uncertainly, "Damien, I have something I need to tell you."
He pauses even as I make a questioning noise in my throat and waits until I park the car in my tiny designated spot that I absolutely loathe and can look over to him. He moves around, shifting nervously, and I can't help but wonder what is so important.
"What is it?" I demand though not unkindly, and watch as he bites his lip.
"Umm…I saw Tracy flirt with someone yesterday," he rushes out before staring at me, as if waiting for me to blow up at him. I'm surprised he didn't add a, "But don't shoot the messenger," to that one, for with the way he is now looking at me, one would assume that I might be about to kill him.
I stare at him for a moment before laughing quietly.
"That's what you were so nervous about telling me?" I won't add the idiot that I so desperately desired to tack on to the end, not wanting to be absolutely cruel.
He takes a moment to look surprised before automatically shifting to angry; apparently, my not adding the rude term to the end didn't affect anything. His eyes light up, and he narrows them harshly at me.
I take a moment to ponder on exactly how fuckable he looks right now.
"Why are you laughing, you bastard? She's cheating on you, and you don't even care?!"
God, he's such a woman. I roll my eyes at him. "It's not like I like her or anything, doofus. I want her to flirt with someone else, to cheat on me; I'm hoping that she'll find someone else. You know I can't break up with her if I want to retain my life. Therefore, I have to get her to break up with me."
He sits quietly for a moment before grumbling, "Fine, but I still don't like it."
See what I mean; seriously, total drama queen.
I swing open my door asking, "Now, was there anything else, or can we go to class now?"
He raises a brow at me, giving me that look that promises trouble at a future time that is most likely going to be very soon, but obligingly gets out of the car. I kindly choose to ignore him, for everyone's sake.
Third period, I have lunch with Cale, which I totally appreciate. None of our other friends do, however (read: thank fucking God, no Collin), nor does my psycho girlfriend. We must all be thankful for that small blessing.
So, we grab our lunches, homemade ham and cheese sandwiches with chocolate chocolate chip cookies, made especially for us by Laurie, Cale's step mom, before going to our table.
I seriously love Laurie-she's absolutely amazing. If she wasn't already married, and I wasn't gay and madly in love with her stepson, I would seriously marry the woman. She is that cool. Cale's dad got together with her three years ago, about a year after his first wife, Cale's mom, died. She was awesome, really, and very accepting of everything; she took to Cale right away. When she saw how close Cale and I were, how close I was to the family, I, too, became her adopted son; she does anything she can for me, including what she considers to be little things, such as making my lunch every morning with Cale's. I love her for it; her food is even more amazing than she is, I think.
Anyway, we sprawl out at our usual corner in the lunchroom, tossing our backpacks into the far chair as if to rid us of all the thoughts of school and work. If only they could stay permanently in that little place.
"What are we doing for your birthday?" I demand of him around my sandwich.
He rolls his eyes at me (I really think we both do that way too much; perhaps I should look into the possibility that they could get stuck like that…after all, isn't that what all mothers and first grade teachers say? "If you wear that expression too long, your face will get stuck!") and takes a swig of water. "I don't know yet; what do you think we should do?"
I shrug; it isn't, after all, my fucking birthday. Thankfully-mine is coming up soon enough. Sooner than I'd like it to, in fact, as my parents have a whole affair planed out to celebrate. That sounds really great of them, I'm sure. It's not. They wouldn't even remember my birthday except for the fact that they can use it as yet another chance to show off to their many friends.
"You decide; it's your birthday."
Cale coughs, pretends as if he's choking on his cookie. "What? You, Mr. Always In Charge, is letting me decide on something? I can die, now; I've seen everything."
He acts as if he might actually die of shock, and I totally resent it. What a jerk; I don't always make the decisions. Okay, so I do sometimes. Even the majority of times. But we all know that he has me wrapped tightly around his little finger, and if he really wanted me to do something, I would without question. Though maybe not without complaint.
"Seriously, though," I demand with a frown. "It's not too far away, so you should really think about it."
He shrugs again. He really is too indecisive, I think, which annoys the hell out of me.
"I don't know, Dam. Maybe go out to lunch with everyone and see a movie or something, then Laurie will, I'm sure, make dinner, then rent some movies, perhaps? I'm fine with anything."
As I told you, totally indecisive. It's quite clear why I'm the decision maker in this relationship!
I tell him as such, and he raises a brow. "I'd watch it, Dam; you make it sounds as if we're involved in some torrid gay love affair."
I roll my eyes at him (see my point? I do it waay too much. Really must check up on this…) and reply, "Oh, you wish."
I wish he wished. So desperately…
Another lusty wink. "Oh, you know it, baby. I have a burning desire for your hot body."
I inwardly choke, but outwardly nod in a knowing fashion and reply in an "I'm better than everyone, and am quite aware of my superior placing" voice, "Of course! Who wouldn't want this- I'm built like a God! You probably dream about me constantly. I understand, though, you simply can't help it."
He snickers quietly. "I'm glad you're so accepting of my passion, Damien. Does that mean you won't mind when I tie you naked to my bed?"
I give him a surprised look, as if to imply, "Do you really have to ask?"
"Of course I won't!"
How true that statement really, really is.
Sorry, everyone; I'm not going to add responses until the next chapter is up this Wednesday, because if I don't get to bed my mom will HANG me.
Hope you all enjoyed, despite the shortness!
Sorry for taking so long, love you all!