Spectrum. (Kellic)

Chapter 8

Writing 10,000 words about online copyright infringement is never fun, but it's especially torturous when you procrastinate for almost two weeks and leave yourself 11 hours in which to write it. It was 4am, I was less than halfway through, and here I was, making grilled cheese.

Tonight had been my best opportunity to write, as Vic had gone out with his friends and hadn't been home in a few days. I expected his re-appearance to be unnecessarily dramatic, with me being forced to listen to his extravagant accounts of the girls he had met and the cops he had evaded. I didn't however, expect him to arrive as I was in the middle of eating my grilled cheese from a paper plate, as the pipes had broken again and we were without water.

I could hear him clattering around outside for at least two minutes before he finally entered. He squinted his eyes as he walked in, put off balance by all the lights.

"Why are you awake?" He asked when he saw me standing at the counter.

"I have an essay to write. Why have you been out for so long?" I replied.

"I... Had to clear my head." He said quietly, walking towards me and sitting on the counter beside where I was standing. "So. Um... How have you been?"

"Uh... Fine? I guess?" He was staring at me so intently, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't look back at him. I'd probably have a panic attack.

"Did you miss me?" He smirked.

"No!" I reply quickly. Too quickly for it to be true.

It wasn't true. Every few hours I would wish for him to come back. In fact, I only just realised that I don't hate his exaggerated tales of his 3 day pub crawls. I liked to have his attention, even for only a few minutes while he talked about himself.

"Whatever." He laughed.

He spoke to me for almost ten minutes, not about his days away with his friends, but he had seemed to suddenly develop an intense interest about the individual laws regarding who owns a picture after it's been posted to a public blog. The dramatic change of character that made him into a friendly, polite, articulate person, was not something that happened often. But god, I embraced it when it did.

"How much do you have to write?" He asked, as he hopped off the counter and got himself a Pepsi.

"10,000 words. I'm almost halfway through." I replied.

"How do you even do that?" He seemed genuinely bewildered, which I wasn't surprised at. I would be shocked if he'd  written a single essay in his life.

"You get used to it." I told him.

He returned to his spot on the counter, patting the space next to him, indicating for me to sit. He asked me about university, and then about my high school experience, and within five minutes, I began to imagine having to no longer feel the icy tension there usually was between us, whenever he forced himself to talk to me.

Vic didn't seem drunk until he slid off the counter, stood in front of me, and said quietly, "I've been wanting to kiss you for a few days."

I didn't reply. I didn't think he would do anything about his apparent urge to kiss me. But he did. His arm immediately went around my waist, as he pressed his lips against mine. He tasted faintly of cigarettes, and strongly of beer, but it didn't make me want to push him away. For the first time, I felt intrigued by the taste, and it proved the effect that Vic had on me. He pushed himself forward so he was standing in between my knees, almost as close as he could possibly be to my body.

But then he just pulled away, frowned, and slammed the door as he entered his room, completely oblivious to the extent of my confusion.