WARNINGS: none - just fluff
REQUEST SUMMARY: A soft sleepy cuddly sweet pea fic
A/N: as perviously mentioned, I don’t write x reader requests in the typical format. hopefully this is okay and hopefully you enjoy!
The muted television illuminated the room with vivid colours, the news banner on screen circling across the bottom. BLACK HOOD STRIKES AGAIN. As much as I wanted to pretend Riverdale was a happy place, full of normal teens and normal criminal violence, it was quite the opposite. Fathers were turning their backs on their sons, the Southside was prepping for a riot, the Northside lived in a constant state of fear, each person walking with their head turned over their shoulder.
Everyone was worried and on edge. Rightfully so, I suppose. I set my empty can of soda on the table and glanced over my shoulder to where Sweet Pea lay unmoving, his chest rising and falling with each deep inhale and exhale. Worry pulled at my heart; I brought my fingers up to his forehead and brushed his hair to the side, “If you’re gonna sleep, might as well do it in your bed.” I said quietly, shaking his shoulder the slightest. “C’mon, SP. Don’t make me try to carry you again.”
“You did so well the last time,” He sighed, eyes still closed. “I believe in you.”
“You almost broke me last time.” I rolled my eyes and stood from the couch, leaning across the table to shut the television off. “Let’s go,” I said a little louder this time, pulling the small blanket off his lower half. “You’re gonna hate me in the morning if I let you sleep on the couch again, Pea. Get up.” When he didn’t move, I growled in frustration and gripped his hands. “You’re ridiculous.”
I heaved as hard as I could; his shoulders and head just barely lifted off the couch despite using most of my strength. I tried again, digging my heels into the carpeted floor to gain some resistance. No luck.
Sweet Pea’s hands flipped quickly and gripped my wrists — I let out a squeal as I was pulled forward and down, crashing against his hard chest with the breath knocked out of me. Slowly, once he was certain I wouldn’t try to evade, he released his grip on my wrists and locked his arms around my shoulders and waist, resting his cheek against my forehead. “Shut up.” He demanded tiredly, pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch over our frames.
I waited until he had settled comfortably; his arm draped lazily over my hip, fingertips aimlessly caressing the exposed skin on my lower back. “This would be more comfortable in your bed.” I suggested quietly, snaking my arm under his shirt and across his stomach, relishing in his warmth.
He whined in protest.
“Just a thought.” I pointed out with a chuckle, eyes carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest, ear pressed against his heartbeat. It was all so intoxicating — his warmth, his gentle touch, the sound of his entire life beating erratically against my eardrum. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, completely in awe of how open our relationship had grown in the last few weeks. We spent a lot of time together, sleeping back to back, never fully touching or wrapped up in each other. It was a side of Sweet Pea I had assumed never existed, simply because of how rough he appeared to be in his day to day life.
“You really wanna move?” He asked, almost pained at the idea of having to muster enough energy to haul his ass the whole ten feet to where his bed nestled into the corner of the studio.
“If you insist on holding me prisoner, I would rather not be hanging off the edge of your sofa.” I mumbled in response.
Sweet Pea sighed, louder this time, and hugged my frame tightly. “Y’know, I’m not gonna have the balls to do this again if we move.” He said thickly, his cheek moving against my head.
I smiled to myself again, thumb rubbing the warm flesh of his hip. “Do what?” He didn’t respond verbally; instead he tightened his arms around me, holding me closer to his frame. “Aw, Pea.” I teased lightly, pulling my head back to look up at him, “C’mon.” I urged, sitting upright. He groaned, but followed suit nonetheless, lips pulled into a scowl as he lazily dragged his feet across the carpet.
His eyes, while barely open, opened a larger window of worry in my chest. Dark circles weighed his eyes down, making him appear far more tired than I had previously noticed. When my knees hit the edge of the mattress, I crawled into the corner and settled under the sheets. I peered to where he stood, watching the contemplation in his eyes. “Well?” I asked, opening my arms.
Slowly, as though he was still uncertain, he kicked his boots off, pulled his shirt over his head and crawled into the bed; he curled into my side, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck. I placed one hand in his hair, scratching his skull lightly as he other lightly pulled my fingertips along his spine. His body visibly relaxed under my touch.
“All you have to do is ask.” I whispered quietly, resting my cheek against his head. His arms tightened around my waist in response. Within moments, SP’s breathing evened out and he began to snore quietly. That was the first night Sweet Pea managed to sleep throughout the night, completely undisturbed. I pressed my lips against his hair, “I’ll be here. Always.”
My first week in Riverdale was far less hectic than I imagined it would have been. I ended up applying at Pop’s for a part time serving job, and was essentially hired on the spot. I started sometime later in the following week; I was thrilled I had been able to secure a job so soon. Pop reminded me of a gentle giant with his cheerful smile and positive outlook on life.
Joshua asked if I wanted to drive up to the Bijou to go to a movie Saturday night — I obliged, but had also invited Danny and Don along to ensure the night was kept PG. I was forced to sit through some retro-horror film, and being that I wasn’t particularly a fan of anything involving guts, guns and glory, I opted out and stood in line to get snacks. Josh offered to make it up to me by treating me to a milkshake at Pop’s afterwards. This is when I realized that the Chocklit Shoppe would be a frequent hangout for most teens in Riverdale, and began to regret my decision of applying altogether. I had to remind myself that the money was necessary, and it wouldn’t hurt to actually make friends at this school. A companion couldn't hurt.
I spent most of Sunday organizing my room more to my liking; this was the first full bedroom I’d had to myself since in six months. I pinned the photos of my mother and I (some of Sabine, too) along the cork-board, and added some hooks to the walls for my jackets. I hung the extra set of white Christmas lights Dean brought up from the basement along the ropes that held the lanterns, eliminating the need for the main light switch entirely.
By the time I had finished, the room was full of more life and to my liking.
A box that contained some of my belongings had been kept in storage up until recently had arrived earlier that morning. I sat in the center of my bed surrounded by my collections of sketchbooks and drawings. I pulled my hair up into a bun before I flipped aimlessly through the thousands of pages of sketches of faces that had intrigued me over the years. In every place I had visited, I sought to find the face that inspired the muse within me. As I reeled my mind back towards the towering raven haired Serpent, I pulled a pencil from the case next to me without hesitation, flipped open a fresh page. I scrolled through the music playing from my phone until I found something a little more fitting, then hunched over the paper.
Four hours passed before there was a knock on my door that interrupted the gentle strokes of my pencil. I turned down the volume of the music and pulled the notebook into my chest as the door opened, “Wow,” Dean whistled as he surveyed the room, “could’ve sworn you lived here your whole life.”
“I’m good at this.” I lamented, offering him a sad smile.
He mulled through the pages of one of the sketchbooks near the foot of the bed, smiling to himself as he turned the page, “These are good — do you do this a lot?” he asked as he traced his finger over the edges of the silhouette.
I shrugged in response, “I guess.” I hadn’t really thought of it to be a hobby, but more of something I did to pass the time. It was my form of connecting to people, without ever having to really be apart of their lives, or having them interrupt mine. It might have been the reason why I people watched so much, and may have played part in my social anxiety. “It helps take my mind off things.”
“How many are there?” he asked, joining me on the bed as he studied the faces.
“There are five books in this box, and these ones are the most recent ones. I have a couple boxes with some in storage back in Greendale.” Dean nodded in understanding. He closed the book and placed it back on its place on the mattress, his fingers lingering on the leather spine. “Are you heading to bed?” I asked, gesturing to his flannel bottoms with a jut of my chin.
He looked down at his legs and nodded tiredly, “I am, yeah. Don is out with the boys, and I think Danny passed out on the couch an hour ago.”
“You think?”
He shrugged, “I can never tell if he’s sleeping or if he’s dead, I always assumed the former.” he patted my knee awkwardly before he stood from the bed, “Sleep tight, kid.” he called from the door, shutting it behind him. I let out a tired sigh, looking down at the drawing in my hands as my back straightened against the wall behind me.
His jacket sat a little lopsided, though I was sure that was more than fitting. His shoulders were hunched over, hands shoved into the deep pockets of the leather. I was certain the next drawing would feature more facial structure if I was ever able to study him without the unfortunate happenstance of him catching me, but for the time being I was perfectly content capturing his solidarity in his body language.
Monday morning, I trudged into Mr. Birdy’s biology lecture with my bag slung over my shoulder and my body tired. I gathered my featured and made my way to my desk on the far side of the room. Close enough to the front that I could see and hear his lesson, far enough away that I was out of range from the pack of Serpents that gathered on the left-hand side.
“Science,” Mr. Birdy began with an excited as he sanded his hands together once the bell had rung to signal the start of the lecture. “requires us to transform into spies.” Put that way, Birdy almost made science sound interesting, nearly made it tolerable. I had been here all of a week, and I put it far past his abilities to make biology anything but fun. “Good sleuthing takes practice,” he continued with a devious glimmer in his beady eyes.
I turned my head and watched as the crowd roll their eyes simultaneously; I chuckled to myself, returning my attention to the textbook I pulled out of my bag, aimlessly allowing my pen to glide in the margin.
“Toni,” he called, looking towards the back of the room expectantly, “You’ve sat with SP all semester. I’d like to think you know him fairly well, yeah?”
I looked to where the pink-haired girl shrugged, “Unfortunately.” she teased, nudging her sleeping partner in the side.
“I bet a lot of you know each other fairly well — it was familiarity that brought you together, right? You sat with the group you’re most comfortable around, people you can trust.” Clearly pleased with the response he was pulling from his students, Birdy smiled, “Too bad the best sleuths don’t look for familiarity. Pack your belongings, kids, I’m picking new lab partners.”
My brows knotted in objection, glancing nervously around the room.
“What the fuck, it’s October!” Someone from the back of the classroom called, a series of grunts and nods in agreement followed. “You can’t seriously be pullin’ this crap!”
The red-haired man at the front of the room held up his hands up in a shrug, “I can pull this crap everyday until the end of the semester. And if you fail, you’ll be right back in here come next fall and I’ll pull this crap all over again. So,” he clapped his hands, offering another coy smile, “let’s all shut our mouths —”
Reluctantly, students began to collect their belongings and move to their designated seating areas as he called them out. When he finally moved onto my row, he stopped at my desk and peered down at me with a knowing smile, “You’re quite bright for your age.” he mused quietly, looking over his list as he waited for my response.
I nodded, “If that’s what you want to call it, sure. I’m bright.”
“SP! You’ll be paired with Miss …” he looked over his sheet again, brows pulling in the middle as he struggled with the pronunciation. I slumped in defeat and rubbed my forehead, “Calli-ope?” he butchered, looking to me for correction.
“Cal, is fine, thanks.” I grumbled, moving my textbooks off the left side of the two-seated biology desk and dropped my bag between my legs on the floor.
“Cal it is.” he nodded, marking it down on his chart before he continued on to the desk behind me. I pressed my lips together as my arms rested against the tabletop, hoping to conceal my annoyance as my newly appointed partner slouched into the seat next to me. After several moments of silence, I turned in my seat to introduce myself.
“Hi, I’m Cal —” my smile vanished quickly once I registered who SP was. The vein under his tattooed neck pumped menacingly, tauntingly. His brown eyes sliced to mine, and the corners of his mouth tilted up in a mischievous smile. My heart thundered erratically against my chest, and in that momentary pause, I felt weak and completely at his mercy. As though he were the only individual in the room, as though the axis in the magnetic field shifted and everything was suddenly thrown off balance.
It all vanished in an instant, but I was still staring at him. His smile wasn’t friendly at all. It was a smile that screamed trouble with a promise.
The rest of the period had been dedicated to learning about our new partners; the object of the assignment was to interact with each other and to try to decipher your partner, creating a list of attributes and observations you felt were true to their character. While this task seemed simple enough, my partner simply wasn’t interested in cooperating at all. Instead of trying to force conversation, I stared at the front of the room blankly and gnawed on my lower lip, contemplating how I was going to complete my assignment to Birdy's satisfaction.
A few minutes had gone by when I heard the gentle glide of his pencil moving across his paper. I peered over to where his notebook sat open, and pulled my eyebrows together in annoyance. Ten minutes of sitting next to me in complete silence didn’t give him the right to make any sort of assumption about me.
“What are you writing?” I questioned, leaning forward onto the tabletop to try and skim over the cursive loops he had jotted down.
“Is demanding.” he mused, scrawling it down lazily before he looked up to meet my bewildered gaze and cracked another sly smile as he slapped his notebook shut. Demanding? What the hell?
I licked my lips and turned in my seat, holding my pen steady and poised to write, “What does ‘SP’ stand for?” he blinked, leaning back in his chair, watching me closely. “Your name?” I asked again with more conviction, clenching my jaw tightly.
“Sweet Pea.” he mumbled quietly, bracing his hands on his thighs.
“Sweet Pea?” I repeated dubiously, narrowing my eyes at him. “This isn’t funny, okay —”
“I’m being serious.” he snapped, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s stands for Sweet Pea. Yours?”
I clenched my jaw, bringing my attention back to my own notebook, “Cal.”
He shook his head, amused with my reluctance, “Full name.”
“Why do you want to know?”
Sweet Pea smirked, “It’s way more intimate — also, your unwillingness to share has coloured me curious.”
I licked my lips again, analyzing his face carefully, “Calliope.” I responded. “So tell me, Sweet Pea,” I sneered, “what do you do in your free time?” I hoped to sound nonchalant, eyes focused on writing his name across the top of my page in bolded letters.
“I don’t have much free time.”
I paused, trying to hold my composure as I rolled my neck to look at him. “I’m assuming he means business, so do me a favour?” I asked gently, eyes flickering over to where Birdy perched his feet up on his desk, deeply invested in whatever he was reading on his phone.
Sweets dropped his dark orbs across the length of my body, pausing a moment too long on my waist. He locked his hands behind his head and leaned back, “What kind of favour did you you have in mind, sweetness?”
I pressed my mouth together and felt my face drop into a scowl.
“Free time,” he repeated, rocking back slightly as he thought, “I’m apart of a gang.” he stated proudly, as though that were the most obvious answer to everything that stood true about him.
I wrote ENJOYS BOXING down.
Sweet Pea looked down at what I had neatly printed and chuckled, “You’re not fooling him,” he mused, jutting his chin towards the front of the room where Birdy sat. “I mean, c'mon. Pretty obvious what boxing really means.”
“Just because you’re all branded like cattle doesn’t mean I’m going to openly advertise your malicious gang-related violence in my homework, okay?” I met his eyes again, tossing my hair over my shoulder with a single brown risen in challenge. I wasn’t entirely sure what had come over me — I typically preferred to keep quiet, and tried to do so now that I was desperately avoiding any form of contact with either of the Southside gangs as a whole. Here I was, stuck sitting next to the Serpent poster boy for what I could only assume would be the remainder of the semester.
I prayed this wasn’t the case.
His lips threatened another smug smile, eyes leering into my own as he sat forward and hooked his fingers under the seat of my chair, dragging me closer to him. Unsure if I should move away in fear, or do nothing and feign boredom, I chose the latter. “Passing judgement is a weakness, y’know.” he reminded quietly.
I sat upright and inhaled deeply, stretching my confidence as I retaliated, “Am I wrong?”
He left his mouth ajar for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should really answer that question truthfully. Instead, he quickly changed the subject, “Do you sleep naked?”
I choked on the air that caught in my throat, looking around the room. No one else was really interacting with who they were supposed to be; Serpents were yelling to each other from across the room, filling the empty space with noise. “You’d be the last to know.” I bit back harshly, placing my foot on the bar between the legs to push myself back to my side of the desk.
"Ever done anything illegal?”
“No.” I lied, looking sideways at him. “Can you ask me normal questions? Like what my favourite colour is and stuff like that?”
Sweet Pea snorted, “I’m not going to ask what I can guess.”
“You don’t know what my favourite colour is.”
“Red — or purple. Hard to tell, but you wear a weird mixture of the two a lot.”
I craned my neck and looked at him in confusion, “What?”
Sweet Pea shrugged, “Last week you wore, what … three different tops that all looked burgundy? Maroon? I’m not really sure, honestly.”
“How did you know what I was wearing?”
He lifted a brow, “We share four classes together.” he stated, as though it were the most obvious fact. He then looked offended that I didn’t know that.
“Uh, no we don’t.” I responded, rearing my thoughts back to all my courses throughout my day. “I didn’t even know we had bio together until fifteen minutes ago —”
“You’re not very observant, are you?” he asked, leaning forward on the desk. When I failed to form an articulate response, he continued, “Apart from biology, we have marketing, history and fitness together.”
“We do not have fitness together.” I replied quickly. I hadn’t seen him once — and I spent a large majority of that period listening to the other girls that did participate fawn over the males as they worked out. Sweet Pea definitely would have been one of those males, I had not doubt in that.
He shook his head, handing me his timetable, “Sorry, sweetness.” he teased as my brows pulled together when I realized we did in fact share the same gym period.
“I never see you.” I accused, handing him back his paper.
He shrugged, “I said we had it together, not that I went to it.”
My eyes swept over the hint of bicep that strained under his shirt, “Right.” I swallowed, pulling my eyes away as the bell rang. Sweet Pea shoved his pencil and notebook into his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. I watched him walk away towards the front of the room, “Hey — wait!” I called in annoyance. I hastily shoved my belongings into my backpack once I realized he had swiped my phone off the table; I sprinted out after him, “Sweet Pea, give it back.” I called out to him loudly, voice hard and demanding.
He stopped, turned back around and walked up to me with a grin, holding my phone upright so I could view the contact he had put into it. “’0000′ isn’t a good passlock, by the way.”
I dropped my mouth open, ripping the device from his fingertips, “I’m not going to call you, Sweet Pea, I’ve got plans tonight.” I lied again, looking up at him with hard eyes and taunt lips. I couldn’t be bothered to be angry about him swiping my phone, mainly because I didn’t put it past him to have do it frequently.
Sweet Pea smiled, bumping fists with a fellow Serpent as he began to walk backwards, “So do I.” he responded with a smirk, winking as he spun on his heels.
“I won’t call!” I called loudly, ignoring the stares of the students around me.
I sat at the kitchen table with my back pressed against the wall, pushing the food around on my plate. Danny had attempted to recreate homemade poutine for dinner as Dean would be absent, but the gravy had come out with less substance than he intended. Not wanting to mess around with the measurements he swore he had carefully added together, he served it regardless. Don and Josh sat in the living room, the television blasting music as they sat on opposite sides of the sofa, scrolling through their phones with their plates empty on the coffee table. I remained in the kitchen this weeks reading open in my lap.
“Not hungry?” Danny asked, back turned to me as he scrubbed at the pot in his hand.
My automatic instinct was to please him by shoveling a forkful into my mouth, and then I remembered that Dean had been completely understanding in my picky eating habits, and had even gone as far as to reassure me that it wouldn’t cause any issues. I pushed the plate away in response, leaning forward on my elbows, “Not really. A plus for effort, though.” I teased gently, meeting his eyes.
“I say next time we just use some pre-made shit and call it good, deal?”
I snickered at his words, “Deal.”
We sat in silence for a few moments as I scrolled through my phone; I had a habit of keeping up with classmates from the past I had grown particularly fond of. While I tried to restrict my interaction and kept friendships to a bare minimum, I wasn’t capable of keeping every being on this planet out of my life. My childhood friend Sabine was still the center of my whole universe, there was no denying that. I hadn’t really seen her since my father died — my move from Pelham to Greendale had been quick and messy. I was only allowed to bring what I could fit into a duffle and my backpack, the rest had gone straight into storage and would be held until I turned of age.
Once I was eighteen, I would be able to go and claim what was in the unit. If I did not claim anything within the first month, the waiver indicated that the state had the right to auction off the contents in the storage closet to the open public. Not that anything in it was of any value or worth — truthfully, there was only one item in storage I couldn’t wait to get my hands on.
“Hey, Cal!” I heard Don call from the living room. I cleared my plate into the trashcan, slipped it into the sink around Danny’s frame.
“What up?” I asked casually, leaning against the wall once I joined them in the living room.
Joshua looked up over his shoulder, offering a wide smile, “We’re gonna head up to Roller Rink at nine — wanna come with?” he asked, holding up his phone screen. From what I could see on the banner, they were advertising a teen roller junction.
“Risk bruising my ass? Pass.” I replied, holding up a hand. “I don’t skate.”
“C’mon, I’ll teach you.” he tried again.
Don snorted, “Yeah, teach you how to break your tailbone.”
Josh snapped his head to the right, glaring at his friend from the opposite couch, “That was one time.” he growled.
I shoved my hands into the back pocket of my jeans, “It’s fine — really. I’ve got some homework to finish anyway.”
Danny joined us, wiping his hands on his denim. “A little birdie told me you got stuck with Sweet Pea as a lab partner.”
Don and Joshua shared a look, then craned their necks to look at me fully, “Wait, wait, wait,” Don started, sitting upright on the couch with his hands raised slightly as he tried to comprehend the information, “You’re partnered with Sweet Pea?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, tucking my hair behind my ear, “what about it?”
“If the guy ever gives you a hard time, let me know.” he grumbled, lifting his chin with wide eyes, sharing another glance with Josh. “The guy’s a total basket case — “
“Fangs is even worse. The whole group is one big bundle of fucked up.” his friend added.
I thought back to the suggestive comment Sweet Pea had made earlier, and shrugged, “Thanks, but I think I can take care of myself.” I mused in dismissal, turning towards the stairs to retreat for the evening.
Danny caught my arm as I passed, “We’re just looking out for you.”
I paused and looked down to where his fingers gently gripped my wrist. I forced myself to nod, “I know.” I responded, adding a small nod to show my appreciation. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected the boys to offer such a solid foundation of protection. The way they had spoken about the Serpents had me believing that they were a force that wasn’t to be reckoned with. And yet, here they were, foolishly offering up a suicide mission should Sweet Pea give me a hard time.
Fact: Sweet Pea had already given me a hard time, but I was determined not to let him get under my skin.
“I’m going to finish my homework.” I mumbled quietly, taking the stairs two at a time when Danny released his grip. When I was finally concealed behind my bedroom door, I flipped the lock and leaned against the wood with a tired sigh.
Everything about this day had left me feeling uneasy, and I wasn’t able to pin-point exactly what I was feeling. I wasn’t tired, but I was, however, restless about the biology assignment. I had told Sweet Pea I wouldn’t call, and ten hours ago I had meant it. But as the evening dragged on, I felt the familiar overwhelming sensation of anxiety creep over my chest.
Begrudgingly, I pulled my phone off its charger and scrolled through my contacts, finger hovering over the icon in momentary hesitation before I hit CALL. I hoped that he wouldn’t answer — that way I could rest easily on the idea that I had made an honest effort to finish an assignment, but that he was simply that uncooperative. Birdy wouldn’t see a reason to keep the seating plan if partners were unwilling to work with each other, and I could go back to sitting alone. No Sweet Pea needed in my bubble.
He answered on the fifth ring, “Whom the fuck might you be?”
I replied cooly, “Can we meet?”
“Calliope,” He said my name like he owned it. My full name, nonetheless. I clenched my jaw and closed my hand into a fist, “I thought you said you weren’t going to call.”
I swallowed my pride, running a hand over my face tiredly, “Can we meet or not?”
“Can’t.” he responded immediately.
“Can’t or won’t?” I pressed, narrowing my eyes at my bed, envisioning his smug smirk burning in the rear of my mind.
“I’m in the middle of an important pool game.” he replied absently; the clatter of the phenolic resin balls hitting each other in the background verified his statement.
I gnawed on my lower lip, disbelieving that his pool game were really more important than my grade in biology. “Where are you?” I asked hastily, already moving towards my closet to pull a jacket from one of the hangers.
I heard a snort, “Whyte Wyrm.” he admitted, smile evident in his tone. “Not really your kind of hangout.” he added.
I sighed angrily, “Then let’s do this over the phone —”
The dial tone sounded in my ear. Sweet Pea had hung up on me. I pulled the phone away from my ear in disbelief, and knotted brows together, clenching my jaw tightly as I tossed the device onto my bed. I ripped open my notebook, and under ENJOYS BOXING started jotting points down:
REALLY RUDE
SMOKES CIGS (GROSS)
WILL LIKELY DIE OF LUNG CANCER
OR FROM A GUNSHOT WOUND (SEE POINT ONE)
I collapsed onto the bed in defeat. I pulled the phone up, and stared at the numbers. It was already past nine— the way I saw it, I had two choices. I either fabricated my assignment, and risked Birdy failing me for the lack of initiative, or I walked to the Whyte Wyrm to find Sweet Pea. The second option wasn’t remotely tempting.
I blew out another sigh, watching as the numbers switched to 9:17 PM. Against better judgement, I sat upright and slipped the jacket I had pulled from the closet on over my arms. I let my bun fall free, and ran my fingers through my blonde tresses. If there was one thing I could thank my mother for, it would be my hair. Her blonde curls resembled so much of my own, and I saw my own eyes in the reflection of hers. It was the closest part of me that I had her, and given that I didn't have much to remember her, looking in the mirror always served as bittersweet replacement.
Girls tended not to like me for what they concluded to be my ‘obvious’ beauty, and I never cared. My attractiveness didn’t make me want to fit in. I still liked being alone, liked being on the outside. I was content coasting my way through high school until the day I graduated and could leave indefinitely.
What I liked more was being that one chick with kick ass hoops and pretty false-lashes.
I second guessed myself for a moment, then shook my head and pulled out the warm brown lipstick from the makeup bag on my dresser. I smeared it on, smudging the eyeliner under my eye a little to give them more of a smokey look before I nodded in approval and pulled my bedroom door shut behind me.
The television downstairs had been shut off; the boy’s boots were gone, and the door had been locked, meaning they had already left for the Roller Rink. Hopeful that I would be able to be home before them, I locked the door with my key and hugged my biology notebook to my chest.
I didn’t know my way around town yet, but it wasn’t nearly as big as Greendale. Fifteen minutes later I was standing at the light across the street from the bar, the neon lettering flickering in the dark sky. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket with the book under my arm, and moved in between the bikes that lined up along the side of the black-painted building, pulling the red and black door open with more force than necessary.
Full of Ivy Leaguers and model-citizens, I quipped sneeringly to myself. I tried to keep my thoughts lofty and nonchalant, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy quake in my stomach as eyes followed my every move. There was something about this place. I pulled the jacket tighter around my body, and let my eyes scan the crowd.
The floor was littered with cigarette butts and the air was thick with smoke. Not just typical cigarette smoke — but cigar smoke. I grimaced.
He was bent over the edge of the billiard table, hands steadily working to prep for his shot. “Sweets!” I called, watching his pool stick jutt too quickly and hit the green. He looked up at me from under his bangs, then stood with curiosity and surprise etched into his features as I wandered towards the table.
“Sorry about the hangup, sweetness,” Sweet Pea said, coming to stand beside me. With a tilt of his head, he motioned the others to leave. There was an uneasy moment before anybody moved; the first male to leave (short hair, broad shoulders — recognizable as a student from Southside High) bumped into my shoulder as he walked past. I took a step back to balance myself and looked up just in time to receive cold eyes from the other two players as they departed.
Definitely more terrifying when you were up close and personal.
“A few quick questions and then I’m out of here.” I said simply, holding up my notebook.
His eyes glanced over the page, “Rude … Will die of lung cancer. Or a gunshot wound,” he added, looking down at me as though he were impressed with my lack of creativity, “Can you see into the future or something?”
I pulled the booklet from his hand angrily and slapped it down onto the pool table that wasn’t occupied by any balls, “Religion?”
“Religion?” he repeated in question.
“Yeah. Religion. Faith. Communion —”
“I belong to a gang, does it look like I follow a religion?”
I contemplated his words, chewing on the inside of my lip before I shrugged, “Nope.” I muttered, writing that down on the paper. “Biggest dream?” I asked lazily, half-expecting him to sit on it and think about his answer for one second.
“To fuck you.” he said around a smile, his voice suddenly behind me and far too close for comfort. I shot upright, moving one of the balls across the table, “You’re messing up the game.” he noted, still smiling as he leaned against his pool stick.
“That’s enough.” I growled, narrowing my eyes at him, “It’s not funny.”
“Made you blush.”
I shook my head, trying to remain confident, “You’re provoking me.” I accused.
“Your mouth looks provocative when you talk.” he pressed, leaning forward with the left side of his mouth pulled up into a large grin.
“We’re done.” I stated, slamming my notebook shut with more force than necessary on the green of the table. “I don’t like sitting with you, I don’t like talking to you. I don’t like your smug smile,” my eye twitched slightly — something that typically happened when I was lying. In this very moment, I sincerely hoped it was by mere coincidence. “I don’t like you.” I tried to sound as convincing as possible, thrusting his pool stick into his chest.
He stood tall; I hadn’t realized until that moment how tall he actually was. He towered over me, well over a foot taller, in fact. Sweet Pea grabbed his pool cue, “Are we done here?” he asked, eyes hard, “Any more questions? Comments?” When I didn’t indicate I had any left for him, he nodded to the group behind me and moved back into position. “Then I’ll see you in bio.” he concluded, striking the ball loudly, sinking the purple ball into the right-side corner pocket.
I rushed home, desperate to wash the stench of the bar out of my hair, off of my skin. I felt a thousand times heavier as I entered the house, leaning against the wood as I ran a hand through my hair. In the midst of trying to convince myself that I despised Sweet Pea, I may have actually offended him and created an unwanted target on my back.
I tried not to let that be the only thought on my mind as I flipped the hot water on full blast.
I didn’t get any sleep that night.
Never want to miss an update? Follow @badomenreaders and turn on the post notifications!
