The President's Son

Every Little Thing

Every Little Thing, but I expect you to already know that since it's the title of the current chapter. It's by Ryan Beatty.

Chapter 10

I woke up wrapped tight and snugly in a warm, plush blanket that had an image of what seemed to be a panda.

Do I dare open my eyes?

I do. And instantly the bright light and heat of the sun poked me in both eyes while it burns the skin on my bare arms and legs, through the blanket. I wasn't expecting the sun today. For some strange, dark reason, I had expected it to rain.

The blanket was so tightly wrapped around my waist and chest I could barely breathe. With one quick flip, I rolled out if the blanket, and landed flat on the floor.

"Ow!"

There was a fluffy white rug on the floor, but my bed was so large and close to the wall, I hit my head on the way down. Blankets and all.

I kicked and punched my way out of the blanket and took a deep breath, then realized that I was stark naked. I gasped and then decided to pull the damned blanket closer to my chest.

Last night wasn't a blur, it was as clear as my eyesight. I remembered every detail, emotion, and feeling. But I wasn't going to go that far into depth. Maybe later I will.

Connor said that he was in love with me. Which was kind of sudden but I didn't care. And after that, I was too full of happiness to stop the events that happened soon after. Connor, a good, innocent (well not very innocent in bed), nice guy like him, was in love with a rude, bad, fucked up, kickass girl like me. What are the odds of that?

Now that I think of it, where is that boy?

After quickly changing into a blue shirt and some ripped jeans, I ran a hand through my hair and stepped out of my bedroom expecting to see Connor in the kitchen as usual.

We were practically living together.

Why wasn't he living in the big house with his family. Doesn't he like, have to? I mean come on, his father is the president. He's in charge of everything around here. Why not Connor? Does he even care about Connor? I thought he like, had to love with his dad. So why wasn't he? Why was he spending so much of his money on me?

Why do I ask myself so many questions but never answer them?

"No idea," I mumbled. Turns out that when there's nobody to talk to, I speak to my conscience.

When I stepped into the room, Connor wasn't there. Nor was there a note, not even a bagel or anything. Nothing. The couch pillows were still scattered from our session, and the apartment was eerily quiet.

I looked up at the clock on the wall that was above the television. 9:47. Not even noon.

I took a deep breath before I started freaking out. When did he leave? Did he leave right after, or just a few hours ago? Did he rush out to go sneak back in bed with another woman? No, he's far to 'innocent' to do such a thing. But where was he?

Maybe he did something wrong.

Well, not wrong but...I mean for his first time he was pretty awesome.

Oh my god! What if he broke the condom? Wait, what if he didn't use a condom! Maybe he knew that I was capable of getting pregnant, but how can that be if I nearly overdose on birth control pills?

"Shut the hell up Rose," I whispered quietly to myself. But I was still pretty mad. Connor left. He's gone. Not here. With me.

I slowly stepped into the kitchen and slightly jumped when the cold, black and white tiles pierced the warm of my feet. It was pretty chilly.

After pouring a bowl of Cheerios without any milk, because I wasn't in the mood to open the fridge, I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room and sat on the couch. The couch that would now and forever make my heart burst just by the sight of it.

What is this strange feeling?

I slowly dipped my hand into the bowl of Cheerios and grabbed a handful before I shoved it into my mouth. I had an urge to chew quietly for some reason. Maybe it was so I could be able to hear my mental debate.

I traced the stitches along my arms, and near the back of my head. Remembering when he took me to go get them. Each spot erupted in flames, still trying to cool off from Connors fiery kisses. His pink, plump lips kissed and sucked every scar, cut, bruise and stitch, and for the actual first time in my life since the incident, I felt wanted. I felt loved. Especially loved.

Why did I feel like this whenever I mentioned his name? He's just a boy. He's way out of my league anyways. No wait, Connor isn't even my type. I'm practically living off of him, I try to shove him off when he offers to help, and I tell him I don't need him even though he's paying for my life. But after all this he claims to be in love with me.

Another question for me to lose my mind over.

Do I love him back?

"Connor," I said to myself. I shivered when the word had been fully spoken and pronounced. Yep, his name drove me to the very brink of insanity. His laugh, his voice, his kisses, and the way he loves me.

Rose Slater, you are in love.