Something Bad

Chapter Seven: Elks Were the Wimpier Version of Moose

Chapter Seven: Elks Were the Wimpier Version of Moose

      “Ross!” the distant yelling found its way into my ears. “Olivia, get up!” the same voice called again. I was slowly beginning to stir from the state of slumber I had previously been set in, my mind a blank slate. All I knew was that—regardless of the hour—I didn’t want to be awake. I wanted to keep sleeping. Whoever invented the addictive sensation should’ve been sent to jail for life for creating such a marvelous oblivion. Sleep was wonderful.

      Slowly, I allowed myself to begin sensing the scene around. The side of my body was pressed against a fluffy surface that would be the perfect landing pad if one were to jump from a skyscraper. My head, at the same turned angle as my being, was rested on an even comfier plane, but at a slightly raised height. Layers of softness were positioned on top of me, and my temperature was neither too hot, nor too cold. If I could have stayed like this forever, I would have. It was wonderful.

      “Livy!” the nagging tone screamed again. Well, the individual probably wasn’t actually yelling, but in my dazed cognizance, it was all perceived the same way.

      “What?” I groaned, my words muffled by the lack of movement that my mouth produced.

      “It’s two in the friggin’ afternoon,” stated the now registered sleep-offender as if I had needed to be granted with the useless information.

      “So what?” I managed to grunt out.

      “You can’t sleep the entire day, you know that, right?”

      “I can do whatever the hell I want!” I proclaimed firmly, my senses slowly but surely being awoken. Whoever had invaded my room was about to feel the channeled wrath that came along with waking up Olivia Ross. It didn’t matter the relevance that the person held my life—no, they could range from being my dad to Preston and I would still treat them the same way. They were about to face hell.

      “Sure you can,” the soul I had established to be of the male (and inferior) gender in my mind laughed sarcastically.

      “Leave!” I demanded with an unintimidating yawn.

      “No,” they defied. And then I felt my freaking bed dip down with practically five tons of weight. The idiot had the freaking nerve to get onto my bed. If it was Preston, his balls were about to meet my knee. What type of asshole did something like that? Jerk.

      “Get. Out. Of. My. Freaking. Bed. Now!” I stressed out every essential syllable (and the unrequired ones, too).

      “I don’t think I will, Ross,” a laugh seeped from their mouth. All the puzzle pieces then finally clicked in place, jolting me right up. If figuring out that the human lying down on your bed next to you wasn’t your best friend of sixteen and a half years, but rather a creature new to your immediate world wasn’t enough to get you out of bed, I didn’t know what was.

      “Luke, what the hell are you doing here?” I practically shouted. “How the hell did you get in here?”

      There he was. Luke Daniels. Lying lazily on my bed as if it was a fine thing to do. He was clad in navy jeans with rips by the knees and an even darker T-shirt that was just tight enough to give off the illusion of his torso being relatively toned. Unlike the various other times that I had seen him, his leather jacket was without him. Lacking the article that derived from the skin of a now lifeless animal, it gave the boy a slightly less daunting façade. He appeared more like a normal teen than the poser he was, just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Oh, and his black Converse—a fashion statement that still confused the hell out of me.