Vanilla Chaos

Chapter 12: Pears

A/N: Thanks for all the nice comments and votes, I really appreciate it! C:

"Nicki, where is he?" I asked, yawning slightly, "I haven't seen him since we ate."

She rubbed her eyes, setting her gossip magazine down on the coffee table, "It's nearly ten, he might have gone to bed early. Go up to his room and see. Careful, he might sleep naked."

"Sorry, what?"

"He probably wouldn't care if you saw him nude, though." She sipped her ice tea.

"Right. Well, I'll be going."

But Nelly wasn't even there. He wasn't even in the building, this was the only place left to look. What on Earth was he doing alone, fourteen years old, at night? I sat on his bed, I was feeling a little peeved that he hadn't even explained his absence to me, when just yesterday he had claimed he didn't want to leave me alone with his 'embarrassing family'. He was such an ungrateful bastard, these people had been nothing but kind to me, upon arrival. I could understand why he was bitter that they sent him to a boarding school across the sea, but that was his own fault for doing that stupid graffiti!

Then it hit me. The habit he couldn't quit, he was out spray-painting walls. He probably wouldn't be back until at least midnight. What was I supposed to do now? I missed him, as ridiculous as it sounded, it had only been a few hours. I lead on my stomach and buried my head in the pillows. They smelt like his body spray. His grey bedsheets were cool and soft. I didn't even care, anymore. I kicked off my trainers and my socks and slipped under the douvet. I smiled to myself, it was the next best thing to him cuddling me.

And suddenly, I wasn't mad, anymore.

***

I woke up in the other bedroom, how come everything that happened to me was always so discreetly suggestive? I giggled to myself, and climbed out, still in my leggings and baggy boy's t-shirt. If I was wearing women's clothes, they were black, if wasn't wearing black, I wasn't wearing women's clothes.

There he was, little French boy-toy, asleep on the floor. Could I kick him? I wanted to kick him. It would be funny. British people were supposed to hate French people, maybe I secretly hated him. Maybe. I doubted it. I probably just fell in love with a wonderful person and racism was stupid. Very stupid.

I knelt down and kissed his cheek, what a cutie. He was younger than me, but only by a few months or so. I was born on the 14th of January, and his birthday was the 3rd of July. Baby. "Crèpeboy, give me huggles." I layed on the floor, next to him. An arm dragged me closer to him, I grabbed his blanket and threw it over the both of us, "Sharing is caring, Nelly."

"Is that why you slept here, last night?"

"Nah, mate! I slept in your bed because I was pissed off that you didn't give me a kiss or a hug before you just left to go vandalise walls."

"I'm sorry, baby, can you ever forgive me?"

"Not if you call me 'baby', you French hoe. You're the baby, Mr July. They're going to write a book about you, you're the next Mr Man. Mr July - a crèpeboy who likes to paint walls and date girls with weird hair who weigh twice as much as him."

"You know why he does that?" He put his head on my shoulder, only half-awake, "Because Heidi Bonde isn't fat, she's chubby, and Mr July loves it. Heidi Bonde is adorable, cuddly and ticklish. I love you, cheriè."

I gave in, and rolled onto my side, so I was closer to him, "Oh my God, put a shirt on, you hoe. You did that on purpose didn't you?"

He laughed, confirming my suspicions, "Did what on purpose?"

"You took your shirt off, what do you think this is? A brothel?"

"Come on, you know you like it, Heidi Bonde."

"No, it's a hoe-ish thing to do, and stop calling me by my full name, it's creepy." What was running through my mind? I didn't have a clue. Damn, this situation was suggestive. François and Marseille would have a mini-heart-attack if the saw us like this. Funny thing was nothing happened. Ever. Not sure how I felt about that.

"Why do you keep saying hoe? Did you become ghetto overnight? And why do you mind so much? Is it my birth-mark? I'm sorry." He let go of me and sat up.

"Your what?" I noticed it just after I said that. He did have a birth-mark, a big one, too. He looked so crestfallen. I could read his face like a book now that he didn't have his glasses on. My lovely boyfriend, torn apart, due to a mark on his lower stomach. I threw my arms around him, "I was just joking, Nelly. Please don't feel sad, I didn't even see it until now, and it's cute, it's shaped like a pear. I think you're adorable, everyone at our school secretly does, too. You're so sweet, thoughtful and unique. I'm sorry, I love you. And you can call me Heidi Rouge."

He smiled, again, and it made me so happy, I couldn't even really explain it. "I love you, too, Mrs Heidi Rouge, but I still hate pears."

"Pears are fruity, pears are great. Stop hating on pears, mate."

"Will do! Do you want to see what I painted, last night?"

"I'd love to."

My head was on his chest, so close I could hear his heart-beat. He held up his phone screen, as he kept his frail arms around me, it was moments like these I treasured. Just being close to him, just sharing heat, just doing things only a couple would do. The picture was blurry and taken with the flash on, but I could make out the words in my language, "You call skinny pretty, but what you call fat, I call beautiful." The writing was in elegant, italic, black, with a white shadow underneath it. Underneath the text was the silhouette of a girl with a round body, a girl with long hair, a girl who was painted all in black because that was the only colour she looked decent in. A girl that was me.

"It's amazing, Nelly."

Our lips met. My hands in his soft hair, the phone discarded on the floor, I never wanted to stop kissing him.