Ugly : clifford a.u

Spencer

"Truth or dare?"

Smirking, I looked up from my pizza and across the table to Michael.

"Truth."

“Oh come on Spencer, live a little,” he said, grinning as he wiped his mouth on his napkin.

“Truth.” I repeated.

Shaking his head, he thought for a moment.

“Have you ever slept with anyone?”

“Will you stop asking that!” I cried.

“Okay, okay.” He laughed, “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“Romantically?”

“Is there really any other way?”

“On the mouth?”

“No, the armpit, yes on the mouth.”

“No.”

“Seriously? No preschool peck, or first grade fling?”

“No.” I laughed.

“Okay,” he chuckled, taking a bite of pizza, “You’re turn.”

“Truth or dare?” I asked.

“Truth.” He replied.

“Live a little.” I mimicked.

“Truth.” He said again, laughing.

“If you could see for one full day, what would you do?”

Wiping his greasy fingertips on his shirt, he sat back in his chair.

“That’s a good one.”

I waited for him to answer.

“I’d either run around like a kid who had a sip of his Mom’s coffee and a few sugar sticks, trying to see everything and anything, or I’d keep my eyes shut.”

“Why would you do that?” I demanded.

“Keep my eyes closed?”

I nodded, then remembering he couldn’t see me replied.

Licking his lips, he pulled apart the crust of his pizza.

“I’m not sure if I would want to see.” He said slowly, “For one day. I can’t miss what I don’t have, I can want it, but I can’t miss it. If I saw, I’d know what blue is, and dresses, and boobs, and you, and then all the wonder would be gone and when my day was over all I’d have would be a miserable longing for something I could never have, and what’s the good in that.”

“I never thought about it like that.” I admitted.

Smiling, he opened his mouth to reply when our waitress, a rail thin, large breasted super model looking brunette, Jessica according to her name tag, stopped infront of our table.

“Hi.” She greeted flashing a Crest add worthy smile.

Sighing, Michael turned towards her, his face, unbeknown to him, about an inch away from her breasts.

“What?” he asked, his voice strained.

Pouting on a fake pout she turned to look me up and down with obvious disgust, before turning back to Michael, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.”

“What?” Michael cried, “Why?”

Looking over her shoulder, she glanced in the direction of a table of elderly women who were staring at us in disgust, while the table opposite them, occupied by several teenagers, tried to hide their laughter.

“You’re upsetting our customers.” Jessica sighed.

“How?” Michael demanded, “We’re just sitting here.”

“It’s not anything you did.” She said quickly, “It’s just…. her face, is scaring them.”

My stomach churning, I blinked back tears rapidly, feeling as if the whole world was collapsing around me. This was the kind of thing I had nightmares about, the kind of thing my Mom and Luke assured me would never happen, the kind of thing you thought would happen but deep down knew it wouldn’t.

“What?” Michael spat.

“Her face.” Jessica said slowly, “It’s scaring costumers. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

I wanted to get up and run out but I couldn’t just leave Michael, the poor guy was blind. I also wanted to sink through the floor but that wasn’t really an option, so I just sat, staring down at the table in disbelief.

“You can’t do that!” Michael snapped.

“I can and I’m sorry.” Jessica replied, “You’re welcome to stay but she, has to leave.”

“You know what, we were leaving anyway.” Michael said.

Grabbing Lola’s lead, he grouped around the table until he found my chair, then fumbling around for my hand pulled me to my feet.

“I’m sorry.” Jessica sighed.

“I don’t know who runs this dump but you better believe they’ll be hearing from me.” Michael spat, “Come on Spencer.”

Struggling to keep the tears in, I walked next to him, leading the way though the tables full of onlookers, through the front doors and out into the cool night air.

Releasing his hand, I finally let my tears fall.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, facing away from me.

“Fantastic.” I replied, choking on a sob.

“Are you crying?” he questioned.

“No.” I mumbled, however my voice wavered pathetically, making it blatantly obvious.

“Fiddlesticks, I’m sorry.” Michael sighed, “Come here.”

Now facing the parking lot, he held his arms out. To upset to be amused by the hilarity of the situation I hesitated.

Frowning slightly, with arms still outstretched, he took a step towards the curb. Sighing, I walked slowly towards him, and giving in hugged him, resting my head on his chest and wrapping my arms around his waiste.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, tentatively wrapping his arms around me and bringing me closer to him.

A feeling of warmth coming over me, I listened to the sound of his heart beating through his shirt, and inhaled the unique combination of deodorant, pizza and hair gel that seemed to sum him up perfectly.

“This was awful.” I mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he questioned.

“I ruined it.” I whispered.

“You didn’t ruin it.” He replied, “But why should that matter unless….”

“Unless what?” I asked.

“Unless it was a date.”

“Shut up!” I laughed.

Grinning, he pulled away from me, however left his arm draped over my shoulders.

“You know what they say when you get kicked out of a pizza place?” he asked.

“Go home and cry?” I muttered.

“No,” he replied, “Go out for icecream.”