Cobalt

1:4

Cobalt

1;4

Marshall's point of view

-

I rummage through the bag full of movies we just bought, pointing out the ones I don't want Lance and Brooke to watch until I gets home from my night out. Speaking of, I abandon the Walmart bag in order to swipe my phone out of my pocket and text Ian, asking him if he needs me to grab smokes for the night.

The night's supposed to be relatively chill, just a night in consisting of Ian, a bunch of darts, and I. As the thought flows through my mind, I look up from my mobile device and see that Brooke was turned away from the windshield and started gawking straight at me.

"Sorry, what was that, sweetheart?" I inquire smoothly. She replies with a swift roll of dark chocolate brown eyes as she repeats what she had to say, which was basically a bunch of bull in addition to her asking for the address. "Well maybe if you would've given me the keys, you wouldn't have that problem eh?"

This does absolutely nothing except anger her. I can tell by the way her foot's getting rather heavy on the gas pedal, making our bodies get pushed to the backs of seats due to the acceleration.

"I know you wanna make a reputable 'bad girl' impression on Ian, but putting us in stretchers isn't going to make it," I smirk as I return to my movies, tossing the box for a horror movie called 1408 on her lap, its fiery red casing cover barely noticeable in the light of dark.

"You see, I'm not sure if I wanna pull the goodie two shoes card on him or be my regular self," she jabs, referencing to our conversation from earlier. I can almost feel the arrogance glowing off of her. It's so easy to see beneath her and acknowledge the dainty little mouse inside of her. I don't get how or why I'm the only one who calls her out on it. I mean, she doesn't deserve to treat people as terribly as she does - she has no reason behind it.

In a way though, the high tension and challenge she brings to the table has really grown on me. The thought of us going a hundred seventy-five miles an hour, trucking down the gravel road and skimming against the numerous pine trees, all because of one comment I made, gives me all the satisfaction I've ever wanted.

Lance though, he has quite another idea of fun, and this isn't it in the least bit. He seems absolutely petrified, grasping onto the backseat hook hanger for dear life. His large doe eyes are closed shut, causing wrinkles to form at their outer edges. Teeth gritted, his naturally non-noticeable jawline peeks out lightly, creating a shadow down his neck.

"Hey Lance," I say, turning from the road to face him. "Are you gonna come meet Ian again like the inner mom you are?"

The first time I met up with Ian while under the Sunnalbe's roof was a few days ago and let me tell you; it was hell. Lance wanted to assure that I wasn't going to get myself in trouble, and in the process, made himself a new friend. From the get-go, Lance and Ian clicked, which was rather weird considering Lance is the biggest prep and Ian is one of the biggest dealers in town.

"You know it, kid," Lance flicks his head upwards and grins charismatically.

"Hey, hey, hey," Brooke interrupts while gripping her fingers around the wheel tighter. One comment that would anger her and you'd expect her knuckles to turn white. "I wanna meet this kid too."

I roll my eyes - of course she does. She's an insecure mess and wants a someone new to accept her and her 'rebel' act. Even though she'll probably bite back on her words when she meets Ian. He's a huge metal guy, completely decked out in all black and battle scars - she'd probably get scared.