Topping the Jock

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE - REMY'S DARLING P.O.V

Name: Remy 

Subject: Feelings and stuff 

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Page No.: 414 

Date: Wednesday, November 2nd, 2011

Dear Diary,

Milo kissed me.

Full on, lip-on-lip, boy-on-boy make out. Back in Britain, we'd call this an absolute SNOG.

Now, I'm rarely ever taken by surprise, especially by someone I thought I knew so well, but let me tell you right now that this came as one big fucking surprise.

Was it bad that I liked it, that I enjoyed it; that instead of pulling away and bitch-slapping him full force across his sexy fucking face, I grabbed his hair and raked my hands through it, pushed myself against him, returned the kiss, ground our bodies together like I expected they'd mesh into one and we'd officially become Memington? Or Memy? Rilo?

To be honest, the kiss came from nowhere. I mean, I wasn't expecting that to happen, even though we were watching a classic romance, as usual. One minute, Richard Gere is climbing Julia Roberts' fire escape, and the next, he's staring at me. So I turned to stare at him, and just as I was about to ask him what he was looking at, he leaned in.

My eyes bulged and popped in their sockets as his lips suddenly grazed over mine. Immediately, I reacted back. My hands were in his hair, our legs entangled under the covers of my bed, Pretty Woman playing in the background.

He took charge immediately, tearing and biting away at my lips and devouring me with his wet, slippery tongue. I twisted my body and climbed onto his lap to get deeper into the kiss, his arms immediately rising to my chest as if expecting tight, firm boobs to be there. They dropped to my hips once he realised I was a dude.

And he was kissing me. And... the door swung open with a hard bash against the wall.

"Shit!" I screamed, my first reaction to break away and scramble apart, which actually worked out even worse considering I toppled off the edge of the bed and made a complete idiot out of myself. Not to mention the floor was especially hurtful on my precious British bottom.

By the time I stood up, I could see pretty clearly who'd walked in and ruined what was officially the hottest moment of my entire pitiful existence. The foul creature who was about to recieve the utmost rage of a hormonal teenage crossdresser (another diary entry for another time, I think).

A bald man, stubble covering his face. His eyes were blue, his face sickened. Each ugly wrinkle was creased in disgust. And as soon as Milo saw him, he shot up from the bed like a bullet and stood there, stiff, like a Nazi soldier.

"Uh, dude, get out," I told the filthy old pervert. "We're kinda busy." I assumed he was one of my mum's friends looking for the bathroom.

His upper lip twitched in anger, clenching and unclenching his fists. This definitely wasn't the time for me to be sassing to strangers in my bedroom, never mind the fact that some stranger just actually walked into my bedroom and uncovered what was the biggest secret in my life, the moment that changed my entire future.

"Dad." Milo shuddered as the words escaped his lips.

My jaw hit the floor immediately.

And literally. Because Milo's first reaction was to punch me. Hard. In the face. Like that would somehow redeem his big-man-ego. An ego that stopped existing as soon as he pressed play on the first of many romance films with me.

"Dude!" I shouted at him, sitting up on the floor and crossing my legs stupidly. "Great. Cute boy makes a move on me and I end up the one getting punched. Clearly, this isn't my day," I grumbled, covering my cheekbone with the palm of my hand.

"You did what, Milo?" his dad blurted, his voice thickened with a raspy anger that sent shivers through the two of us simultaneously.

Immediately, I figured Milo's dad out. Dead-beat ass-hole that wants nothing more than for his wife to do the cooking and the cleaning, and for his son to be the All-American-Boy that everyone thinks exists, but really is just an unreachable mirage.

"Dad, he's lying," Milo insisted. "The little fag kissed me!" he exasperated, twisting his body to point at me with a look on his face that was both angry at me, embarrassed, shocked, and kind of apologetic. I stood up swiftly and wiped the dirt off of myself, immediately hissing at Milo.

"I can't even believe you," I told him. "I wouldn't even cross that line, you kissed me! Either own up to it or just don't bother speaking to me again!"

Ultimatums suck, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Milo collapsed to the floor.

At first I thought he may have fainted like the closet melodramatic slut that he was, but then his dad started laying into him with vicious vigour. He struck him across the face. Throwing punches, kicks, over and over. Milo lay there, taking every punch in the face, every kick in the gut, every violent smack.

All I could think, I'll never get the blood stains out of my carpet.

I'd tried to pull his dad off of him, but the man was huge, and fat, and strong, and I was screaming at him and calling for my parents, my throat was tearing, I was sweating, my heart beating so fast I thought it might burst.

He just kept hitting him.

"Didn't I tell you, Remy? You're friends father came to pick him up tod-" my mum stopped at the door, and did nothing. Slowly, she retreated from the room, quiet as a mouse, like she hadn't even seen a thing. That's how great my mother is, Diary.

I dived onto his back and wrapped my arms around his neck, but he still attacked, wiggling to try and toss me off. Only when he turned on me did I see my mum standing there in the doorway, her hair tied into a lovely bun and her floral apron wrapped neatly over her hips, all perfect and fine like the desperate housewife she was. She was definitely the Bree van de Camp of the family.

He whipped me off of him in one fast move, slapping me right across the face with the back of his hand, and sending me crashing down to the floor. It stung like an absolute bitch.

"How dare you touch my son!" she screamed, her hands uncovering a long, silvery knife from the pocket of the apron. She held it out. "Get the fuck out my house, you white trash, classless American swine!" She swiped the dagger at him, slashing at his arms over and over. "GET OUT!" she screeched, her voice practically shaking the house.

Let's just say the dad did as he was told, and left, grumbling, "Crazy foreign bitch."

Although it's pretty shitty to say, Diary, but that was the last time Milo was in my house. That was the last time Milo was my friend.

I remembered that day as I skipped through the pages of my old journal. And what was worse, the doorbell rang. Milo was back.

- BYE LOSERZ I'M GOING SHOPPING -

I know, I know. This one was monstrously short. I never do them this short unless its to be artsy or something, but idk if I placed this one right. Anyway, I felt like it did what it was supposed to so there would be no point in writing anything else in this one. But next time, MILO'S POV!