Love You, Tator

"Taylor Weston, please tell me you aren't freaking out over something as stupid as this." I turned to see Lauren, my best friend, staring at me with an incredulous look on her face.

"Of course I'm freaking out, Lauren. Bradley freaking Clarence made a higher score on that test than I did. BRADLEY CLARENCE! He's an idiot. And since he scored higher than me, that makes me an uber-idiot, or something equally unflattering." I slammed my locker shut so hard that the door flew back open, causing Lauren to laugh before leading the way to freedom; the gleaming double doors at the end of the hallway that signaled the end of the school day.

Ah... I love the weekend.

"Brad is definately not an idiot, Tay. You're just saying that because you hate him." I sighed, slinging my bag into the backseat of Lauren's car.

"It's hard not to hate him when you know what he really acts like. He's such a-"

"Gorgeous, talented young man that you wish you could have?" There stood Clarence in all his glory: well over six feet tall, with sandy brown hair, killer blue eyes, and dimples to die for. Too bad it was all wasted on a rotten egg.

"In your dreams, Clarence." He slid into the drivers seat of his truck, never taking his eyes off me.

"Every night, Tator." I made a noise that was a cross between a growl and a yelp, trying to control my frustration.

"I have told you every day since the freaking sixth grade not call me that." He grinned, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth that were most certainly not naturally that straight.

"And I've told you every day since then that you can't make me." I rolled my eyes before mimicking his actions and climbing into Lauren's car, refusing to roll down the window simply because he was motioning for me to do so. I knew exactly what he was going to say; it was the same thing he'd always said whenever we parted.

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Lauren pulled out of our high school's parking lot, turning in the direction of my house. I sighed, resting my head against the cold window and sinking into the song playing on the radio, which I didn't even know the name of. Before long, I was lost in my own little world, thinking of absolutely nothing.

"Tay. Earth to Taylor." I looked up at Lauren, realizing that she had been trying to get my attention for some time now. "You're home." I sighed, clamboring out of the car.

"So I am. Thanks for the ride, Lore." She smiled and waved, backing out of my driveway with all the grace of a... of some kind of ungraceful animal. I swear, she was a hazard both on her feet and on wheels. Grinning at the thought of Lauren's klutziness, I made my way towards the front door. Searching through my backpack for my house keys, I idly glanced around the neighborhood, only to find myself looking at the very person I was trying to escape.

Bradley's truck was parked in the driveway of his house, which was unfortunately only three doors down. Said boy was leaning against said truck, smirking at me and wiggling his fingers in some girly sort of wave. Just then, my fingers closed in on the cold metal of my keys, which I thankfully fished out and used to make my way to safety, but not before flipping Bradley the bird over my shoulder.

Finally inside, I made my way to my bedroom, which was thankfully Bradley free. Plopping down on my bed, I pulled out a random romance novel, one that I had no doubt read a few hundred times, and opened it to a random page. What can I say? I'm a sucker for happy endings.

Before I could become engrossed in Mary Pierce's life, however, my own interrupted me. Turning to my cell phone, which was blasting out the chorus to "Bleed It Out", I realized I didn't recognize the number. Figuring it was just Lauren or one of my brothers calling from a different number, I answered it.

It was a mistake.

"Hello, Tator. How've you been in the three minutes that I haven't seen you?" I closed my eyes and quickly counted to ten, hoping that it was all a bad dream.

"How in the world did you get my number, Clarence?" I could almost hear him smirking through the phone.

"You know I can't reveal my source, dear Tator. She would most likely kill me." This time, I really did growl.

"Oh, trust me, Clarence. You don't have to worry about her killing you. Because Lauren is so dead, she might as well be in her grave"
I heard something crash in the background, like Bradley had dropped a glass. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He said the words through grated teeth, and I knew, on instinct, that he had cut himself.

"How bad are you bleeding, Bradley?" He sighed.

"I'm not- it's not- I'm okay, Weston."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Is your mom there?" He didn't say anything for a moment, as if shocked by the question.

"No. Why?" For a split second, I considered just letting him bleed until they had to amputate his finger, or hand, or whatever, but I couldn't do it. Not even Bradley deserved to lose a finger. Or whatever.

"I'll be down there in a second." Without waiting for a response, I snapped the phone shut and slid it into my back pocket. I didn't even have regrets until I was half-way up his front steps, and I realized what I was doing. I was actually making the effort to go into a house I usually avoided like the plague, to bandage up a guy that I thought was the plague, so that he didn't have to amputate his finger (or whatever). I could always just turn around. It would take about five seconds to get back to my house, back to my bed, and back to reading Mary Pierce. In fact, that's exactly what I was about to do when the door swung open, revealing Bradley, his entire hand wrapped in a bloody towel, and I knew that I couldn't leave him there by his self.

"What are you doing here, Tator?" I sighed before grabbing his good wrist and leading him into the kitchen. (I had been to the Clarence house a few times, on the account that our parents were pretty good friends, and we'd been invited down for dinner a time or two.) I stopped before the sink, gingerly unwrapping the towel from around Bradley's hand to find a large gash marring his palm. He grimaced, turning away at the sight of all the blood.

"Do you have a hard time with blood?" I don't know why I asked the question; surely I didn't care, right? But for some reason I couldn't helf myself.

"Yeah. I always have." His response was so quiet that I almost didn't hear it over the sound of the water. I carefully washed as much of the blood away as possible, so I could see how big the cut really was.

"My gosh, Bradley. What did you do?" I started to wrap his hand in gauze, though I doubted it would last very long before it was as scarlet as the once white towel. He gave a little chuckle, though I could tell it was forced.

"I, er, might've tripped, and knocked over a lamp. And my hand might've landed on a sharp piece of the broken lamp." He winced as I pulled the bandage tighter. "It hurts like hell, you know." Finished, I looked up at him, at the same time that he looked down at me, and I realized we were only a few inches apart. He took a step closer, and I took a step back, only to find myself backed against the counter.

"You might have to get stitches." The words, intended to be strong, came out breathy, and Bradley smirked.

"Only if you promise to hold my hand." And the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine and my hands were buried in his thick hair. We stood like that for what seemed like forever, my back pressed against the counter and Bradley pressed against me. Atleast, forever lasted until we heard someone cough.

"Are you Bradley's girlfriend now, Tator?" Tiffany, Bradley's four-year-old sister, was standing in the doorway, her eyes round as saucers. She had, in case you didn't notice, picked up on Bradley's habit of calling me "Tator".

"Only if she wants to be, Tiff. Now could you go in the other room, please? We have to talk." Pouting, the little girl slouched back in the direction, probably going to tell her Daddy what she found us doing in the kitchen. Bradley turned back to me, his eyes clouded with emotion.

"Well?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Well, what? Do you expect me to just fall down at your feet because you're a good kisser? I'm not about to be played with, Bradley. So tell me the truth. Now." He recoiled as if slapped at first, before drawing almost as close as before.

"How can you even say that, Taylor? Surely you've realized by now that the reason I pick on you so much is because it's an excuse to be around you. And surely you've realized that the reason I can never stay with one girl very long is because they aren't good enough, because you've set the standard so high." He raised his eyebrows. "You didn't really think that I beat the hell out of Shane last year because I 'felt like it', did you? I did it because that bastard hurt you. Every little thing I've done these past couple of years has been somehow a result of you." I swallowed, wanting to believe him. Finding it hard not to.

"I don't know, Bradley... This is happening too fast." He shook his head.

"No, it isn't. It's been happening for years. Don't lie and say it hasn't; don't say you're not the least bit attracted to me. Because I know you are." He whispered one last thing before he closed in on my lips once more.

"I love you, Tator."