Lies, Deceptions, And Misunderstandings

7. I Hate You

Taylor was so tired by the time they got home, he didn't roll out of bed until after nine the next morning. He looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head in disbelief at the sight of his hair still in a braid on the back of his head, the earrings still clipped on his now aching lobes, and the hideous lipstick, eyeshadow, and blush still caked on his face.

He quickly unclipped the earrings, placed them on his dresser, and rubbed his painfully sore earlobes.

I didn't even take those off? I guess I really was tired.

Turning to exit the bedroom, Taylor took two steps before tripping over the white, western style, ankle boots with the pink stitching.

"Damn boots," he muttered while kicking one of them against the wall.

That's when he realized he still had frilly ankle socks on his feet.

He didn't like that he still had those socks on from last night, but at the moment he wasn't awake enough to care about taking the time to remove them.

He merely shrugged and continued to the bathroom where he stood at the sink and used a washcloth to scrub the heidous, clownish makeup off his face before heading into the kitchen.

Craig was having coffee, already dressed in khaki shorts, slip-on loafers with no socks, and a peach polo shirt.

"Guess you wanted your turn in pink," Taylor sarcastically said to him. "Why don't you dress yourself up. You wear all the pink and I'll just go to my game. Sound like a plan?"

"It doesn't, but don't worry, even if I did I'm sure you'd still be the pretty little one Carissa fusses over," Craig teased as he sipped his coffee. "Just wait, you're gonna be as cute as ever in what I got up early and bought you."

"I'm not wearing any freaking dresses!" screamed Taylor. "Just sleep with the crazy bitch already and get me out of this. No wonder she's in therapy. Just her thinking I'm a girl and having me be friends with her daughter tells you all you need to know about her. She's freaking unstable and you're even more nuts chasing after her and doing all this, forcing me to do things boys shouldn't have to."

"It's actually called being needy, moron." Craig grabbed his arm. "Now let's get you dressed, because I intend to satisfy all her needs and mine, hopefully today!"

Craig dragged Taylor to the bedroom and Taylor began to fight, pleading with his brother to not make him wear the clothes Craig had for him. He knew the drill, but still struggled with having to do it.

"Let's go," said Craig, holding out a pair of peach panties. "Are your balls still sore? If I was you, I'd make sure to wear your cup in the game later."

Taylor could barely speak. He was so angry he could almost feel steam coming out his ears as he stepped into his new peach panties and similarly colored peach leggings.

Craig helped Taylor pull them up, snapping the elastic waistband slightly as he snugged them past Taylor's hips and then dropped a top over his head. Craig took a pair of white flats from their box and just as Taylor was beginning to complain, Craig buckled the little straps across each of Taylor's feet.

Taylor rolled his eyes, seeing Craig open a package of peach bows and ribbon. Before Taylor could complain, Craig had spun him around and was beginning to tie a bow at the end of the French braid. He then sprayed some sticky hairspray at the back of Taylor's head.