46Do The Dew
Ana's P.O.V.
He's over there, just sitting in his chair, fixing Renee's computer (for the fiftieth time this week, can he not just see the girl has it, and bad, for him?) and sipping at a cup of coffee. I spin slightly in my seat, crossing one leg over the other and absentmindedly counting money. Two dollar coin, two dollar coin, one dollar coin, two dollar coin.
I look down in my hands and realise I'm counting the money I've been given to go buy some more printing paper, and set it back down on the table before returning my gaze to Spencer. Renee is hovering around, leaning over him and pressing her boobs into his shoulder. Not that he seems at all deterred by this; he keeps working away at the stupid computer – like nothing even happened.
It's making me feel sick to the stomach, just looking at him. I've managed to avoid him for so long, fixed everything of mine that had broken at work by myself. I just plain couldn't believe it when I started working here six months ago only to find him already here. It's like I can't get away from the guy, no matter where I go. He's always there.
I've been getting rid of viruses, using useless slow internet and putting up with my stupid, dysfunctional scanner that only works when it wants to work. I've made myself freezing cold because of him, as the heater installed near me is broken and I can't afford to buy a new one or risk asking him to fix it, risking talking to him.
But last night, in the dark as I was pulling my car keys from my blazer pocket, all of that avoiding was put to an abrupt halt as his hands landed on my waist and his mouth on mine. I thought he was someone else, and so – I kissed him back.
Warm lips meet mine and I smile; I've been waiting for Aaron, my co-worker, to kiss me for months. With his blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes, he's like a life guard, but an office version. I mean I'm not entirely into the guy emotionally but man, is he beautiful. I kind of hate him for that – being prettier than me – but I do like him for this.
Smirking, I bring my arms up and around his neck, pulling him closer to me. He makes a noise from the back of his throat and his fingertips dig into my back, pleasantly surprising me with their forcefulness. It just gets better, though, as they knead into my back, drawing big circles, and drawing down and further down my back as we kiss.
My knees begin to buckle as I grow weak, delighting in how wonderful he is making me feel. Tingles spread from my toes to the very blonde, curly hairs on top of my head and everywhere in between; before kissing the guy I'd had no idea it would be this good, he is a great kisser.
But when we pulled apart a car flashed past, headlights illuminating his face; recognition flickered in both his and my eyes and screwing up our faces we jumped apart like we'd been struck by lightning. Oh, we'd been struck all right and it wasn't by lightning – but by a pure, intense feeling of abhorrence that stirred in our stomachs as soon as we'd realised what we'd done.
Spencer, feeling my gaze, turns his head and our eyes meet. His spark with electricity while mine look back at him, blandly. I bring my hand to my mouth and let out an exaggerated yawn. His eyes narrow at me, and he shakes his head, the tips of his ears going red as they always do when he gets really aggravated.
I drop the hand and, smiling faux sweetly; spin my chair back around to face my desk. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up, and there's no doubt he's still using his angry eyes on me. I remember the first time he looked at me like that, and it wasn't pleasant at all. It nearly brought me to tears the first time he looked at me like that – but now, I'm used to it. I don't care.
Picking up the money I grab my handbag off of my desk and taking out my wallet I squeeze the money inside, making sure not to mix it up with my own money. Shoving it back and zipping up my handbag, I swing the strap over my shoulder and push my chair in with the back of my heel as I go to leave. Only, just as I'm going I discover my route has been blocked by a broad shouldered, dark brunet headed man. My eyes move lazily up and I raise an eyebrow at Spencer.
"We need to talk." Is what he says after a moment of silence.
I raise both of them now, and cross my arms over my chest. Need to talk? About five years too late for talking. I'm done with talking to him, and really I'm just done with him altogether. "There's nothing to talk about, Spokes, now move out of my way so the printer doesn't start protesting about having no paper, so it doesn't break and so you don't have to fix it again."
But, stubborn as I remember, he doesn't budge an inch. Sighing and looking to the heavens I go to bump past him. But again, he moves in front of me. Gritting my teeth I step back, away from his chest. I look up at him again. His eyes, blue as the grass is green, stare expressionlessly back at me.
"Yes," he says coolly, "we do. We kissed, and then you threw up all over my shirt and drove off in your car, quicker than I could explain myself."
Blinking, I bite my lip; threw up all over his shirt? I didn't throw up all over it. Much. I mean, most of it got on the pavement and on my shoes – my work shoes, which I had to wear today. So honestly, there's nothing he has to complain about. He has plenty of work shirts; I on the other hand only have one pair of work shoes. Besides it's his fault for initiating the kissing in the first place.
It still isn't clear to me why he did – kiss me, I mean – but I assume he didn't know it was me from the look on his face afterwards. He looked just as repulsed as I did at that moment. Had I stayed a moment longer perhaps he would have thrown up on me. Either way, I don't care. I don't want to hear about it. I left for that very reason, and I don't care for that information right now.
I hold up a hand just as his lips move to speak, "Honestly, Spokes? Don't care. Just," I shrug, looking past him longingly at the hallway leading to the elevator, "don't do it again, is all I ask."
Not looking at him I adjust my bag strap and then brush past him, trying to ignore the warmth his tan brown arm gives off for the fraction of a second it touches mine. I suck in my breath and close my eyes, counting up and down to ten as I make my way down the hallway to the elevator. I didn't think about it then and I don't want to think about it now – I locked what happened back when I was 18 far too deep to resurface without incitement. But just because it is far back doesn't mean it's not there.
That's why I can't let him get to me, can't let him talk to me. I hate him, he hates me. All there is to it as far as I'm concerned. I let out the breath I sucked in as soon as I step in the elevator, opening my eyes and turning around to press the button for the ground floor. Only to find someone standing right in front of me.
Stumbling back I let out a curse word, my eyes widening.
"Whoa there," Aaron says, grinning and steadying me with a hand on my shoulder, "someone was deep in thought there, what's on your mind?"
"Oh, nobody, I mean nothing," I slap a hand to my forehead, inwardly cursing my idiocy and screwing up my eyes. Count to ten, count back, and breathe. I drop the hand and grin, shrugging at him and thinking quick. "I mean you. I was thinking of you."
"Really?" Aaron says, and then dragging his other hand down all of the elevator numbers, he plants it on my shoulder just like he did the other one. I feel a little shiver go down my back and my fake smile is replaced by a genuine one. No better way to stop yourself from thinking about one guy than filling your mind with thoughts about another one, and oh – is my mind full of all kinds of thoughts right now. "Because I was thinking of you too."
"Oh?" I ask as he starts slowly backing me towards the other end of the elevator. He doesn't bother answering, just lets his hands drop down slowly from my shoulders as he goes; fixing them on my waist as I feel my back press against the elevator wall. The next thing I feel is his lips pressed against mine, and my eyes starting to flutter closed.
But if I'd closed them a second shorter, the last thing I saw before letting myself sink into Aaron's arms would have been his own closed eyes, and not what I do see – which is the elevator doors finally closing, and Spencer standing in the hallway staring through the gap.
Spencer's P.O.V.
"Yes," I say coolly, "we do. We kissed, and then you threw up all over my shirt and drove off in your car, quicker than I could explain myself."
But Ana doesn't speak, just bites her lip, her eyes fogging over as she gets lost in her own ponderings. I stare at her, recalling for the millionth time not that day, but that very hour, the events of last night. I can't seem to wrap my mind around it. I'm such a moron. How could I have mistaken Ana for Renee? For one thing, Ana kisses much better than Renee. For another – I hate Ana.
So I just don't understand why I could mistake Ana for Renee. I only find Renee mildly annoying, whereas Ana is like the only girl that's made me want to get violent with her. But that's understandable; she broke my freaking heart. She broke it, and she didn't care. I did nothing to her. Nothing that wasn't good or sweet or nice, anyway.
Nothing that warranted her cheating on me, that's for sure.
I open my mouth to speak, but she interrupts, holding up a hand, "Honestly, Spokes? Don't care. Just," she shrugs, looking somewhere over my shoulder, probably wishing I'd go away, "don't do it again, is all I ask."
Then she bumps past me, our arms touching. I feel that vaguely familiar wave of electricity shoot up my arm and close my eyes, tight. Rage bubbles up inside of me, and my skin heats up because of it. My hands turn to fists and I try counting to ten and back, before spotting the can of mountain dew I've left on Renee's desk.
Before I realise what I'm doing I'm at my desk, chugging down the rest of it. Mountain dew always makes me feel better. Always. I remember downing about a hundred cans five years ago. It didn't work that time though, and when I put the empty can back on Renee's desk; I realise it isn't working this time, either. Mountain dew can fix everything. Everything except Ana.
Renee, still standing aside her desk and waiting for me to finish fixing her computer, clears her throat. I turn my eyes to her, swallowing, and she looks back her big brown eyes wide with concern, "Are you okay, Spence?" I look away from her worried eyes and shrug.
"I will be, just going to make myself feel better," I glance at her, smiling for a second before starting in the direction Ana headed just a moment before. "Going to make myself feel better than I have in years."
Feel better I would; I know keeping all of my feelings inside isn't good for me. But the thing is, I didn't and haven't done that on purpose. Ana was the one I always wanted to talk to about it. Not my mum, not my friends; Ana. She just never wanted to listen to me. She still doesn't. I'm getting sick of it, because honestly? After five years it's getting old. After five years, it's ended up making me loath her even more than to begin with.
Crossing my arms over my chest I walk down the hall, spotting the elevator almost about to close and skipping to catch up to it. I go to put a hand on the closing door, but leave my hand hanging in the air when I see Aaron, the surfer lookalike, kissing Ana up against the wall. My jaw tightens and involuntarily I grit my teeth. This setting is way too familiar for my liking.
Ana's half-closed eyes meet mine in surprise, before the elevator door closes in my face.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It isn't like her past wouldn't support her actions today. Kiss me, then go and kiss some other guy. Definitely feeling familiar to me. I feel another surge of rage bubbling up inside of me, and dropping my hand I fall back against the wall, staring at the closed elevator doors.
I hate her. I hate her. But most of all; I hate the way I still react when her lips touch mine after all of these years, true; I'd been totally revolted afterwards, especially when she hurled all over my shirt. The kissing part though? Before I found out she was, in fact, Ana and not Renee? My body enjoyed that immensely. Smacking a hand to my forehead I find myself sliding down the wall in humiliation at the thought of it.
I spot Renee's trademark rain coat and increase my pace with a smile. She's been calling me to her desk, breaking her stuff on purpose just so she has an excuse to talk to me. It's kind of getting annoying, though, when I have so much real work I can be doing. So obviously to get her to stop I have to throw her another bone.
Sneaking up behind her I spin her around, planting my arms on her waist and my lips on her own. Renee is pleasantly surprised and kisses me back, and I can smell her perfume; it's intoxicating, and it's new. I'll have to ask her about it afterwards. She smirks against my lips, wrapping her two arms around my neck and then drawing herself closer to me.
I groan and find myself pressing closer to her, drawing circles on her back with my fingertips and feeling drunk with giddiness. Kissing her last time; she wasn't that bad, but now? She's definitely taking it up another notch. I might even have to make this thing we have into a relationship, if she puts up this kind of performance every time her lips touch mine.
Her knees begin to collapse beneath her, and this is obviously affecting her as much as it is me. My grip on her tightens and I drag my lips away from hers to have a couple of words; lights from a passing car flash and reveal the girl in front of me and myself, and then I see it's not Renee - but Ana.
Making a face I pull away from her, stumbling back and pointing a finger at her. "You."
But Ana then promptly threw up all over me and flicking the vomit off of her hands, made a run for it. At the time I was too stunned to stop her, and the pain, the big twisting knot in my stomach, was actually making me physically weak from it. So I stood there, human embodiment of disgust, and watched as she got in to her car and drove off – fast.
I should have known; Renee's not the kind to smirk when kissing a boy. She's much too modest to do that. Ana, however, is all too aware of the way she can affect people. Especially people that happen to be me. Groaning, I drop my hand from my face and hit my head repeatedly back on the wall behind me with a scowl and scrunched, closed eyes. Damn her.
Ana's P.O.V.
I see Aaron wink at me from the other end of the office, and I wink back at him with a little wave of my hand, smirking. Now it's back to business; I think I've had enough with the opposite sex at work for one week. Tapping my foot as I listen to an mp3 I suck in more mountain dew by the straw full, scanning for any mistakes before I send off an email – when I am IM'd by a co-worker.
Clicking on the IM I raise my eyebrows; it's Spencer.
Slut
I put down my can of drink and look over to his desk. He's sitting there, his chair spun around in my direction, his eyes boring into mine. Sniffing and incredulous at his immaturity I roll my eyes at him, turning back to my computer and clicking out of his IM; making sure he can see me do it from over my shoulder. But then he only sends me another one a second later.
I'm going to keep sending you messages until you respond.
And then he adds for good measure:
Slut
I look over my shoulder once more, eyebrows arched in disbelief. He's glaring daggers at me, lips twisted into a scowl. I look back to the computer screen, shaking my head and mouthing what? But I nonetheless poise my fingers over the keyboard, ready to respond but not really having much of a response in mind. I mean, excuse my French, but motherchucker…
Spencer is being beyond immature for his age; he's acting much like he did at the age of sixteen. All because of one stupid kiss from three nights ago. That's all it takes to set him off after all of these years I've managed to avoid him. One stupid and accidental kiss. One that he initiated. It's not even my fault he seems to want to bug me lately – yesterday he spent the majority of the time 'accidentally' throwing bits of paper, and lettuce from his sandwich, at me.
Frankly, it's starting to really piss me off.
If this harassment continues, Spokes; I'm sorry but I'm going to be forced to report you to our superiors. It is making me really uncomfortable, having to put up with your childish attempts at getting to me. So I'm giving you a warning. I'm asking you to stop. But if you don't…
I press ENTER and sit back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other and waiting for his response. I don't have to wait long, and I'm not disappointed in any way by it. It's exactly as I assumed he would respond to such a message; with complete disregard.
If it makes you uncomfortable, doesn't that mean my so called 'attempts' are working?
I snort, and then return the favour of disregarding his answer.
Just get back to work, Spokes.
To keep him from messaging me, or at least keeping me from getting his messages at present; I log off of the work messenger and then get back to reading over the email. But while I read over it I don't really see the words in front of my eyes – I'm much too agitated. I'll admit; he's annoying the absolute crap out of me and sooner or later he's going to find another way to irritate me.
Sure enough as I save the email to my drafts in defeat; I'm hit in the back of the head by a ball of paper. Gritting my teeth, I look down at where it's dropped behind my chair and catch his eye as I do. He mouths to me read it before turning back to his desk. Pressing my lips together and feeling another pang of irritation, I grab it up and then bringing my hand back – fling it in the bin, where it belongs.
A couple of minutes later another paper ball hits me; only this one sticks to my jacket sleeve for a moment before falling onto my lap. My lips drop, and I look down at the spit soaked ball of paper in my lap in revulsion. I know what you did in that elevator. Standing up, I let the paper ball fall off of my skirt and onto the floor, and not even bothering to push my chair back in or lock my computer – I start walking right towards Spencer who looks back at me, stone faced.
I try counting to ten and back again – but it doesn't work. I try thinking about kissing Aaron two days ago – but it doesn't work. I try closing and my eyes and breathing in, breathing out – but it doesn't work. Opening my eyes and spotting the can of mountain dew on his desk, I grab it up and grin, madly, "I told you to get back to work, but did you listen?"
"Well, no, but I assume you didn't think –" before he can finish his sentence I bring the can, with a shaking hand, over his head and with a narrow eyed glare tip it upside down over his head. Greenly yellow liquid spills out of it, soaking his hair and dripping down his face. His mouth drops, and he stares up at me, stunned. I throw the can over my shoulder and shrug at him.
"You always have done a lot of assuming things, haven't you, Spence?" I say darkly, and with a quirk of my eyebrows, head for the girls' bathroom to clean the spit off of my skirt and jacket sleeve.
I know that he did see me in that elevator, but I also know he didn't see what he thinks he did. Or rather, what he assumed what he saw would lead to. I mean, after what happened, back five years ago? I guess I shouldn't be surprised of what he thinks I'm capable of. Cheating on him, sleeping with someone else when I hadn't even slept with him before – doing It with a co-worker in the elevator.
All thing's he has assumed and wrongly so that I've done. All things that drove me crazy, things that made me cry – back then. But I'm above it now. I watch my feet, trying to breathe evenly, blinking furiously as I make my way down the hallway and practically fall through the door and at the feet of one Renee Pulitzer.
Renee, finished reapplying her makeup, looks down at me and widens her eyes in shock. I point to the door, looking away from her and biting down on my lip hard. "Get out."
Renee opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it when I grab a spare toilet paper roll and throw it at her. She then rushes out the bathroom door without saying another word. I lean over, bringing my knees up and pressing my face into them. Breathe, Ana, breathe. I'm not going to cry. I can't let one more tear dribble down these pale cheeks for him. It's a promise I made to myself ages ago.
I bite down so hard on my lip I taste blood and then stop, my shoulders shaking. More and more tears are filling my eyes every second that passes, and when I look up from my knees and they go spilling out like a waterfall it's too late to stop them – and stop Spencer, who's burst through the girls' bathroom door.
My eyes scan around the room, fixing on everything but him; I look at the pink walls of the bathroom, and the white tiles with pretty little flowers on them above the sinks. I look at every different cubicle, looking at the graffiti. Then I look at the mirror and wish I hadn't; mascara streaks down my cheeks and my skin has gone all blotchy, my eyes pink-rimmed and blood-shot.
"What did you even mean by that? Assuming things?" he says angrily, "There wasn't much room for assuming with what you did and I don't care if you're going to cry. I think it's great that you're crying; never showed much emotion about it five years ago. What's the matter? Guilt finally caught up? Finally realised what a heartless bitch you are?"
I finally drag my eyes slowly away and they change from mortification to hurt and anger, and I feel like grabbing another spare toilet paper roll and throwing it at him. But I don't, I refrain, bringing my fingertips to my temples and rubbing. My eyes close and I speak, quietly but clearly, "Do you want to know what really happened, Spence? Want to know what special kinds of fun I got up to that night?"
"Not really," he chides.
Opening my eyes, I shrug, "Too Bad," I tell him, and then I begin to recall the events of a night I've fought so hard to keep in for five years, my heart pounding.
"Hey sweetheart, have a little tiff with your boyfriend?" I look up to see Alex Cartwright looking down at me, his eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner. I roll my eyes good naturally at him, kicking him in the shins as a joke. It's not the first time he's hit on me, and the more amusing occasions have arisen while I've been with Spencer – because Spencer absolutely hates it when he hits on me.
I wrap my arms around my knees, leaning forward and beaming up at him, "Oh, a little one. He'll be back in a flash though; you know I'm too cute to stay away from for too long."
Alex chuckles at me, and then sits himself down before my knees, placing his hands on them and squeezing. I look at his hands, raising my eyebrows at them before giving him a pointed look. His hands, whether or not Spence and I are fighting, will definitely not be welcomed on any part of my person. I look around Michele Rhode's backyard, trying to spot Spence in the masses, but I can't see him. I hope he can see me though – because I'm starting to feel a little more than uncomfortable.
My skin crawls beneath Alex's touch and I start to panic when I feel his hands moving upwards, onto the skin of my thighs. I slap my hands down on his and look him in the eyes, "Alex, stop."
He takes my hands in his own two meaty paws, leaning closer to me every second until all I can see is his grey lust-filled eyes and all I can feel is his breath pluming into my face, "Oh, come on, you've never stopped me before," he presses my hands back against the wall behind me and I let out a startled noise.
Glaring, I struggle against him, trying to wrench my hands out from under his grip and kicking my legs, not jokingly this time, "That's only because my boyfriend was there to stop you," and then his knees pin down my legs, and I find myself unable to move, unable to escape. I want to scream, but as soon as I go to his lips crash down on mine, muffling any noise I make.
"Well," he says against my lips, pressing his big, bulky football playing body down on me that feels wrong on so many levels, "he's not here to stop me anymore."
I close my lips as tight as I possibly can, refusing to kiss him back to his aggravation. My eyes dart around, and looking over my shoulder I feel a rush of relief; about ten metres away, Spencer is standing, staring at us with a stunned expression on his face. Spence, I feel my lips turn to a smile beneath Alex's.
He's here right on time to stop him. Any moment now. He's going to run over here, and punch the lights out of Alex. He'll bash Alex so bad; he'll have to go to hospital. I watch, full of hope and affection for him. But my smile starts to twitch – he isn't moving, he's just staring. He's bringing a hand to his lips, rolling his eyes and…laughing. He looks like he's laughing.
I feel my mouth drop, agape, and watch in disbelief as Spencer walks off, not looking back. My lips start to tremble and I blink furiously, and then Alex takes advantage and shoves his tongue down my throat. A wave of terror hits me. Spencer's left me here, I've got no way to escape, and Alex is filling my mouth with the bitter taste of alcohol I haven't been drinking.
My eyes spill over with tears and I squeeze them tight, giving up and going limp in his arms.
"You nearly let me get raped," I scream at him, angrily, "because you thought I liked it. Thank God for your best friend though, huh? The one you didn't talk to after you saw him at school, carrying my books and comforting me? The one that had the sense to drag Alex off of me because he knew – unlike you – that I'd never dream of kissing another?"
Spencer just stares at me, his arms slack at his sides and his mouth agape.
Pushing myself off the bathroom floor I swipe at the remaining tears and walk past him out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind me with anger.
Spencer's P.O.V.
The door creaks open and Michael Fletcher, my best friend from so many years ago, steps outside. His eyes widen when they land on me, and he leans against the door frame waiting for me to speak; and speak I shall. That's what I am here for, no matter how awkward I'm feeling. No going back to my car now, no second thoughts. I just have to suck it up and take what's coming for me; I'll probably deserve it.
No; there's no probably about it.
"I'm sorry," I start, running a hand through my hair, "for what I let come between us. I just…she told me what happened and I'd really like to thank you, you know – you protected the one thing I love most because was too stupid to realise she needed protecting."
He shrugs and straightens, offering his hand, "That's alright; I probably should have kept on trying to tell you. But I'm lazy like that," he winks at me with a grin, and I shake his hand, feeling a rush of relief that he isn't yelling at me like Ana did. "Anyway, come on in."
Michael steps out of the way, giving me room to walk inside and I feel a little bit better after a lousy day like yesterday. But there's still the painful emptiness in my stomach – that no matter how many McDonalds chips I stuffed in my mouth last night, would fill. He closes the door behind me and then ushers to the French doors, behind which I can see the dining room table.
I follow behind him as he leads me in, and then sink down in one of the chairs beside the kitchen bench. He heads for the fridge instead, and opens it up smirking at me and ushering towards his selection which is limited to one choice; mountain dew. "Still like this stuff, man?"
"Always." I grin and he gets out two cans, kicking the fridge closed with a heel and coming to sit in the chair beside me; settling the can in front of me, he eyes me like he wants to ask a question. I raise my eyebrows at him curiously, cracking open the can and taking a sip, "What?"
Michael looks away, smirking again. "You said before that I protected the one thing you love most, said tense indicating that you still do. Love her, I mean," he looks at me as I feel my cheeks turning a little red in realisation, "do you?"
Looking away I stare at the table instead, setting my jaw; I definitely don't hate her anymore, that's for sure. Can't hate someone that has done nothing to deserve that hate. But the question is, now that I'm done hating her, have I relapsed back into being in love with her? I know I'll never feel exactly friendly about her, whether I hate her or not. She's just not someone I can be 'just friends' with.
I put my can down on the table and shrug, "I've heard that you two are really close now, like best friends."
Glancing sideways and gauging Michael's reaction I find he's just staring at me blankly. But then, after a moment or so, his cheeks dimple and he bursts into laughter, covering his mouth with a hand and looking incredulous. He snorts, derisively, "No, I have not pulled the moves on your ex girlfriend if that's what you mean; but I do on the other hand…have her spare house keys."
He slips his keys out of his pocket and separates one, eyeing me and smirking again, "You might want to pay her a visit, apologise, make out with her and press her down into her power puff girl bed sheets," he pulls that one key off of his keychain and sets it down in front of me, "I'm just saying."
Eyeing the key I bite my lip, furrowing my brows. I know he's joking, well sort of joking anyway – but the idea of visiting her, and maybe even kissing her? I'm sorry to say it isn't an unappealing option for me. Because now that I don't have anything against her, it's kind of hard to ignore the voice in my head going; what if she forgives me, what if we get back together, what if now all of that hate is gone all that is left is the love we used to share and maybe can again if I apologise to her?
So many 'what if' situations, some of them not very PG-13. A lot of them not very PG-13.
I tap my fingers, in conflict with myself, there's also the bad 'what if' situations; like what if she doesn't want to get back together? What if she never wants to talk to me again? What if, no matter how much she still hates me I'll still feel the same way about her? God, I don't think I'll ever change. It's been five years, and those five years I've hated her guts – only nearly as quick as I find out that she's innocent for the crimes I held against her I'm falling back in love with her all over again.
Glancing sideways, I see that Michael's cradling his head in his hands, still smirking at me in extreme amusement. Staring back at him I frown, suddenly thinking of something, "Uh, why are you helping me? I haven't talked to you in five years and you're just going to give me her keys?"
Michael shrugs, "I know you, you probably haven't changed; I trust you. Besides, if you hurt her again I am going to kick your ass this time."
Nodding, I pick up the keys and look at them, "Thanks, but I think it's going to take more than just a visit, and it's going to take a while. But you know what?" I smirk at him this time and toss the keys up in the air before catching them again, "I'm totally up for it."
Ana's P.O.V.
Blinking, I stare at the third box of chocolates sitting at my desk this week; it has the same hand crafted heart box, same confetti, same amount of effort and same hand written note from Spencer sitting atop all of the chocolate. Annoyed at his persistence I glare over my shoulder at him, a glare which he returns with a chirpy smile. Grabbing the box I do what I've done every other box he's given me – throw it right in the bin.
Renee gives me a look from over at her desk like she thinks I'm crazy and I raise my eyebrows at her, trying to mentally remind her of the toilet paper roll I threw at her. She seems to get the hint, especially when my hand clenches around my computer mouse and my knuckles whiten. She goes back to sorting through files, her cheeks pinkening.
I slump on my desk, trying to avoid looking at my trash bin and pressing my face into my arms; he just won't leave me alone. I let a sigh out and then feel something on my legs. Bemused, I push away from my desk and bend over to peer underneath it. But I don't like what I see, and I bite down on my cheeks; he's fixed the heater.
Growling under my breath and glaring at the little red light I scoot my chair back in, trying to ignore the warm air blowing onto my legs and frowning fiercely. He's fixing everything. I don't know how he's doing it, because I barely leave my desk and only for short periods of time – I've never once come back to find him working on anything of mine.
This leads me to the conclusion he stays after work hours just so he can fix a bunch of my stuff every night. I honestly don't know how he has so much time on his hands; time enough so he can fix all of my stuff along with other broken office items – along with making me those stupid chocolate boxes I find on my desk every morning. He's wasting time, and money, and I just don't like it at all.
Because to be quite honest throwing all that chocolate in the bin is starting to make me feel bad; it's like throwing dollars down a toilet and flushing. Chocolates are definitely not cheap and I'm pretty sure he's going to keep on buying them for me until I agree to the note. The note, which reads:
Go out on a date with me, 7:30 pm, the park swings; you know which park.
So not only am I robbing him of his cash but every single night I leave him standing on his lonesome at the park for presumably half an hour to an hour. It really pisses me off, too. Him making me feel bad for all of this; because that's so what he's trying to do. He thinks I'm going to give in and just go on a stupid date with him – I've even tried talking to him, telling him no.
But you know what he does when I try? Just smiles at me. Like a freaking clown.
I let out another frustrated growling noise and bury my head back in my arms, glaring at my computer in all of its brand new fast internet and fancy programs. I could uninstall them, just to spite him; only I know if I do that then tomorrow I'll come back and they'll all be installed again, maybe even upgraded a second time.
Thinking back, and remembering how much of a jerk he was before, I feel myself wishing for the jerk in him to come back again. I can handle him being a jerk, but I have no idea how to handle him being nice. I feel a tapping on my shoulder and I look up into Spencer's bright blue eyes, "I bought you some lunch, Ana," he says and then walks off leaving a delicious looking baguette on my desk.
I feel my heart flutter, watching him retreat back to his desk, chewing on his own baguette and sinking down in his chair. I close my eyes and suck in my breath before opening them again. I bet he thinks all of these so-called sweet gestures and smiles are making me feel all gooey inside; damn that motherchucker because it's actually working.
I grab up the baguette, and kick my bin to make it sound like I've thrown the baguette into it – but after making sure he's not looking I cave, bringing the baguette to my lips and sinking my teeth down into its gooey, cheesy, chicken-y goodness.
A Month Passes
Twisting the keys and unlocking the door I step inside, kicking off my work shoes and walking down the hall and into the dining room to drop my handbag on the table and make dinner. Only, when I walk in there I find there's no spot on my dining table to even put my handbag; it's covered it cans and cans of mountain dew, stacked on top of each other.
My jaw drops and I feel my handbag slip off my shoulder and onto the floor. I stare around the room for the culprit, but seeing no one I walk tentatively towards the mountain dew, picking up a can and sitting up on the table as I crack it open. Bringing the can closer I sniff it, making sure it smells healthy, and then peer inside the can. But it looks all good.
I lower the can and sniff the air again; the mountain dew smells fine, but I can smell something else in the air. Something cooking. I raise my eyebrows in confusion; the only other person who can get in here is Michael. I make him look after my spare set of keys because I'll just lose them. But this – all of these cans of mountain dew, and the delicious smell coming from the kitchen…none of it screams of Michael. He isn't one for random acts of kindness, not like this.
I'm about to shift off of the table and go investigate when music starts and who walks in the room but Spencer Spokes. My mouth drops, and my heart gives an enormous flutter to my great disdain. I've been getting worse and worse at repelling the affects he seems to be having on my heart. Every time I see him even though my brain is like oh no my heart is definitely going oh yes.
Biting down on my lip I fake a scowl, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. "I don't know how you got in here but you've got to leave me alone. I'm sick of you giving me things, sick of you smiling at me, sick of you fixing things, sick of you setting up dates and waiting for me – I think think the key word is you. I'm sick of you."
He looks at me a little, before he gives me the biggest smirk and starts walking towards me. I start feeling very self conscious and shrink back amongst the mountain dew cans, taking a swig of my own and trying to control my nerves. It doesn't work, if anything I feel even more nervous – but that could be just because he's getting even closer; soon he'll be right in front of me.
Clearing my throat and holding the can up threateningly I warn him, "Don't come any closer to me, you psycho. I don't like you and I definitely don't like you being too close to me so I'd appreciate if you…" he steps between my legs and places a hand on either side of them. I kind of forget what I'm talking about, my face flaming like a flamingo.
Spencer looks down at my lips and I feel my body betraying me, my eyes starting to flutter closed and my torso bending towards him. He doesn't kiss me though, not yet. Just clears his throat and taps my mountain dew can with a finger, arching his eyebrows at me. "The bottom of the can; read it."
Spencer's P.O.V.
I watch as she lifts the can up a little higher, covering the top with a hand so it doesn't spill over and peering at the bottom where I wrote if you took so much as a sip of this can you owe me a date. Her cheeks, which are already a pretty impressive shade of red, go even redder.
She puts the can down beside her and sucks in her breath, looking at me. "I don't have to go anywhere with you," she argues weakly.
"Don't have to." I agree with her, my hands sliding further down the table and my body moving with it. I love the way I'm affecting her, she's so obviously flustered by me it's not even funny. It's just making me even more turned on. But I'm not going to kiss her yet. I want to make her kiss me first, if possible. Drive her mad with desire, make her cave. Make her want me like she did five years ago.
Only problem is keeping my own hormones in check for long enough.
"I'm sorry for all of those years ago and from this moment on if some guy even touches you with consent I promise I'll beat the shit out of him, okay?" I swear to her, letting my hands lightly graze the sides of her legs and feeling her slightly squirm beneath my fingertips. She looks at me through half-lidded eyes, and just gives a little nod. I can barely resist her, watching her short blonde curly hair bob with the nod. "So what about that coat you were wearing the night we kissed?"
"Um, didn't know Renee had the same coat." She shrugs, leaning back and adding with a warning. "I'm not wearing it ever again."
Compensating with her leaning back I lean a little more forward, "That's fine with me; now what did you say before about not wanting to go out on a date with me, Ana?" I want to know, whispering in her ear. She shudders and finally brings out her claws, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me closer to her without actually kissing me. Her breathe plumes into my neck and I look down into her eyes.
"I said I don't have to go anywhere," She says decidedly.
"But you want to…" I say, bringing my arms around her waist. I'm going to match her move for move. I start drawing circles on her waist like I did a month ago, and her fingers dig into my neck a little painfully as she restrains herself. I can't help but let out a little snicker.
"You're nuts," she spits, digging her nails in even harder.
"You want me." Ana grabs me by the shirt collar, and drags my lips down to hers; success.
Ana's P.O.V.
"You're nuts," I spit, digging my nails into his neck.
Why doesn't he just kiss me? He's looking at my lips again. I can see him. He looks at them every couple of seconds; he sways closer to me every couple of seconds. Each time it's a false alarm and each time he makes my heart go off like a jackhammer. If he doesn't make a move soon I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a heart attack. I close my eyes, trying to calm myself down.
"You want me." He says, and screw it; I do want him.
Grabbing him by the shirt collar I drag his lips down to mine and wrap my legs around his waist, pressing myself up as close as I can get with clothes on. I feel a little embarrassed with myself about it, too. But the embarrassment doesn't make me put my legs back on the floor, oh no, my legs stay right where they are and my hands creep up into his hair, ruffling it all up.
Spencer doesn't seem at all put off by any of this, though; to be honest I think he's reacting even worse than me about things. His hands go to the small of my back and he lifts me off of the table, kissing me and walking backwards out of the dining room. I have no idea where he thinks he's going, or even if he knows where. I don't think I would have even noticed if it weren't such a suggestive sort of place.
I open my eyes and his lips pull away from mine for a second while he turns around and lays me gently down on my bed. I speak, breathing a little shallowly, "How do you even know where my bedroom is?"
"I did my research," he assures me before he lays down on top of me, cradling my head in his hands and then proceeding to kiss me again. Our lips move together, and I feel tingles all over like when he kissed me that day, only a million times worse. He tastes like mountain dew, and of all other things my favourite kind of pie – cherry pie.
Curious, I murmur against his lips, "Did you make me pie?"
He pulls away, propping himself up on his elbows and looking very dazed and adorable. "Um, what?"
"Cherry pie; you made me it?" I want to know. It doesn't seem to register again; his eyes glaze over and drop back to my lips again. My cheeks heat up in pleasure, affecting him as much and if possible even more than he affects me is a compliment indeed. I give him a poke to the ribs when he goes to kiss me again, though.
"Uh, yeah, I did," he says and I lift up my arms from the bed and give him a hug, kissing him on the cheek and feeling all warm and loved after all that kissing, and with the knowledge of even more to look forward to. "Is that okay – that I used your kitchen?"
"I love you," I let slip and that's when he really wakes up. I blink, realising what I've said and going to deny it when I realise something else; it's completely true. I feel my whole body heat up with embarrassment and I'm pretty sure I'm turning the colour of a tomato again.
Spencer stares at me, his mouth wide open. I can't believe I said that. He's going to be so freaked out once it processes. I love you is the last thing he wants to be hearing from me. We've only just well…I don't even know what we've been doing. There's kissing involved, that's for sure. He wants to go out with me too. But in love with me? I think not.
I unwrap my arms from around him and cover my face with my hands. I'm a moron. A complete and utter moron. He's going to get up, leave and take his cherry pie with him. Because what guy would want to hear that on something akin to their first date with a girl? Not one. Even though technically this isn't a first date; five years ago we'd go on a date pretty much every single day.
But that's in the past and this is now and now? I am embarrassed as all hell.
Spencer, clearing his throat, removes my hands from in front of my face and looks me right in the eyes before planting a kiss that could suck your soul out onto my lips. He kisses me in such a way it's not sweet at all, and lies there, kissing me until I'm out of breath before dragging his head away.
He smirks at me, raising his eyebrows rather suggestively. "I knew it. Now, do you want some pie?" Getting up off of me he stumbles off the bed and starts to head out through the door, leaving me lying on the bed still tingling. I sit up straight in bed, bemused.
"Spence," I call and he pauses, looking over his shoulder as I eye him reproachfully, "what about me? Do you love me?"
"More than anything in this world, Ana." He grins softly before turning his head back and heading toward the kitchen.
Smiling giddily I wait for him to bring me the pie, hugging my knees. "I knew it, too."
xoxoxooxoxoxo
Like, oh my God you guys. I've finally finished this story and frankly I really, really hope it doesn't suck because I don't think I've ever put as much time and effort into another story before this. For one thing; it took me ages to write. I mean full on. I was pretty much writing a whole heap yesterday, and all of today as well. And it's 12:13. But then you know what else I did? I went and revised it.
Revise. Me. I mean, I'm sure I don't go into as much detail with my revising as some other brilliant authors do but for me? I think I revised a whole lot, discovering a lot of cave man-like mistakes. I think writing 'Bam' is effecting my spelling. Because I was missing a lot of 'to' and 'the' bits in the middle of things, cue sweat drop.
PS. Her name is pronounced Ah-nah not An-nah
Anyway, this is my entry for the (and Oh, is this my favourite cliché ever? YES) I LOVE TO HATE YOU CONTEST:
Rules (for all OneShots in the ridiculously happy contest series)
-Has to be a OneShot above 2500 words, and below 10,000 words
-Must be Ridiculously Happy (no angst, tragedy, hurt/comfort. Looking for humor, romance, drama, general etc. Happy endings only please)
-Set in the current world (no sci-fi, supernatural, alternate universe, 200 years ago etc)
-Be realistic (give the reader the feeling that your story could actually occur in real life. Just because it says Ridiculously Happy, don't go overboard)
-Add the name of the contest in your summary. (In this case add the words 'FOR THE I LOVE TO HATE YOU CONTEST)
-You can submit a maximum of three stories in each round.
Guidelines (for I 'Love to Hate You Contest')
In addition to the rules above, here are the guidelines for the 'I Love to Hate You Contest'
-Het pairing, with both girl and boy more than 22 years old.
-Mutual hate relationship for a while between the leads which eventually turns to love.
-Either/ both characters must have an obsession with a beverage of your choice.
Notes:
-The characters must have substantial reason to dislike one another, and then to eventually fall in love. Make these reasons abundantly clear to the reader.
-Neither of the characters can pretend to hate the other. There must be genuine dislike between the two.
-When I say love, I mean love. I'm not talking about a high school crush here (that's why characters are above 22).
-The characters can't just wake up one day, and decide that they are in love with each other. The build up must be realistic, and believable. (I cannot stress on this enough)
I realize that I have dumped an age old cliché you guys, the love/hate relationship. The point is to see how creative you can get with this much over used plot, and more importantly, how believable you can be.