Wanting What I Shouldn't

Chapter 11

After a couple hours of playing with his hair, he finally decided that maybe we should do some actual work.

I'm pretty sure he said that because earlier he told me his parents get home around 6:30 ish and it's 6:21 pm.

So now I'm sitting up on his bed, books and papers scattered all around me as I'm quickly flipping through pages and pages of homework.

I groan out annoyed "Fuck," I curse, biting my bottom lip as I keep rustling through my papers.

Where did I put my fucking math homework?

Did I leave in my locker?

Or in one of the desks?

Kingston looks up from his desk and over at me with a confused look "What's wrong bookworm?" He asks me and I look up from my pile of shit. I blow a puff of breath up at a strand piece of hair hanging in my face.

I slap the thick pile of papers down onto the comfy bed and look back up at Kingston "I'm freaking out! I think I left my homework at school or I lost it! And I've never not turned in homework!" I tell him, running a hand through my long hair that I left down after I took my hair tie out at school. I forgot it there.

I wish I had it right about now.

He pushed the office chair back and stood up. He chuckled while shaking his head as he made his way over to me.

It wasn't until Kingston told me that I was sitting in his room. And it's huge! Everything is either black, gray, or white and...I love it.

It's so laid back and calming. But huge. He has a 72' inch flat screen TV in his room! And a bed with a bed frame! And a non-destroyed mattress. And more than one blanket!

He's so lucky.

He can never see my house. Ever.

He jumps onto the mattress, causing my papers to fly up and wrinkle.

My eyes widened as I panic "Kingston!" I yell at him, not being able to move from my circle of well organized papers and books and random pencils and a ruler somewhere in here.

"Be careful! I had all my homework organized and I—"

    "Need to relax," Kingston cut me off "You're tense." his eyes are soft and I'm sure I look like some stressed out office worker.

    I sigh, rubbing my temples, trying to sooth my aching headache. The bed creaks as he moves closer to me, taking the stacks of paper away and making an opening in the circle of shit.

   I quickly crawled out of the overwhelming circle and sigh again, letting my back rest on the head board.

   "What do you do when you're stressed?" He asks me, making me open my eyes and look up at him.

   Even sitting down he's fucking tall.

   I nibble at my bottom lip "Street fights," I answer lowly, I know he hates it when I say that but it's the truth. Punching people helps relax me.

    He nods and grabs my hand softly, pulling me up off the bed "C'mon," my chest heaves with a heavy sigh as I watch him open the large oak doors.

   Unwilling to argue, I trail after him, knowing that I'll get lost if I don't.

   And I don't want to leave his side.

No. I could care less if I leave his side.

   He sticks his hands in his pockets and turns down the stairs. I follow after him, looking around to take the house in.

   The long staircase is a shinning gold, a velvety green carpet rolled down the slippery stairs, paintings of sunsets and landscapes hung up on the sage painted walls, hints of white hung by the windows. The sparkling dark oak flooring that has not a single scratch on it. The large chandeliers that hand in every room, so modern and rustic at the same time.