Fake Girlfriend (A Behzinga Fanfic/AU)(unfinished)

TWELVE

I made my way to the weights room, my nerves overcoming me as I held the mug in my hands. It had been a week since we'd talked, and I couldn't help but finish the mug that Ethan started in my class. He did a pretty good job on it, but since he didn't even come back for it, I took it upon myself to glaze it and fire it in the kiln.

I blushed when I walked in, since he was on the bench press listening to loud workout music.

I went up to him and raised an eyebrow. "Aren't there gyms for this sort of thing?"

"Hey Princess," He lifted the bar back onto the rack before sitting up, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. "I prefer working out here. It's like home."

I nodded, glancing around the empty room. "I just, uh, brought this."

I cringed as I handed him the mug, and a smirk spread onto his face. "You finished it?"

I shrugged. "Yeah."

"Thanks," He stood, rubbing at his shoulder as he brought the mug over to his desk. He drank some water before glancing over at me. "How's Brian? Giving you a hard time?"

He gestured to my clothes, which were fancier than normal and I sighed. I was in a grey pencil skirt and a white blouse.

"A bit," I rubbed the back of my neck. "He thinks I have a big meeting right now, since he expects me to get a week off for the wedding."

He narrowed his eyes. "But you already have a week off."

"I know," I groaned. I didn't know him well enough to go too in-depth, so I brushed off my skirt before clearing my throat. "Well, I should go. You're still coming to Barbados for the wedding, right? Oh, wait, you don't have a choice."

"Very funny," He chuckled. "Yeah, I'm going, since you've been putting up with my Mum for weeks."

"Not really," I looked down at my feet. "I haven't seen her since dinner last week."

He sighed. "Yeah, things have been busy. Which is good for you, right?"

"Totally."

Not really. I hadn't talked to Ethan in so long, that my Dad was starting to ask questions. He wanted to have dinner with him again, but I didn't want to ask.

We sat listening to his music for a second before I shrugged and spoke again.

"Well, bye. See you in Barbados."

"I think you mean at the airport," He said. "We're flying in together, right?"

Crap. He was right. "Huh, I didn't think about that."

He smirked. "That's why you should leave the acting to me, Princess."

*****

My leg bounced up and down rapidly as I sat down in my seat on the plane, my nerves getting the best of me. I hated flying, but I also hated lying to my Dad and he was sure to find out the truth soon.

I took a sharpie out of my bag and started tapping it on my leg, trying to get rid of the nerves but failing. The only thing that kept me calm was art, the one thing I had to leave behind as we went to the wedding. This entire trip was going to be a nightmare without my paint or sketchbook. I was at least able to pack my camera.

"Will you stop that? It's freaking me out," Ethan put a hand on my leg to stop it from bouncing.

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up."

"Are you scared or something?"

He'd insisted on sitting next to me to sell the fact that we were dating, and my Dad was sitting a few rows ahead. I let Ethan have the window seat, since I preferred the aisle. It made for an easy exit if necessary.

"No."

He chuckled. "You are."

I shook my head, pulling the lid off of the sharpie. I went to start drawing on my hand for comfort but noticed it was shaking and froze.

Shit.

What would my Dad say when he saw sharpie on my hand? He'd lose his mind.

"You can draw on mine if you want," Ethan shrugged and looked down at me. "I'll just tell him it was me."

I bit my lip and shook my head again. "I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Rebecca, it'll be fine," He raised an eyebrow, surprised at his own use of my name. "I'll give you a hard time if you don't."

He put his tattoo-less hand on my leg, flexing his fingers as an invitation to start drawing.

"I don't need it," I muttered, but I started doodling on his fingers. I drew random patterns and shapes, taking up the majority of his hand before I ran out of space. At that point, the plane was moving, so I bit my tongue and squeezed my eyes shut.

Ethan let out a sigh and grabbed my hand that held the sharpie, positioning it over his wrist.

"Keep going."

"I'm not a kid," I snapped. "I don't need your charity."

"Just draw, Wright."

The plane shook a bit, so I cursed and continued my drawing up his arm. The doodles were so close together, you would think he had tattoo sleeves on both arms.

He held my left hand in his own in an attempt to comfort me as I drew with my right, squeezing it whenever the plane shook.

I paused my drawing just before his elbow, sighing and pulling away.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

He shrugged, admiring the doodles on his arm. "Am I not allowed?"

"That depends. Is it real? Or an act?"

He looked over at me with a smirk. "That's up for interpretation, Princess. What do you think?"

"Well, based on that response, I'd say that it's fake," I tipped his arm so it was facing up and started a new drawing. "But fake or not, I'll take advantage of it."

He chuckled and relaxed his fingers, not protesting or pulling away like I thought he would. Instead, he leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes. I lightly brushed my fingers along the drawing I did once I ran out of room, tracing it to keep me calm.

When my fingers lightly traced the pattern, he tensed, clenching his fist and clearing his throat.

"Are you done?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," I quickly pulled my hand away and blushed, thankful his eyes were closed. I spoke softly. "Sorry."

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes opening slightly as he turned his head to look down at me. "So are there any other fears I should know about?"

"I'm not scared," I repeated, rubbing my wrist nervously.

"Whatever you say," He pulled his hand away from my leg and once again closed his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if you have an anxiety attack or something."

"Very funny," I scooted away from him and tried to get comfortable in my seat, failing. Instead, I flipped down the tray in front of me and leaned my arms on it, putting my head on my arms and closing my eyes. At least if the plane crashed, I would be asleep and it wouldn't be my problem. I'd die peacefully.

I bit my tongue as we hit some turbulence, refusing to let him see that I was scared. I had a good reason to be scared, considering the fact that my mother died in a plane crash.

I know, right? Pretty cliche, the fact that my mother had died. I had a hard time believing it myself for the longest time.

That's why I hated Lisa so much. I didn't like that she was replacing my mother. She was kind, and pretty, and fun, and everything my mother was, and it hurt whenever she spoke to me.

I remembered my mother vividly. The song she sang to me at night when I was a kid. She didn't live to see my eighth birthday, but the song always played at the back of my mind. Her soft voice was always the one to sing it.

The memory of her gave me mixed feelings. It reminded me of how she died, which scared me to think about, but also calmed me enough to lull me to sleep.