A Series of Nightmarish Events: A Parody,

By J.K. Blackburn

Jess and Léagh are sitting, lost in thought, in what is her bedroom. Jess is lying back on her bed. Léagh is sitting next to her, legs heavy upon hers. His fingers indolently playing with her hair fanned out behind her. Her fingers are playing with the hem of her t-shirt: every few minutes slipping higher a couple of millimetres.
She is staring at the many posters on her ceiling, which would normally hold her attention, but today unseeing, lost in thought, expressions playing on her face.
Her best friend Kate has only just left, they'd had fun but she'd had to go home. When she'd left, Léagh had had to apologize to her parents; his mother wouldn't be picking him up for another hour. Her mum, of course, had further embarrassed her by trying not to smirk and saying, in an airy tone, "oh I'm sure you'll find something to occupy your time" and her dad had winked dramatically at the pair and clapped her friend on the back, muttering in his ear "have fun", before shooing them off to the confines of her room.
Which was how they came to be, sitting, well lounging, on her bed, her curtains closed, the lights dimmed and some music playing in the background.
She is started out of her reverie by his gentle touch on her hand, dangerously close to the bared skin. Their eyes meet, his instantly on hers, an element hesitant. He smiles warmly at her, his skin creasing at the corner of the grin.
He tugs at her hand, pulling her up off the bed. She's sitting there on the floor, watching him amused, and suddenly finds the nonexistent lint on her floor fascinating. He's watching her, bemused, and falls dramatically back onto her bed, legs stretched out, and jeans a tad too short.
She pouts, until he leans over the edge of the bed, playing with her hair. She soon grows impatient; cramp is creeping over her immobile limbs. She gets up and smoothes down her t-shirt, hiding that sliver of bared skin, missing the annoyed look in his hidden eyes. His eyes flash to the hem of the t-shirt, where her hands are now and glare jealously at it, wishing his hands were encircling her waist, caressing her skin as that scrap of material is doing so now.
She however is oblivious, and for lack of anything to do, stalks off to the bathroom. Finding nothing to do there either, she removes her watch, glad at the removed weight and fiddles with the items in the cupboard before finding herself drawn irrevocably once again to him.
She pouts once more, as Léagh lounges, snuggling deeper into her bed linen, inhaling the freshly laundered smell.
She starts to tie up her hair in a spare scrunchie, and is surprised when he reaches out as if to touch her and draws back before saying softly, so she has to strain to hear it, "don't". It is the first thing they've said since Kate departed, leaving them alone, in her room, together.
She shrugs, tucking the offending strands behind her ears. She walks over to him, feet padding softly on the floor. Legs encased in black and white knee high socks to his consternation. Soft grey trousers furthermore cover them, the zip down one leg, open to the knee, boldly showing the monochrome lines.
She languidly sits down on the bed and pushes at him, a frown marring her features. He smirks, not unkindly, and makes a grab at her wrist; starting at how thin it is and wrapping his fingers more strongly round.
He seizes her waist and starts to tickle her mercilessly. He chuckles as she giggles and squirms. That is, until she is somehow beneath him, writhing on the bed, gasping for air, giggling as wave after wave of tickling continues.
He stops, thumbs brushing the bare skin at her waist. His breath hitches and hers is still irregular, her heart pounding. He looks at her; she holds his gaze for a split second and then turns away. They are both too aware of the fact that she is lying back on the bed, his legs straddling her, his weight pleasant upon her body. He carefully brushes a tress of her hair out of her eyes, her pupils big and black in the half- light.
There is a pause as they are both staring at each other and then she stills, the giggling a past memory. He's stroking her collarbone now, lightly. He leans down.
There's a knock at the door.
"Jess, Léagh's Mum is here."
"You realise that he is in here?"
"Just tell him."
"Don't worry, I heard. I'll just, get my stuff."
He's picked up his bag and is about to go out the door. He turns around slowly and hugs her.
"What was that for?" Jess asks confused. She never gets her answer. He's kissing her, softly. And then he's going.
"Credit?" She whispers hopefully. He nods, she smiles. He's gone.
She's sitting on her bed, glancing at the phone hopefully. It doesn't ring. He's only been gone 10 minutes. She's getting into the shower; the phone rings. She turns and blushes when she hears, "Jess, it's for you, I think he can't stay away from you. Put the poor boy out of his misery."