Author: totalqt16 PM
It's been a year since ... IT hurt her. Can she put her trust into the hands of a geek?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Humor - Chapters: 2 - Words: 853 - Reviews: 17 - Favs: 15 - Follows: 11 - Updated: 09-06-11 - Published: 01-09-11 - Status: Complete - id: 6638832
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
My first non-Potter-related "book" fanfic.
It's around six at night.
Dave Petrakis is walking me home.
And, I'm smiling.
It's January, and the winter air feels cold on my lips.
The scabs I'd work diligently at making on them last year aren't healing up as fast as I'd liked, and the "caramel frape" lip balm, that I'd excepted from Heather as a "peace offering" isn't doing much to help – it burns.
I only took it to be polite. Heather's been slightly "sugar-coated" toward me, since the Marthas stamped her membership card null-and-void, and now that everyone knows the truth about what happened at that party, I've now been stamped the school heroine (having saved all the other "bunny-rabbits" from big-bad-wolf Andy) and, she seems to want in on my new-found social status.
Maybe I'll let her.
It's not exactly wanted anyway. So says the girl who just last year, was screaming inside for just about anyone to pretend to care ... go figure.
His – David's – hand brushes mine, and I feel sick.
Not roller-coaster sick.
Not Thanksgiving-coma sick.
And definitely not IT sick.
I knew, for sure I didn't feel that twisting, nag in the pit of my stomach — that overpowering urge to throw up.
This was ... nice.
Did I like him?
That geeky, awkward little hero, who'd had all "The Neck's" US history class throwing rose petals at his feet?
The David Petrakis – who had dared to defy all rules of social order, and actually "make nice", with everyone's favorite "party-busting asshole"?
Maybe I did.
His fingers curl around mine, and, even though town's amerced in the biggest "white wash" we've seen in decades, (or so says the over-the-top weatherman on Channel 9), I feel warm.
"Careful, Mel! Don't slip!"
He grips my hand tighter, when I make a mad dash to the sidewalk, to the left of our little path of footprints.
When we get there, virtually unharmed, I turn back to him, and present him with my best "unaffected" scowl.
"I was only looking out for you," he claims, raising his hands, in a very I-come-in-peace kind of way. "... your current health is your prerogative – if you'd be content with a broken neck, then it's up to your own discretion."
I roll my eyes.
"We're here." It's the first time I've spoken since we started out.
"Yeah." he agrees. "So – I guess, I'll see you at school tomorrow?"
"Maybe you will." My casual attempt at flirting.
He leans in so fast, that I think I may have just been delirious from the cold.
He couldn't have just ... kissed me – could he?
My cheeks flush, at even the possibility of that girly little squeak coming from me.
Why'd he do it?
But, before I even have I chance to string together some lame form of questioning, the nerd's halfway down the block, calling out to me, like he's on some new medication.
"You know I'd never hurt you, right Mel? — You've gotta learn to trust me!"
It's around six-o'-five at night.
David Patrakis might have just kissed me.
And I'm smiling.