The Bad Boy is a King

Day 2.

Monday.

Grabbing a coffee, my phone's ringer came on. I pulled it out of my bag to see Thomas calling me.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

"Ready for what?"

I heard him sigh. "Fucking school."

I laughed in the phone. "I was wondering why I woke up this early and got ready."

"I missed you. I'll be there in a minute," he chuckled before hanging up.

"Lee, Wes, Drew, and Anthony. Thomas is driving me to school so adios," I yelled.

Mom and dad just left a few minutes ago for the hospital. And my brothers were finally used to Thomas and I being together, not actually together. But they've learned to trust him. But thankfully Lee went to the bathroom so he couldn't pester me before I left.

Drew shouted over his rap music, "This isn't fucking Spain."

"We speak English, stupid." Wes yelled.

"See you at school," I call and open the door to the blistering cold.

Thomas leans against his black car and when he sees me, he opens my door. I thank him and he shuts the door and goes over to the driver's side.

"Not too shabby, Parker," I say. "You finally got your license. I have to wait a year and Lee still won't let mom and dad let me drive."

Thomas chuckled. "Perks of living with Lance and Scotland."

He turned the car right to the school's directly and I immediately groaned. "What, no fancy adventure today?"

He grinned. "No. Not today, babe."

"Shut up, jerk." I mumble and open the door.

He runs around to my side. "That's my job, princess."

"Too late," I say with a smile.

"Whatever, snitch," he says scoffing.

I laugh. "I am not a snitch."

"Then who told?"

"Anyone with eyes. There was a teacher there watching," I say.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Guess I know who doesn't like cockroaches."

"Who does?" I mutter.

"They were fake."

"Yeah and everyone loves fake cockroaches that scares them and makes them think that they have real cockroaches on them."

"I could have put real cockroaches on you." He smirked.

"Don't get anymore ideas."

He raised his hands in surrender as we walked through the school doors. "I'm not."

People walking in the halls immediately stopped what they are doing and stared at us. I snuggled my head into his chest as we walked, his arm wrapped around me, making circles on the small of my back.

"You better not be."

Thomas mumbles, "But, maybe I already have some."

"Shut up," I say whilst laughing, "Why did you even do that stuff to me?"

"Don't tell me to shut up. I wanted to be around you but I couldn't talk to you."

I smiled and looked up at him. "Boy, don't give me that attitude. You could have talked to me."

"Sorry, love. But I didn't know how you would react, plus I didn't even think you noticed me."

I look up to him, my eyes meeting his dark grey ones. "I have always noticed you; not just for your illegal violent acts."

---

"Oh my gosh. Thomas?"

He blinked his eyes a few times, he answered drowsily, "What?"

"I think you should go to the doctor."

"I don't go to the doctors. My dad doesn't want them to get suspicious," he mumbled and held onto his head.

"You're living with Lance, remember? Your dad is in jail."

"Oh, right. But, I can't go and why should I even go? I'm fine," he said.

"Thomas, you're not fine."

"Please, Annabelle.  I probably just didn't eat enough today, you know what has been happening."

"Okay," I murmured.

He cupped my face. "I'm fine, trust me. Okay?"

"I'll always trust you."

---

Later that night:

    "Can you cover your ears for like a minute?" Thomas asked through his innocent-like, grey eyes.

    I nodded and covered my ears, walking back into their living room. Even with my ears covered, I could hear exactly what Thomas was saying to the man who was supposed to be his father. For a minute, like he had told me, I waited in their living room. There were pictures hanging on the wall of Thomas and Lance when they were younger. The two looked almost identical with the same colored dark hair and grey eyes. Their mother had light hair and their father had medium colored brown hair in the photographs. The man I see in the pictures with their mother looks nothing like the man standing in the kitchen, shouting at his son. He looks gentler, and almost happier in the images.

    Curse words from Thomas ceased the shouting. He walked into the living room with a scowl evident on his face however when our eyes met, any trace of the scowl disappeared.

    "Sorry," he trailed, "about that and for hearing me say all that."

    "I don't blame you," I said. If I could get the chance, I would probably do the same thing he just did. My parents were like his father; nonexistent.

    He did not reply but looked like he wanted to say something else. Thomas led the way out of his front door and slammed it shut after me. He locked the door as I waited off to the side. Their house was small but it left traces of a cozy feeling with the pictures and decorations. On the outside sat flowers and willow trees similar to my house.

    "Ready?" It didn't have to be a question, I thought and by the expression on his face, his thoughts mirrored mine.

     I let out a breath that I did not even know I was holding in. "Yes."

We were going over to Lance's place and then to dinner with him and Scotland again.

Lance lived at a dorm at college near us.  He shared it with a roommate and the occasional Scotland.  She went to college their too and would sleep in Lee's room a lot.  Or he would sleep in hers.  They shared each other's rooms even though boys and girls weren't allowed to do that.

-

Lance walked around the room without a shirt on as he complained, "Thomas, quit stealing my clothes, you little shit. I can't find my shirt."

He laughed. "You're just saying that so you have an excuse to walk around shirtless."

"I don't see anyone complaining about that," Lance mumbled.

Thomas was laying on the couch with his head rested in my lap while I played with his hair.

Scotland yelled, "We're going to be late."

"I can't find my shirt, Cupcake."

"It's on the bed where I laid out your shorts," she said, sighing.

"Oh," Lance said, "I'll just throw on that shirt and we'll go."

"Where the keys?"

"Next to your shorts," Scotland answered.