More on Devon. This is four months since the last chapter, and if I get inspiration there will be more.

If you see anything wrong, spelling or things that just don't make sense, let me know. My editing skills are sloppy.



It was February and it had been about four months since my last big break up with the boy. We were back together again, of course, and were going out tonight on account of it being the fourteenth.

I was just changing into a pair of boxers and a tank-top after my shower when the door opened. I just rolled my eyes and finished changing before pushing open the curtain. The lock on the door didn't work and it was just the guys and their girls, so it wasn't like I was particularly worried about who it was.

It was Trent, and I just rolled my eyes and started towel drying my hair as he tucked his junk away and washed his hands. After a few moments I started on my make up and ignored the fact that Trent was just leaning against the wall, watching. I figured he was going to make a crack about how I was doing my make up -- that is, much less punk then I usually go and actually bordering on the tasteful side. Gasp.

I was humming under my breath and lining my green eye make up with some sooty black liner when he finally decided to say something. "What are you doing?"

I arched my eyebrow, finished the eye, and glanced at him, "Making myself prettier." My voice was light as I again turned back to the mirror and made sure the make up was even. I'm not sure how I missed him moving -- He's not exactly clumsy but he's tall and lanky and his movements are always wider then they need to be and it's just not something you can miss -- but suddenly he was holding my face in his hands, his thumbs lightly against my eyelids.

My impulse was to blink but I couldn't exactly do it with his fingers there, so I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing when he started rubbing his thumbs over my eyelids and he said, "You're fucking gorgeous without that fucking shit on your face -- you're fucking gorgeous no matter what you do."

His thumbs were back to resting against my eyelids so I just frowned in his direction, "Oookay. But that shit is kind of expected for big dates, and we're going out to a nice place -- hence the make up."

His hands released my face, but before I could get a look at him he was trying to squeeze all the air from my lungs and his face was buried in my neck. I tried to wiggle to get some air, and he did loosen his grip, but he still didn't let go of me. "He doesn't fucking deserve you."

I couldn't help but laugh and pat his back, "Nope. I'm pretty sure he hasn't done anything that bad yet." Because I certainly wasn't a good girlfriend -- far from it in fact. I mean, I'd yet to cheat on him, but that was just because I was crazy picky. And not exactly looking. Besides, I knew he cheated and just forced him to stay protected and get tested crazy often. So yeah, he was a horrible boyfriend, but so was I -- girlfriend I mean. So whatever, it was equal or something.

He gave a laugh and then was cradling my face again. "I love you." I blinked at him rapidly for a few minutes, gaping at the unexpectedness of his comment, before managing to focus on his eyes -- I could tell by the glaze that he was completely smashed and I laughed again. "How many of those pink shots of evil did you have already?"

He'd blinked, "Ten."

I nodded. "And how many had Ana had before you started taking any?" Ana had this ridiculous ability to consume massive amounts of hideous combinations of alcohol and show no particular (or at least excessive) reaction. I didn't know how she did it. She was all muscle and no fat -- where the hell did all the alcohol get stored?

He blinked again, "Fourteen."

I nodded then patted his shoulder, "Then you did very well, I'm impressed." Really, ten was pretty good if Ana had only had fourteen by then and if he was still standing. Because everyone had learned fairly early on to watch Ana drink until she was giggling -- then take the appropriate percentage of her alcohol consumption that would leave you at the level desired. (I'd once tried to drink the same amount she had and ended up about a shot away from hospitalization. I hadn't tried it ever again.)

He blinked at me again and rubbed a finger under my eyes, I could see that his finger tips were stained with the dusty green of my eye make up. "I love you."

I rolled my eyes and patted his head, "Okay." That wasn't the first time someone drunk had told me they loved me (or that they hated me) and I was certain it wasn't going to be the last.

He frowned slightly and then after a half moment later was kissing me. I kissed him back without really thinking about it just because, well fuck, I was getting ready for a date that would consist of lots of kissing and it just didn't seem possible that this could be what kissing a drunk Trent was like -- I'd kissed him before when he was drunk but either my memory was failing me or it had been ridiculously sloppy and messy and this was...Not. Which didn't make sense since I knew he was drunk but it was controlled and firm and...fucking hell, it was a good kiss.

I pulled back after a minute though because he was so totally wasted he didn't know what he was doing, and as soon as I did he dropped his head to my shoulder, "He doesn't fucking deserve you. No one does but he really fucking doesn't and I don't care if you're not with me but with some other asshole -- as long as it's fucking not him."

I blinked and patted his back. I so wasn't good at comforting drunk people. "Okay." I waited a few moments and felt him shudder, I frowned. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

It was lucky we were in a bathroom since I'm not sure he would've lasted to the toilet if we'd been in any other room, but he made it and it was all fine. I gave him swigs of water and let him puke till he passed out with his head in my lap.

I stayed there for a while, just sitting on the bathroom floor, playing with his hair and thinking about everything and nothing and I completely had lost track of the time. So when my boy opened the door and scowled at me I just blinked up at him in surprise.

"Oh. Hey. I don't think I can make it tonight." And I gestured at Trent because it was pretty obvious he was completely smashed and had passed out. I let my gaze wander over the boy. He was looking quite snazzy and I was sure he'd been expecting to get lucky -- he only dressed like that when he was.

The boy continued to scowl at me. "What the hell? Are you fucking serious? I got us some fucking nice reservations and you're going to fucking cancel on me?"

I rolled my eyes. He was so taking this too seriously. I'd let him out of dates to deal with drama loads of times and this certainly wasn't the first time I'd canceled because I had to take care of a drunk friend. (Or someone had to take care of me.) "I'm pretty sure everyone else is celebrating today as a couple -- which means there are no beds to leave him on and no one to leave him with, so yeah, I'm fucking serious."

He narrowed his eyes, "You slut -- you're cheating on me aren't you?!"

I gapped at him. That was the fucking stupidest thing I'd ever heard. He'd cheated on me a number of times, we'd broken up then gotten back together when he swore I was the only girl for him, yadda yadda. But apparently not speaking meant I had been, because he then proceeded to haul back and kick Trent in the ribs. That. Was. Not. Acceptable. I was on my feet in an instant and I had completely forgotten that Trent's head had been in my lap, and well, now it was on the floor.

My temper had me so I didn't even check to make sure he was alive. Which was kind of bad, but he was alive, so whatever. I faced off with the boy and proceeded to rip him a new one. If there was something he'd done, I called him out on it with a slew of creative names to go along with it. It was about the point that I was calling him a mother-fucking-ass-loving-retarded-fucking-slut that he hauled off and punched me.

That was a less then stellar choice on his part since I am no stranger to bar brawls and am perfectly capable of holding my own. Clearly he didn't remember this since as soon as I quieted (yeah, I'm used to fights but you try to keep yelling while getting punched) he started to tell me what a slut I was -- and that was about the point I threw my head back and fucking cackled. He stared at me in shock for a moment as I grinned.

"You are so fucked you fucking son of a bitch." I then proceeded to launch myself at him and literally climb onto him and just punch and, well, elbow too and kick...I fight like a girl because I am a girl. So while he may have had the pure muscle mass advantage, with one or two (or maybe three) knees in the right place he was pretty much gasping in pain and unable to fight back.

We knocked into the medicine cabinet and the whole shebang fell off the wall -- and pretty immediately the rest of the house was crowding the doorway. Grant and Ana had both clearly been up to something and were both completely mussed and half dressed as he stormed into the room and pulled the boy's arms back just as he was about to try to hit me again. Adam, who was laughing, wadded in after him and pulled me back.

Adam is like fucking rock when he puts his mind to it -- and he was thinking granite. So I struggled for a few minutes before one of my heels almost caught him in the place I was sure Madison had been having fun with earlier, when he swore and told me matter of factly that if I kicked him there he would punch me in the baby-maker. I snarled then switched tactics and turned by face towards him so he could see where I was starting to bruise.

"He hit me first." Immediately the arms holding me back dropped and I lunged and got a few good blows in before Grant bellowed at Adam to get off his ass and hold me back -- Adam told Grant the boy had hit me and Grant considered for a moment (as I got more hits in) before telling him to hold me back anyways. So Adam grabbed me and gave me a look that made it clear struggling would get me nowhere. So I just snarled and stilled.

I was then passed off to Grant and very firmly seated on the side of the tub while Ana cleaned my hands and frowned. "He really hit you?"

I scowled and nodded, "And kicked Trent in the ribs. He thought I was cheating on him."

Ana's face went damn scary for a moment, and I decided to stop speaking. Once she'd finished cleaning my hands she took a capful of the hydrogen peroxide and poured it straight onto one of the deeper scratches I'd managed to inflict. Her smile scared the hell out of me. "I hope it gets infected."

Adam laughed before Madison elbowed him in the ribs, Grant rubbed the back of his neck and Derek was checking up on Trent as I wrapped my own hands. Adam then took a hold of the boy's feet and started to drag him out the door -- when Grant offered to help he waved him off and continued to give the boy a very rough ride. Adam then theoretically drove him off, though I'm not entirely sure where. And I didn't exactly care.

We called one of Derek's Cross Country teammates' older brother's girlfriend who was in Med School, and she came in and made sure Trent hadn't been badly damaged from the kick or the drop -- dragging her really grumpy but hot boyfriend behind her both in and out. Trent had some nasty bruising and would probably wake up with a headache, but he wasn't more damaged then that -- so all in all he was one of the three of us who got off the lightest. I had a nasty shiner and my knuckles were pretty nasty. And the boy, well, he got the worst of it by far. And I didn't even see what happened to him after Adam dragged him out.

Trent hadn't woken up throughout the whole thing. And since Derek and Yale had his bed, Grant and Ana had the guest room and Adam and Mad had claimed the living room, I let him sleep in my bed as I acted as a pillow. I felt bad for dropping his head earlier and all.

After a bit I managed to fall asleep, but it's hard as hell to sleep like that and it was far from restful. So I slept for a few hours before waking up. I clearly needed to work on my sleeping sitting up skills.

I probably could have moved his head off of my lap but I felt guilty -- really guilty for dropping his head and all -- even though the chick with the crazy name and her angry boyfriend had checked him out and said he was perfectly fine (relatively speaking). Still, he'd just gotten his ribs bruised ridiculously badly and I'd dropped his head. So yeah, I was feeling the guilt, which was why he was comfortably snuggled into my blankets on my bed and I was sitting against the head board being his pillow.

It was probably about five in the morning. I'd smashed my alarm over two weeks ago and hadn't bothered to get a new one, so I was just guessing.

Anyways, it was early/late and I had nothing to do but think. Well, think and play with Trent's hair. Which I really thought he should dye...

He said he loved me. And with that kiss it wasn't in the friend-brother way. I don't think he actually loved me, but... Hell I didn't know. Did he like me? I'd never -- never, never, ever, ever, ever, thought of him that way. But this kiss had been...Well, damn. I mean, I'd kissed him before but it had either been completely friendly or he'd been smashed. But not -- fuck. He'd been wasted this time too and...That had not been like the other kisses we'd ever had. This had been...Whoa. Not soft and squishy and like a sponge. This had been...Yeah.

Fuck. I was blushing. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and could only be glad no one could see me. I hated blushing, but I couldn't help it. And I did it near constantly.

He'd kissed me like he did love me -- but I don't think he did. Maybe he liked me. Maybe he wouldn't remember what happened -- maybe he had brain damage from me dropping his head -- Okay. He probably remembered it. He usually remembered the big things. Fuck, what if he didn't know it was me he was kissing? Waaaait. Stop that train of thought. I cared if he cared about me? I mean, I cared if he cared but not if he cared...Did I?

No. I didn't like him. Though he was...Whoa! Whoa! Was I attracted to him? I know I liked him as a friend but...Okay. I was babbling in my own mind. Anyways, he had to know it was me -- my hair is fucking day glow. So he had to know it was me he was kissing and holding and messing with the make up of. Even a blind drunk deaf kid could identify me by my hair. But just because he knew it was me didn't mean he meant what he'd said (or done). He had been utterly smashed after all. (If strangely coherent). So...What did this mean to me?

I didn't know. I know I would have broken up with the boy -- and so on and so forth -- even if Trent hadn't said what he had. Just because of what the boy had had the balls to assume... Which meant that they didn't have anything to do with each other. I needed to be single for a while, get my shit together. First step...and maybe after that, well, we'd see.


It was about eight. I'd gotten a little more sleep but not an especially large amount. And I'd been up for about the last half hour and had quietly decided that my benevolence had reached its bounds. I was fucking exhausted and I had a kink in my back from sitting up and this simply wasn't going to work.

I'd been considering how best to get out from under him. Or rather, to get my asleep legs out from under his head. Because by that point my lower half was completely fucking pins and needling on me. I ended up having to kind of scoot and hold his head up and shove a pillow under it before managing to stretch out beside him with more then a few winces.

I didn't bother with a pillow and I was just trying to slowly let the blood seep back into my poor abused limbs when I heard a groan next to me and, perfect timing that he had (right when I was finally going to be able to get some fucking sleep!) Trent started to wake up.

With a scowl I threw an arm over my eyes and tried to sleep. (Even if he was fucking loud when he woke up.) And it wasn't because I was trying to avoid him or some shit -- because lets face it, if I was trying to avoid him I wouldn't have taken him into my room -- and it wasn't like I was trying to avoid the conversation we clearly needed to have because honestly if there was one person I was comfortable telling anything and everything to it was totally Trent. No, I just wanted some fucking sleep.

Of course, I'm shite at pretending to be asleep, so when Trent poked me in the side and asked, voice still rough from sleep, "What the fuck happened last night?"

I gave up and lowered my arm to glower at him. "You decided it was a good idea to drink Ana's pink shit, you told me you loved me, the boy kicked your ribs, I dropped your head on the floor, he slapped me, I beat the shit out of him, Adam restrained me, I beat the shit out of him again, he got dragged out, you got carried here -- Now can I please fucking sleep?"

He made a face that told me he either remembered drinking the pink shit or could still taste it in his mouth and then he just stared at me and gingerly touched his ribs before scowling, "Bastard hit you?"

I blinked at him and then after a moment he reached out and touched the corner of my bruised eye. That caused me to wince and before I knew it he was sitting up, grimacing at the pain in his side but mumbling to himself, "I'll kill him."

"Whoa there Lassie! Calm down!" I finally bothered to sit up and hold him in place, "I'm fine -- I have no idea where Adam dumped the body -- I wouldn't be in such a hurry if I were you."

He frowned at me, "No. He hurt you so now I'm going to--"

"Look. First off, you are in absolutely no state to be bustin' anyones ass, secondly, I got to him -- twice, Ana got to him -- or at least scared the hell out of him, and Adam -- and Mad I guess -- got to him. Third, I am done considering boys who won't listen to me so you can damn well settle back down or just stop considering me an option."

He blinked at me, "What?"

I frowned, "I said, you are in no condition to go and --"

"No. The last part."

Now it was my turn to blink, "Oh, well. You said you loved me -- which hell, not even sure which way you meant it but if you did mean it the way you seemed to mean it with the kiss and shit -- I'm just letting you know that I'm done with going out with boys who don't listen to me and take my opinion into consideration. And that if you don't listen to me right now you can damn well kiss your chances good bye. Not that I'm guaranteeing shit because I'm not going to be dating anyone for a while because I need to get my head on straight. But yeah, that's what the last part was."

He watched me silent for a moment before smiling slowly, "Alright. I can deal with that."

I rolled my eyes before stretching out again. "Good. Now either go back to sleep or leave -- 'cos I'm fucking exhausted." And again my eyes closed.

I didn't hear anything for a very long time, but then eventually the bed creaked and the door opened and shut quietly -- and I finally got to pass out and get some actual sleep.

Jesus Christ on a Rainbow Flaming Cross was Valentines Day a pain in the fucking ass.