Walk A Mile [FreenBecky]

Chapter 3

The floor wasn't a very good decision. Waking up wrapped in a sleeping bag wasn't her finest moment. Before opening her eyes, Becky reached up to massage her sore neck. She didn't have a pillow last night. She groaned and stretched, extending her arms as far as they would go. Then she let them stay on the ground, opting to slide them back towards her body. In the process, her skin came in contact with something wet and slimy.

Becky's eyes shot open as she frantically looked towards the unidentified liquid. It was clear, but it didn't ease her worries at all. Also, there was a peculiar smell in the room now. Cautiously, she looked in the other direction and came face to face with a giant, fluffy head. Staring directly into the eyes of the Saint Bernard kind of scared the living daylights out of her. She reacted how anyone would to being scared.

A bloodcurdling scream roused Freen from her sleep. The older girl startled and woke up immediately. The scream was followed by excited barking. It didn't take long for the sleepy girl to put the pieces together. It was Becky again.

"God, could you not scream like you're being murdered first thing in the morning?" Freen snapped bitterly as she wiped at her eyes and glowered at the girl now trembling warily in the corner. Fluffy dopily bounded over to her bedside and plopped his head on Freen's comforter. She smiled at the dog and lovingly ruffled his fur.

"Why is there a horse in your room?!" Becky screeched in outrage, cowering behind her flimsy sleeping bag.

"He's not a fucking horse," Freen scoffed and scratched behind the giant dog's ears. "His name is Fluffy. He's a dog, Rebecca."

"No, that is a fucking woolly mammoth," Becky commented snidely once she regained her bearings. Okay. This beast wasn't a threat. With that refreshing knowledge, Becky straightened up a little and dropped the sleeping bag to gather around her body.

"He's a Saint Bernard. I take it that you don't like dogs very much?" Freen kinked an eyebrow and babbled incoherently at the animal.

"I love dogs. I have one. But not... Whatever that is," Becky grimaced at Freen's big dog and subtly kept her distance. "What kind of dog do you have?" Freen questioned in the midst of cuddling Fluffy. "He's a Yorkshire Terrier," Becky said in a very refined manner, but it crumbled when Freen burst into laughter.

"Of course it's a fucking Yorkie. I should've known it'd be something typical. I was thinking Chihuahua or like a Pomeranian or something," Freen laughed and further belittled Becky.

"It's not typical... He's actually a very special mixed breed of-" Becky began to inform her, but was cut short.

"Yeah, right. You have some little purse rat that you probably carry around everywhere in some kind of ridiculous little tote, right?" Freen assumed and didn't bother to hide her contempt towards the girl now trying to recompose herself.

"No," Becky declined shortly, pursing her lips in offense. "He's a dog, just like anyone else's. He doesn't get any special treatment..."

"Sure," Freen laughed incredulously and diverted her attention back to Fluffy.

"You sound like you've watched one too many bad lifetime films," Becky crossed her arms and challenged Freen's smug stare.

"You sound just like the way they portray people like you, so where is the lie?" Freen retorted. This was all amusing to her.

"Can you stop acting like you know me?" Becky asked resentfully, fed up with Freen's stupid assumptions and unnecessary judgements.

"I'm not acting like anything," Freen shrugged, still wearing that smirk that made Becky want to slap it off.