A boy, a girl. A simple fucking relationship. It's what I desired, day and night, the dream was woven intricately into every breath I drew.
Boy, I was so fucking naive.
But a relationship with who? Well, that was a different story.
(edited xx)
Michael turns, staring at me with his nose turned up.
I ignore his his disgusted look, the need to get to school is far more urgent and important than his incessant attempts to get under my skin. "For the record, that's the only time you'll ever be permitted in my room." He proclaims flatly, turning his back to me to finish up with the trash.
"Class starts in half an hour!" I screech, ignoring his rude comment. I should learn to do that more often. "And? You think I care?" He spits. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was bitter about last night. He probably doesn't even recollect the event.
"I need you to please get over your hatred toward me for just a little bit." I can sense his eye roll without even looking at him. "Hatred?" He half mutters, chuckling to himself. "That would imply that you have any ruling over my life." Great. "Michael. Please." He finally glances at me, frowning deeply. I kissed those lips yesterday, and it sparked a flame deep in my chest that'd never been lit before.
"Fine." He growls, tossing the garbage bag to the grass a few feet away from himself. I notice he's already dressed in his school uniform, a simple black suit and tie, like he planned for this to happen. But me? I'm still sporting my vodka-soaked button down.
"Come on." He grunts as he pushes past me and into the house. I scurry after him, and hope he can't smell me from here. I know there's no way in hell I'll have time for a shower, so I'm gonna have to show up to class smelling like some sort of drunk.
He slides into the driver's seat of the car, and I tentatively seat myself in the passenger's. He pulls out of the driveway slowly, and begins to cruise down the street, at a snail's pace. My eyes are glued to the clock, willing it to creep along just a little slower. Every passing minute strikes more fear and anxiety into my heart.
He turns up the radio, while I cringe at the sound of Black Sabbath. The violating music literally damages my eardrums, and I can't stand it, so I reach for the dial. "Don't touch my fucking radio." He spits, and I jump, letting my hand drop to my side. "Sorry... it's just... this music sucks."
I want to mentally face-palm; I forgot momentarily that being in Michael's presence is like trying to tiptoe around land mines. Land mines of rage, so sensitive that if you so much as touch one with the tip of your toe, you'll be cruelly rewarded with explosions of insulting anger. Instead of exploding, he scoffs, his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you listen to?" That's an extremely normal question. "Queen." I answer quietly. There is a brief moment of silence before he bursts into laughter, heat sweeping across my cheeks.
"Queen, one of my biggest competitors! Great, of course you listen to Queen." I look out the window, my hand resting against the leather of the seat. It smells of cinnamon in here, bringing back memories of how good Michael's mouth tasted. God, I've gotta stop thinking about that. "I have some of your albums too." I whisper, avoiding his eyes.
He doesn't respond, tapping his fingers melodically against the steering wheel. I look over, and again I'm caught in the moment, mesmerized by the mere appearance of his face. He runs his tongue over his lips casually, and a chill runs up my spine. That tongue was massaging mine last night.
"See something you like?" He snaps. I must've stepped on a land mine, because he stops the car abruptly. "You can get out." I gape. "But... this is the front of the campus. I have to-" "Did I ask? Bye." I sigh, rubbing my eyelids with frustration. "Thanks, Michael." My voice drips with sarcasm. I look forward to the fact that we never have to talk again, or even look at each other.
