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This chapter is in Mark's perspective.
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"What the fuck is that?"
My eyes followed Jack's pointing finger, soon stumbling upon Sam, who I'd cautiously placed on the end of the dresser parallel to the two queen-sized beds in the hotel room (of which only one was occupied, if you know what I mean).
I was astonished Jack hadn't noticed him until now – I mean, sure, he'd just stepped out of the shower a second ago (currently coated in steam and a towel hiding the beauty of his member, chest thankfully exposed) and hadn't been sitting and eating Pop Tarts with me for the last twenty minutes of the Titanic, but no normal person grew accustomed to walking by randomly-placed eggs, did they?
"It's Sam," I said modestly, sitting up from my pile of wrappers and crumbs. "I thought it'd be fun if he joined us!"
"'Fun?'" he demanded, taking a step closer in my direction. "Fun? You think it's fun to force my son into watching his father bang his boyfriend in a hotel room!?"
I couldn't resist letting out a giggle – the way he stated it was far too adorable. "Banging." Not "woohooing," not "making the bed rock," but banging. I guess there was reason to call it that, seeing as the people in the room beside us managed to complain of how loudly the bed smacked against the wall and disrupted their children's sleep, but it was still a strange-sounding word nonetheless.
"Jack!" I wailed, clasping a hand over my laughing mouth. "What if someone heard you!?" I gasped. "What if my father is listening right now?"
"Well, it's a possibility," he probably joked (even though I took it into serious consideration). "I mean, we've learned by now that these walls are paper thin."
I nodded, watching as he clutched onto his towel on his way over to the dresser, opening the drawers slowly as to not tip over and break his child. It was something I did ever since the first day we met; watch him. Odd, I know – not lots of people stared at others, seeing as it was rude and tended to be a little awkward (which Jack was also used to by now). But it was interesting and amusing, seeing as he moved so swiftly, did everything so easily, as if the coolness of his personality just followed him around beside me, just as loyal as the puppy in my apartment.
And then I froze, stuck in place, realizing that I'd forgotten something more important than any pair of clothes, toothbrush, or skin cream imaginable.
How could I have forgotten my entire dog at home? Sure, she was a puppy, but one nearly the size of a fully-grown dog! If I hadn't been so stupid, hadn't just gone out on a whim like I always do, maybe – just maybe – I would've been able to get her out of the apartment before dad came home from his business trip.
I couldn't believe it. How could I have been so dumb? How could I have just run away with Jack, as if nothing else mattered more than he did? Yes, that was true, but still! Even if he's the most important thing to me, it doesn't mean that nothing else matters at all, that my father will come home and be perfectly fine with a dog lying lazily on his couch, probably having crapped all over the floor (seeing as she couldn't seem to listen to the "only poop on the newspaper" rule). Why did I suppose that she would be fine to go the day without being fed? Need not mention her owners and family members at home, people that were probably sobbing over their lost dog, wishing she'd come back eventually.
I could see it now – dog posters, hanging from post to post all over Athlone, asking that anyone and everyone who'd seen Chica call immediately. Chica would be lying obediently by the door, whimpering to herself as the night grew longer and longer, wondering whether or not I would be coming home tonight (which I wouldn't). And then, early the next morning, my father would come home to see her, barking excitedly his way and jumping up excitedly to sniff him just as she'd done to me – except, of course, my father, dressed in his clean suit and tie, wouldn't be nearly as calm as I was in the original situation. I could see that, too – what if he thought she'd broken in? What if he used his suitcase to defend himself, smacking her across the room and sending her dog bowl aflutter, making a stain in the rug with the water and food Jack and I had left her?
YOU ARE READING
Ever After
Fanfiction"His eyes - oh, God, his eyes - were an entirely different story. Staring into his eyes was like staring into the summer sky just before the sunset came, before the yellow, pink, and purple clouds came to fog up your vision. They were the definition...
