My Little Doll
I was going to see him for the first time in half a year. I know, I'm a girl, I'm independent, I don't need to have a boy in my life to make me happy. But contrary to all those things, the six months I spent visiting my cranky old grandma who is regressing to the maturity of a two year old – were the most hell filled years of my life.
Let's just say a lady with no teeth who liked to throw old magazines from back 60 years ago at my face was no match to my superior, sexier, best friend. And yes, I just called my best friend sexy. But that is because I no way near thought of him and me as being just friends, too bad I didn't get to tell him that before I left.
In fact, I don't think I even got to telling him I was leaving. Because I was a coward and he was mad at me.
Because I kind of crashed his car into a tree.
That was kind of in his backyard.
That kind of...well, fell over and crashed through the roof of his house while his mum was watching Oprah.
It wasn't my fault he wanted to teach me how to drive – and failed, miserably. I mistook the accelerator for the breaks, my bad?
What I want to know is why I am standing here, when it's clearly going to rain, waiting for him. He hasn't, by the way, even noticed my arrival. Even though I was wearing my cutest cargo shorts from Jay Jays and my 'princess' top from Supre. Which normally attracts the male genders population, I'm no dog mind you.
But he is dancing around on stage like Shakira, and when I say that I mean it with all seriousness. He is a Latino, and one who knows how to move like one too. He could move those hips
So, while I'm patiently waiting, hands on hips, a girl decides to strut herself up to the stage.
"Hey baby, want your tip?" she wanted to know. Angeles looked down at her with a quirked eyebrow. Well, before she grabbed his head and dragged it down to hers.
Maybe I should have told him my feelings before I went off on that plane.
Angeles broke away from her and stumbled a step back. I bit my lip and suddenly regretted even going, it had been half a year, right? He had probably found himself a new best friend and/or girlfriend in that time. Someone that was nicer, prettier...and hell if you take a look at what that girl is wearing one heck of a lot skankier then me.
I huffed, blowing my long honey brown hair out of my face. Angeles gaze flickered to mine; I guess I had been staring at him a bit too much. He looked away before having a complete double take, "Rachel?"
Turning, like the coward I was, I started to walk quickly away. When I heard a thump come from somewhere near the stage I knew it was my time to make a speedy exit. Flagging down a taxi I didn't look back once, well, until I was safely inside.
In those few precious seconds I took to peek through my hair at him as the taxi retreated, I saw him standing there, hands on knees and panting. The first of the rain I had expected to come, was rolling down his forehead.
He was not less hot then when I last saw him.
Six months earlier
I hugged my knees, leaning back into one of the various bean bags he had placed around his room. I looked up at him, shaking my head "No, Angie-pants – " I called him the name I used to annoy him " – you are not getting me in that – that green sports car of yours. Not to drive, not ever."
He laughed at me, his pretty hazel eyes dancing at me, "Yes, yes you are. You will, for me."
"No I won't," I said, defiantly. Little did he realise, that yes, I would do anything for him. "I don't want to learn to drive, alright?"
Angeles sat down beside the beanbag, propping his elbows on it and looking at me. I turned my head away, and stuck to staring at the wall. His gaze, as per usual, was as intense as it was when I first met him. I was only a kid at the time, I fell into the lake and all the ducks started surrounding me. Maybe they thought I was a particularly large piece of bread?
He pulled me out, he played Prince Charming to my Cinderella and as I stumbled onto the bank he shot me a grin to match the title.
So I, being an eight year old girl, threw a fairly sizeable pebble at his head. Hard. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.
He pried one of my hands that I had hugged around my knees and held it in both of his, "Muñequita, you will never learn if you don't give it a try. You passed the written test just fine."
I frowned, trying to ignore the warm fluttery feeling in my stomach. But then he started rubbing my hand with a thumb, and saying words which I didn't know the meaning of but sounded very nice.
I was going to go crazy if he kept it up.
"Say you will, muñequita, please..." he pleaded, still rubbing my hand with his thumb. He leant over to me, and this is one of the times I hated his good fashion sense. He had on this form fitted, multicolour striped button down shirt on, and one of the buttons just popped open. "Please..."
"Fine," I said, and snatched my hand away from his. Standing up, I crossed my arms and waited for him to grab his keys, "but you'll be sorry."
Tapping my chin he winked at me and fetched his keys, then started shoving me out of his room, kicking the door open in front of me.
Soon, I found myself sitting in his car, staring out the front window. I was rigid.
Angeles leant over and squeezed my hand, then placed it on the keys I had stuck in the ignition. Nudging me, I held back the urge to sigh as his charming smile was let loose for all it's worth.
I turned the key. Come on, Rachel, you know you can do this. Good girl, good girl, slow down, press the breaks –
Oh my God, no.
Reaching over me Angeles tried to grab hold of the wheel, but it was too late, we had just – I had just ran into the big ol' tree they had in their front yard they had been meaning to cut down.
I could hear a creaking, and Angeles hissed grabbing me by the hips and not – like I thought – moulding himself to me and kissing me (I don't know why I thought he was going to do this, because clearly, he had more important things on mind. Wishful thinking?) but instead hauling me out of his car.
We collapsed on his mum's garden of flowers, and I cringed. Mrs Santiago was going to hate me, she loved that garden.
"The garden," I choked out, tugging at Angeles sleeve. He looked down at me incredulously. "Your mum is going to hate me, she loved this garden."
There was a loud crashing noise and he let out a bitter laugh.
"Oh, Rachel, I think she has other things to worry about." He pointed to the house, and I heard something Spanish and loud erupt from it. "Good job there, honey."
I hate it when he calls me nice things in English; he only does it when he's mad at me. Oh no, now he is saying stuff in Spanish, and none of it sounds at all nice like before.
The tree had crashed through the lounge room, where poor Mrs Santiago was having her morning coffee. I wonder what Oprah had to say about this? I think she'd send us into couple therapy or something, you know, not to get mad when you force your girlfriend to drive your car and she runs it into a tree? Even though I wasn't his girlfriend.
It had also crushed half of his car. His beautiful, albeit green, sports car.
"You didn't have to let me drive your car I told you-" I started, but he let out this humourless laugh and looked at me.
"I didn't know you'd crash it into a tree!" he exclaimed, tossing his hands up in the hair "So sue me, I didn't know you were that bad."
He hates me. His mum hates me. Oh and, his Dad is also, probably, going to hate me. And all his little brothers and sisters. The only one in his family who probably didn't give a damn about all this was his dog, and she didn't like me anyway on account of that one time I stepped on her tail.
He hates me.
Tears sprung to my eyes and I tried to blink them all back but one escaped and rolled down my cheek for the world to see. I didn't want to cry, I hated crying, I never cried. But then again, I'd never had so many people hate me before.
Angeles looked surprised to say the least, and then started stammering at me, "Are you – are you crying?"
"No," I blinked furiously and thrust myself up off the garden, squishing more daisies as I did. "You hate me, don't you?"
I didn't wait for his answer; I made my legs run the heck away from there as fast as they could go.
That was probably the only reason I did as my mother had told me to and went to visit my Grandmother in Adelaide, with her Doctor Phil watching and a cat that, not unlike Angeles', didn't like me. The cat, unlike Ms Patch, didn't even tolerate me and smelled like off cheese.
I missed Angeles terribly, but he was probably more then over me. I wasn't 'cool' or part of the 'in crowd'; I had never wanted to be. But Angeles? Everybody liked him. I bet Grandma Alice's cat even would have liked him.
It wouldn't be hard for him to replace me. I, on the contrary, could never, ever replace him.
As soon as I got home I ran to my mother who, probably like Angeles mum, was sitting and watching Oprah. I buried my face into her hair and she blinked at me, "Sweetheart, have you been watching one of those animal documentaries again? You know how they get you all worked up."
"No mum, I am having a crisis." I looked up to where I had plastered a poster of Panic! At the Disco on the ceiling to spite my mother. Hold me, Brendon Boyd Urie.
"Is it about all those clothes you left at Angeles' house before you left?" she wanted to know, running her hands through my hair. "Because Lola sent them back, don't worry she doesn't blame you for The Incident. She blames Angeles for letting you near his car."
Oh no, now he is going to hate me even more. Damn it, I wanted him to keep them clothes. Like my hello kitty bras were supposed to make him fly down to the other side of the country so he could sweep me off my feet and start kissing me all in front of my Grandma, her cat and bloody Dr Phil who isn't a real psychiatrist. Oh and Grandpa, but he'd probably be too doped up on his meds to notice.
"Oh, and your friend Teresa called," my mum said, her eyes still glued to the TV. "She wanted to know if you could go 'dancing' with her tonight. You go dancing?"
I didn't answer. I went to this dance club with Angeles and my friends, which was, actually, illegal for us to get in since we were underage. But it wasn't like we drunk any alcohol at all, just apple juice and lemonade.
But now, of course, it would just be with my friends. I stood up from my mum's arms and gave her a thumbs up, toddling into the kitchen to grab the phone. I punched in my friends numbers and soon enough I heard her cheery voice through the phone "Hello!"
"Hey," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, "so, dancing, tonight?"
"Yup," she said, I could feel myself smiling even listening to her voice. It was hard not to with Teresa, who was, second to only Angeles, my other best friend. "Are you going to ask Angeles?"
"No." I said, flatly. Had she not heard? "He doesn't like me, he wouldn't want to come."
There was a pause at the other end of the phone before I heard Teresa snort.
"You're not still all worked up about that are you? On the contrary," she said with a sly tone, it was rather unnerving, "I'd say he really likes you. He has been all moody lately, and you know how he is hardly ever moody."
What is she talking about? He gets moody all the time. Like the time he took me to a Panic! At the Disco concert and I yelled out for Brendon to take his shirt off. Or that time when I was nine I had kissed the poster of Ricky Martin, claiming the poster didn't have cooties but he did.
"Who told you that?" I laughed at her, and she just murmured that from her experience of him he was not moody. Which, he definitely was. "That is bullshit, Teresa. He is moody all the time."
"Around you maybe," she muttered with annoyance. I heard her tapping the phone with her fingers, a habit she had picked up and normally did when she was angry or annoyed, "why don't you invite him? He wouldn't stay mad at you. I mean, you left without telling me too and I'm not mad."
She did have a point, but it was different with him. I hadn't run her car into a tree, squashed her mum's favourite flower garden and made a hole in her lounge room wall. I pointed this out to her and she sighed.
"Alright," she said, and stopped tapping. "But I'll see you there, OK?"
"OK," I said and hung up on her, tonight, I was going to forget all my worries and focus on having fun – if I could.
I hadn't danced in soooo long, well I had, but it was with Grandpa and his old folk music. That is not, I repeat not dancing. It felt awkward to say the least.
"Come on girl," Teresa said, prodding me. I groaned, clutching at my poor weak stomach. "Been skimping on the crunches have we? Anyway, move those hips. He could be watching."
I looked up at her suspiciously "Who could be watching? Wait, is he here?"
"Well if the mop of blonde hair doesn't deceive then –" I started walking towards the exit, and she yanked me back with an arm. "You are staying here, ok? Now wait while I get some lemonade."
"Sure," I lied, and as soon as she had walked off again I started scrambling towards the exit, only to nearly crash into the one person I wanted to avoid. I grabbed a guy who was ambling along, looking at stuff and hissed "Dance with me!"
Angeles looked curiously over his shoulder but I was hiding behind the confused individual I had been forcing to waltz. I was starting to wonder if he even knew what a waltz was, considering all the times he had stepped on my feet risking damaging my poor ankle boots. Maybe he was trying to do the chicken dance? He did just elbow me in the face.
"Hey!" I said with annoyance as the guy walked off on me, shaking his head and looking disgusted. I don't know what he had to complain about, I was the one to get elbowed in the face, not him. I frowned, rubbing my nose, failing to notice someone's gaze was on me.
I looked up to find a pair of hazel eyes looking down at me, or rather, glowering at me.
"Hello Rachel." He said, arms crossed.
"H – Hello? You look, um, well." I said, weakly. Well, that was lame.
"Yeah," he said, and I went to walk around him muttering something or other but he sidestepped in front of me, "where do you think you're going?"
Looking back up at him I shrugged, he looked a mixture of frustration, annoyance and – hurt? "Why didn't you tell me you were going? Why, muñequita? "
What does that even mean? I don't have a clue. But I miss having him saying it to me.
"I was coming back," I said, in my own defence. My hands were on my hips, "I thought we needed a cool off time."
"For six months?" he spluttered, catching the attention of a few people around us. He took me by the shoulders, "For six months, Rachel? I couldn't bear it. I missed you."
I flinched and stammered for a bit, my heart beat sped up, "Y – You couldn't bear it? I was – " I stopped myself from admitting anything, biting my lip " – if you couldn't bear me being gone, then I guess Miss I'mWearing a Transparent Bra and a Micro Mini made you feel somewhat better. I bet you're bored of me now, I'm boring. I don't wear skirts so short you can see my black, disgusting g-string from a mile away."
"Oh, Rachel, you are not aburrido, not one bit. Eres preciosa," he said, and I batted my eyes confusedly at him, "and it wasn't see-through."
"Hah!" I said, jabbing a finger into his chest. (Rock hard, by the way) "So you were looking? Might as well have been see-through, it didn't cover much skin."
"Well, I'm more disturbed about the fact that you were looking, mimuñequita," he said, using his favourite nickname for me, "you are a girl. You are not meant to be looking at other women's cleavage."
Of course he'd be more disturbed by that, he wanted the dagger pointed away from him.
"What are you, a homophobe?" I wanted to know, crossing my arms across my chest. "I'll have you know I don't approve of people being degraded because of who they –"
He started laughing at me and saying stuff in Spanish.
Shoving his hands still perched on my shoulders off I began to walk away on him "Sorry, mimuñequita, do come back and talk. You're just funny when you're temper is high, is all."
Ignoring him I kept on walking, though I don't know where it was going to head because he blocked me from the exit. I heard foot steps following behind me, however.
Tap tap tap tap...
I felt his arms encircle my waist and I stumbled backwards into him "You can't run away from me, Rachel."
"We've grown apart," I told him, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. But it only tightened. "Six months is a long, long time and I don't think we'll ever be able to find anything to talk about anymore."
"Grown apart?" he echoed into my hair. He had started making patterns on my back with his fingertips.
With a shudder I nodded but he just chuckled at me "I know you don't want to be say...friends with me anymore, that, mimuñequita, is obvious."
He let go of my waist and spun me around. I walked backwards away from him until I bumped into something hard. I turned my head about to apologise, but I found myself staring at a wall.
I looked back at Angeles who had taken one large step towards me.
"You know," I said, with a laugh fumbling around with the draw string on my shorts nervously "I'm glad we understand each other and – " gulping I noticed he had taken another step " – we are going to agree upon, you know, being strangers, no?"
He took another step.
"No more mimuñequita's from you, whatever they are." I told him, wagging a finger. "And no more Angie-pants from me, alright? We are no more than – than mere acquaintances – "
That just happen to like standing a mere couple of inches away from each other.
"I think we're going to have to make some ground rules," I said, but he was inching even close to me so it was hard to think. I felt light headed. "First of all, um, not standing this – this close to one another would be a start, so good point there – "
"Shut up." He ordered, tapping me on the nose like he did that one time to Ms Patch when she peed all over our project. He tapped her on the nose, I know. How weak was he with punishment?
"Just to let you know I don't want to be...friends either." He whispered into my ear, and I squeaked in response.
He cupped my face in his hands, leaned down and kissed me.
While he was rather gentle with his kiss, it was a very long kiss. It sent shivers down my spine, down my arms, down my legs...in fact, it affected me so much so if he hadn't had me pinned up against the wall I think I would have fallen over.
But even so, I felt like I needed to even further disable my ability to stand up on my own two legs – the kiss wasn't moving fast enough for me.
I flung my arms around his neck and he pulled me up into his arms with a wicked grin I maybe couldn't really see, but felt. Oh I felt it, I probably even returned it. I'd seen this kid in his superman pj's; I'd shared a blanket with him when we watched Toy Story. There wasn't much about him that I didn't know, until now that I found out he shared with me the same passion I did for him.
"You have no idea how long I have waited to do that, mimuñequita." He told me, bringing his lips from mine but nonetheless holding on just as tightly. Almost possessively.
"Not as long as I have." Is what I tried to say, but all that came out was a bunch of squeaks. He did, however, seem satisfied.
"I'm sorry I ruined your car." I tried again, but the squeaks were persistent.
I cleared my throat and said "What does that even mean?"
He grinned down at me, and brushed my forehead with his lips before answering "It means 'little doll', the 'mi' part...means you're my little doll."
And the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine again. Might have had something to do with me looking at them a little too obviously.
But, whatever. I don't care.
I'm his little doll!!
I hoped that was good enough for you! Took me long enough to think it up, stupid Amy.
I have been meaning to write a one shot for quite some time now, happy now I have got to it?
Oh and about the Eres preciosa that means you are precious. Sweet, huh?
My hair is curly and I have to now go straighten it.
Ps. My inspiration for the whole Spanish dancer thing, was the beautiful Ricky Martin. So, do yourself a favour and listen to She Bangs because that is the clip he looks so fiiinnee in :3