Not obsessive. Just curious.
"Umm, mind telling me why you're in my boxers?" he says, blinking down at me and scratching the back of his head, brows furrowed. His bleached blonde hair is sticking up everywhere, and he's in his favourite blue and white striped pyjamas. "And chained to the tree in my front yard? My pine tree, which you have discarded all the decorations off..."
He gestures to the tree and bites his lip. I look up too, not surprised at all to see the tree in all it's ornament nakedness, as I'm the one the took them all off and put them at the back of the rose bush. He's just lucky I'm the one that took them off, and not any of my friends. They would have kept them.
I look back to him, and shrug with lazy eyes. I let out a yawn. "Why aren't you happy for me? I finally got up before that God forsaken seven you seem to love going out for runs at."
He blinks, and looks to the tree again, opening his mouth and closing it again. He sighs, and looks to me, eyeing me warily and reaching up to flatten his hair out a bit.
"I'm happy for you..." he says gently, rolling back on his heels, "...I just don't know why you're in my boxers, and why you've taken all of mum's ornaments off the tree...and..." he glances at the rose bush, "...hidden them in the rose bush and chained yourself to the tree."
I stare at him. Of course he's not getting this. I can't believe he's not getting this. I mean, he's the one that's used to be up so early in the morning and I'm not, and I get this. I sigh at him and roll my eyes, "Oh, Donald, well the Christmas decorations, for starters..." I nod back with my head, as my hands are tied, "are because you wished me a merry Christmas."
He blinks, furrows his brows again and says, looking at me like so? and crossing his arms over his chest, "What of it? Don't call me Donald."
"I'm not Christian, I don't celebrate Christmas," I explain in monotone, very slowly, and then add for good measure – or maybe just to get on his nerves, which is a fun thing to do with Donnie, "Donald."
"My parents gave you a Christmas present." He says flatly. "If you're not Christian and don't celebrate Christmas – why did you accept their gift?"
I ignore his words and go on, explaining myself, "And so by being completely disrespectful to my religion – saying merry Christmas and assuming I'm Christian – you forfeit your mother's Christmas ornaments. As for your boxers you left them when you visited my brother."
I nod down towards my superman tee and his superman boxers.
"And what exactly is your religion?" he wants to know, looking at me with a sarcastic expression. "And just because I leave them in your house, doesn't mean they're yours and that you're allowed to wear them."
"Jediism," I tell him, "and he told me to take them to you. So I took them to you."
"That's fictional, and you haven't even watched Star Wars," he points out, cleverly remembering my telling him said fact not so long ago. I just blink, pressing my lips together and thinking for a moment.
"Jediism is a religion based around the force, and the Jedi path is my philosophy and way of life. I am a Jedi Realist and a individual that recognises –" I prattle off proudly, thanking the goodness that I have done my research on it – even if I haven't gone so far as to watch the movie.
But I'm interrupted.
"That's nice. I don't care. And that would also be 'an individual', not 'a'." He cuts in, staring at me expressionlessly and shaking his head. "Someone's obviously been looking up ."
"Calling people on their mistakes isn't very nice." Is all I have to say.
"I'm not nice, darling." He says and then looses his arms and stretches them behind his head, bringing his knees up high one by one, starting his morning exercises. "Besides, you still haven't told me why you're chained up to my pine tree."
I look away, biting my lip.
I want to know why he did what he did that day. I want to know why he told me to forget it. I want to know why it felt so amazing. And I'm not moving until he tells me.
Because I, frankly, am confused about the entire situation.
"I might say it's because of the 'merry Christmas' thing again." I say, and pause. He notices the pause and I feel his gaze boring into my head. He clears his throat and I hear him doing a couple more stretches. "But then I'd be lying."
I look up and eye him, and he stands up straight and glares at me, crossing his arms over his chest again, this time defensively. "Oh?"
I can't help but ask the question. It's been on my mind ever since, and I just can't get it all out of my head for some reason – some reason, a couple of weeks ago, I got kind of an inkling of when I broke up with my then boyfriend of three months.
"Why?" I say exasperatedly.
Three weeks ago
"Why does everyone think I'm paranoid?" I ask my boyfriend, Freddie, eyes narrowed at him as he backs me up against a bedroom wall. "Do you discuss this behind my back?"
"No sweetie," he says with a smile and twinkling eyes, leaning forward to give me a peck on the lips and squeezing me tight, "what fun would talking behind your back be? You know I'd much rather tease you to your face."
I hold up a fist in jest, raising my eyebrows at him and he laughs, reaching up and taking my fist in his hand before letting me go with his other hand and slipping it into his pocket, pulling out a small, pink box. I blink at it.
"Honey," he pops open the box and just as he does the door opens.
Donnie walks in, hands in his pockets, "Hey Delly do you have any of the Star Wars DVD's in here because I can't seem to find The Empire Strikes Back –"
He stops and stares and I roll my eyes, looking at him sarcastically, "As if I know where it is and as if I'd have it – I haven't even watched any Star Wars, God," I look away and back to the box, which Donnie seems rather fixated on too. "So what's in the box?"
"Tea's ready, I've come to tell you that tea's ready," Donnie says urgently, "you're going to get cold, and your mum's made some of her famous guacamole, just like I heard you like. I'll be a sec with Della. I've got something funny to tell her."
You're going to get cold? Doesn't he mean the food is?
"Guacamole," Freddie says and Donnie nods. Freddie snaps the pink box shut and grabs my face, giving me a big wet one on the lips before rushing off the door with a, "princess, I'll give it to you later in private the moment's spoiled anyway."
I blink. Well. He does like guacamole but...
I stare at Donnie, who's scowling out after Freddie. I cross my arms and quirk an eyebrow, waiting a moment or two before finally catching his attention. His head turns back to mine and he lingers in front of my door for a little before walking a teensy bit forward.
"My mum has tea ready at six on the dot, it's three to six, not six." I say suspiciously. Because it's the truth. Mum's never late, never early. She's always ready at the time she says she's going to be. "So what's up? What's so urgent and funny?"
He looks at me, like he's trying to tell me something. But I just don't get it. He's my brother's best friend; he's over all the time – what's so funny he has to interrupt a moment with Freddie for?
He starts walking closer and closer, that same look in his eyes. I look right back in bemusement, arms still crossed, eyebrow still raised.
He stops in front of me and says, sombrely, "What's funny is," he puts on this strange little smile, a glint in his eye, "he thinks he can give you a damn promise ring while I'm still alive and kicking."
"What?" I spit and he pulls me flush against him, his lips pressing to mine. I'm so surprised I freeze in his arms. I can feel all his muscles pressing up against my chest, and my heart skips a beat, and dances around in my chest.
I pull my mouth from his and am about to ask him what he thinks he's doing, kissing me, when he presses his lips back against mine for a second time, his hands holding me tight to him, and his blonde hair touching my forehead.
My heart skips again, and I can't seem to fight it. But then I hear footsteps.
"Honey your boyfriend is already waiting at the table for you and dinner is – oh." Oh no. My mum. Oh no, oh crap, oh no. My boyfriend's in the dining room and I'm in here with my brother's best friend, kissing him. Only I'm not kissing him, he's kissing me.
But that's so not how it's going to float with anyone else in the house.
Donnie steps away from me slightly, still holding his arms around me as he looks to my mother while I'm concealing an inward panic attack. He opens his mouth, and all he offers to my mum's – and my – incredulity is, "Don't tell her brother," he says, and letting go of my waist he slides past my incredibly awkward and embarrassed self, "thanks Mrs Alice."
He gives her a one armed hug and walks down the hall, leaving me in the room with her, and she blinks, looking at me and crossing her arms, "Delilah..."
"He started it." is all I say, bemused out of my brains. "I didn't even kiss him back."
She sighs and leans against the door frame, looking at me. I look back at her. Donnie just kissed me. He just kissed me, and then leaves me to explain, save a comment he said to save his own ass. The jerk, the fiend – how could he do this to me?
"What are you going to do Della?" Mum wants to know.
What am I going to do? What am I going to do? Why do I have to be the one to do something about it; I didn't even start this. I didn't even kiss him back. So why do I have to do something about it?
I don't. I don't have to do anything about it. He has to. I'll just let him deal with it.
"Nothing," I answer honestly.
Because I didn't do anything wrong, and there's no need for Freddie finding out about this, either.
But he does, eventually a week later, when he's trying once more to present to me that small pink box and it contains just what Donnie said it would. A promise ring. A promise ring after three months, and to a girl who doesn't even trust him not to break up with her when another boy kisses her – even though she didn't kiss him back.
I had to break up with him, especially since I realised the reason I didn't tell him was because even though I didn't kiss Donnie back – I wanted to. God, did I want to kiss Donnie back, and I probably would have if mum hadn't come in.
I want to kiss him now. But I'm chained to a tree.
So you can see my predicament. Why I had to break up with Freddie. I feel so bad about it, really I do. But I also want to know why Donnie did it in the first place.
But seriously a promise ring after three months??
No freaking way.
Donnie throws his hands up in the air, looking at me like I'm mental, "Look, Dell, are you obsessive, or something? I told you not to mention it. But here you are, again, mentioning it."
He glares at me some more, hands clenched and at his sides. I just look at him, waiting for him to explain himself. He doesn't, though, he just looks right back, looking very annoyed with me, too.
"Look, I'm going to go have my run, okay?" He says, looking out to the path in front of his house and then back to me. "I'm just going to go inside, get some clothes on, and if you're still here by the time I'm back – I'm ringing for your brother to come pick you up."
"I'm not obsessive," I tell him, and he doesn't look like he believes me, "I'm just curious. Tell me why you kissed me; or I'm going to tell my brother you did."
He stares down at me.
"Where's the keys?" he wants to know.
"I'm not going to give –"
"Well I'm not going to tell until you do." He says defiantly. "Where are the keys? I promise you; you won't regret it."
I blink at him, annoyed. He can't just take control of the situation like this. I'm in control of this situation, not him. I'm in control! Me! I'm not relinquishing it to him!
"Fine, they're in the rose bush," I say with a small frown, and he looks over to the rose bush and back to me. He narrows his eyes and I look back up at him, innocent as pie and sweet as sugar – well as sweet as one can be with a frown on their face.
"No they're not, you little liar," he says and then puts a foot up and hovers it over my stomach, threatening to step down with a raise of his eyebrows. I raise my eyebrows back up at him, because he wouldn't do it; not to me. "They're in your superman tee pocket."
I bring my knees up against my chest and wriggle around as his hands reach out for my pocket, and he laughs, "I'm going to tickle you," he threatens, "you wear pretty tight tees, Della, maybe if you didn't you wouldn't have these problems..."
His hands poise near my stomach, and I stop wriggling, "I'm going to kick you in the face," I threaten him, "I really will. Don't come any nearer."
But he leans down and slips his fingers into my pocket, making my heart speed up, and then he pulls out the keys and as I glare at him I hear a click and the cuffs fall off, "Overconfident, cocky, arrogant as hell how did you know I wasn't –" he pulls me up in his arms, and he kisses me once more.
He's kissing me. He's kissing me again. I can't believe it. I feel wonderful, I feel happy, I feel –
I feel his lips pulling hesitantly away as I'm not really responding.
I stand up on my tip toes to stop him, "No..." I murmur with a shake of my head, "don't stop."
I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck, and that's all the encouragement he needs. He swings me around and starts backing me towards his house, kissing me with more ardour then a kid opens presents on Christmas.
He explains himself as he goes, kissing me all the way.
"I liked – like – you, and I didn't want your brother kicking my ass for it," He says and presses me up against the boards of wood that make up his house, his hands crawling up my shirt and resting on my bare stomach, and instead of tickling; it tingles, "but I also didn't want you with anyone else but me, you see."
"Holy shit," I say as my eyes roll back into my head as he kisses me some more, rendering me weak, he smiles against my lips and presses his on my cheeks, and on my forehead, his hands sending tingles through my back as his arms go around me once more, touching bare skin.
"Shits not holy..." he murmurs.
Freddie never kissed me like this.
"Freddie never loved you like this," he says and I look up, and he looks down, his forehead resting against mine.
My heart does a little dance, and I look at him, breath catching, "You love me?" I demand, tracing little patterns down his forearms with my hands.
He nods and kisses my nose, "I've loved you since you were five years old, Dell."
I find my eyes watering, getting all embarrassingly emotional; I hate crying, and I definitely don't want to be crying in front of him. "I...love...you...too..." I say between attempts to stop from choking on my words. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
"Are you..." Donnie's eyes widening and I shrink away from him, my cheeks burning bright red, no, no, no I'm not. "Are you crying? Did I really just make Della Hanson cry, and about me, because I said I loved her?"
I bring my arms back from around his neck and to my eyes, rubbing away at my stupid tears, embarrassed beyond belief, Oh God, I think to myself.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up, Donnie," I tell him, choking on my words and then pressing my hands to my face even harder, "or I'll kick you, this time I really will," and he starts laughing at me, but not in a mean kind of way, in a you're so silly kind of way. Which really, is even worse than being mean because it's even more embarrassing. I take my hands away revealing blotchy cheeks, "I will you know."
"Oh I'm so sure," he laughs and pulls at my blotchy cheeks, "really you're adorable when you're embarrassed and trying to pretend you're all angry and grr. I should have said it sooner."
"I hate you, and said what sooner?" I demand, pushing away at his hands with annoyance, not liking him babying me – or rather, liking it embarrassingly too much.
"I love you," he replies sweetly and I let out a whimper and he laughs, dipping me back and giving me a whopping kiss on the lips, stopping me mid-sob. All I can do is lie helpless in his arms, embarrassed beyond belief and letting him kiss that all away – and liking it.
It goes around the world just – lalalala!
Here's my SHOUTout response. I'm not quite sure if voting is involved – but if so, vote for me :p If not. Judges, I hope you like-y. I'm pretty much happy with this. Which is good. Probably won't win o.o. All of my favourite writers – practically – are in that contest.
Although I'm not sure my awkward moment (with the mum walking in) is awkward enough. Oh well.
Here's the rules guys:
-You must be called out to submit and entry
-The story has to be no less than 2000 words
-It must include a really awkward moment
-There must be a girl who's chained to a tree
-Must include these quotes:
"I'm not nice, darling."
"Holy **!" "**'s not holy..." (as a package)
"Umm, mind telling me why you're in my boxers?"
"I'm not obsessive, I'm just curious."
"That's nice. I don't care."
"Why does everyone think I'm paranoid? Do you discuss this behind my back?"
And these are the other people participating:
Scary eh? Very scary. I think so anyway.
You know you love me,