Slight Detours | Wattys 2015

(20) ALLY

A/N

So, twentieth chapter. I guess I deserve a round of applause? Or maybe not... Yeah, I don't. Anyways, please enjoy. I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations, and that Ally still seems like Ally because it's been a while since I've written anything in her point-of-view. Also, I was thinking about entering Slight Detours into the Wattys... please comment your opinions about that cause I'm a hopeless pessimist and I need help deciding. Vote and comment guys! Pretty please! I love hearing from ya'll. I apologize for the errors. Til' next time.

They say your first kiss is your most memorable.

I beg to disagree.

It was several years ago when my lips first touched someone else's – a glorified male specimen named Finley's, to be exact, and back at my old school, people worshipped the ground he walked on. Everyone practically drooled at his feet. The Rogen F-bomb, a nickname he was often referred to as, rendered even the math geniuses dumb and speechless. Girls wanted to date him while guys wanted to be him, as if jocks were all-powerful beings that deserved adoration and ballyhoo.

You had to give it to him, though; the guy was GQ model attractive, but stupid he was not. He'd managed to create his own false persona, exploiting women's desire for a "sensitive" and "serious" individual that was equally attractive as he was intellectual. He'd used the ill-conceived stereotype of brainless cavemen football athletes to his advantage and miraculously proved the cynics wrong with an oh-so-convincing performance that had people singing, "Hallelujah, a nerdy jock." And it made girls go nuts.

It was too good to be true, that this guy had done it. Finely had turned every hopeless romantic's dream into a reality, and it was enough to lure whoever fell for his trap into an unremitting spiral of regret and self-loathing... including me.

Which brings us to my first kiss. I was fifteen at a party, perfectly sober, when Finley came stumbling down the stairs, grinning like a lunatic. He was drunk, there was no denying that (even the tacky strobe lights did nothing to hide his frothing mouth and bloodshot eyes), but back then I didn't know what to think when he threw himself at me and shoved his tongue in my mouth.

So, I stood there and let him kiss me.

After all, he was the Rogen F-bomb everyone wanted. He had to be an amazing kisser, right? Wrong. The guy pretty much had the sloppiest tongue on the planet. I've had better times regurgitating Thanksgiving turkey.

Let me paint the picture for you.

Think of a mop. And then imagine what it would feel like if it went all out cleaning the inside of your mouth with its tangled strands and watery suction.

Not pleasant at all.

But the moment Jared's and my lips touched, sparks flew. Literally. The lights flickered on and off in, whooshing sounds bouncing off the walls in a symphony of pangs and clashes. If I weren't so distracted by Jared's lips then I would've freaked out at the eerie disturbance. I was a sucker for anything remotely paranormal, which, by the way, I totally blame on the old horror movies dad used to make me watch.

He, unlike myself, loved scary movies. But only the old ones with the crappy effects. Dad thinks the movies these days ruin the essence of horror, which is all about the buildup and reaction and less about how creepy the monsters are. As for me? I don't really have a say in the matter. We watch them either way, anyways. Whether it's the latest Johnny Depp comedy-romance-horror toss up, or a decades old still-black-and-white Poltergeist. But I will say I do enjoy old movies a lot better. Partly because they are sorta, I dunno, laughable? It's got a lot to do with the crappy, effects, actually.