How To Do It Like A Princess

How To Do It Like A Princess-Chapter 17

Chapter 17-Blair

He was scrunching up his face again, like he did when he didn’t like what he saw. Noah’s arm around mine didn’t drop, especially not when he saw the figure bursting through the door. He just chuckled at him, waved his hand like he was the fricking Queen of England and carried on trying to get my bra off.

My mind was fuzzy. I kept picking out things in my blurred vision; the wine glass filled with cider on the floor, the amber liquid blossoming out and seeping into the thick carpet. The couch we were on was coming apart at the seams, the threads and fabric looking floaty. They seemed to be gliding up into the air, wispy and delicate, until they gathered around my head. Blinking, I noticed they were still resting on the sofa, right where they should have been.

My head rolled back as Isaac ripped Noah off me, his almost 6 foot frame being dwarfed by Noah’s.

Funny. I never noticed how big Noah was.

Isaac stood in front of him all the same, looking like a stubborn toddler, with his arms curled at his sides, fists clenched as he screwed up his face even more. I could see his feet sinking into the carpet as he pulled his fist back, probably turning blue from lack of oxygen, they were so tightly gripped. Noah laughed again. Isaac’s knuckles made contact. There was a crack and a thump as Isaac leaped-that’s what it looked like to me-high in the air like he was in a kung-fu film and brought down his fist again and again and again.

I sat with wide eyes at my prince. It suited him, beating up someone. The action and the movement and the anger made him all the more appealing.  Eyes rolling back, I examined the intricate pattern on the walls, the greys so close together you could almost miss it. I slumped on the couch, watching with fuzzy vision as Noah tackled Isaac and as Isaac tackled Noah, the dance seeming to go on forever. My legs were lead and arms had the habit of drooping and lying on my lap. Slipping off the couch, I reached for my glasses, desperate for some clarity.

I batted my eyes back up at the walls, staring at the monochrome gray, flat and plain, no pattern at all. Everything seemed so soft. The light reflecting on Isaac’s curls. The blood trickling from Noah’s nose, a little river of crimson. The air smelling like feathers and dust.

Suddenly, there was shouting and screaming and noises so loud that my eardrums almost burst. Jude and Mikey and Bolton and Kiran and everyone else that was still downstairs seemed to pour into the room, filling up every little space and taking up all the oxygen. There were hands around Isaac, stroking his face and his damaged body. Hands around Noah, restraining him and dragging him out of the room like a ragdoll, eyes closed, mouth upside down in a grimace

I leaned forward, wanting a view of his face to keep like a treasure for some reason I could not fathom. He really did look like a ragdoll, so much so that I could see the stitches running across his face and arms, his hair becoming woollen string.

I blinked again and he was gone. So was I, drifting out of the room after him.

Another blink and I was back on the sofa, wincing as hands wrapped cloth around me. Their edges of their voices stabbed my eardrums and the room became dark, everything swirling into a singularity.

A few more blinks and it was black.

Rule 27-Find out what the hell that drink was! You don’t want to make a habit out of it.

There was a low rumble as I prised my eyes open. I stared at my tummy, willing it to shut up, but to no avail.

‘Some one’s a bit hungry there, huh?’ Mikey said, grinning at me. He was perched on the end of a bed and had been looking out the window with nostalgia filling his eyes.