A Collection of Short/Long Stories I've Written;

Becoming Ronnie: 12.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this.” Dylan grumbled. He shook his head as we made our way down the stairs to what I presumed was the basement.

“Um, mind my asking…” I muttered, “but where are we?”

“Oh, right. Yeah this place used to be part of the house. My cousin, Tommy, wanted a new place but my uncle didn’t want him to leave, so he got this extension built—” he cut himself off as we got to the bottom of the stairs, from the hallway to here. I walked into the back of Dylan’s back and scowled.

“Sorry,” he apologised, moving out the way.

When he moved I saw a door, showing that instead of leading to a garage or something like that, it was a posh door, at the bottom of the stairs. I took the time to look back up, just to notify myself that the stairs were carpeted and the walls were posh and fancy – not an interior design you would put on your way down to a garage.

“Here were are…” Dylan said cheerfully, knocking on the door.

We waited patiently for only a moment before the door opened widely, revealing a boy in Icelandic style Christmas jumper. It was brown and yellow. He had geek glasses on and his hair was fluffy and stuck out everywhere. It wasn’t controlled by any jell. Maybe Tommy was gay and this was his… boyfriend?

“Hey Tom!” Dylan said pulling the man into a hug.

I furrowed my eyebrows. Unless Tommy had a boyfriend called Tom I presume this must be his son who’s the tattoo artist. He was quite tall, with brown hair.

“Who’s this?”

I pulled myself from my thoughts and stared at the pair. “Uh…”

“This is Veronica. My friend.”

“Friend?” Tom asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said as he turned to me, “It’s lovely to meet you, Veronica.”

“Are you Tommy’s boyfriend?” I asked, gasping after I left the words out of my mouth. “I-I’m sorry! That was inappropriate.” I felt my cheeks blush.

Oh my goodness, I just said that out-loud. I groaned inwardly. How humiliating!

“True. It was. But no, I am Tom, Tommy, whatever you want to call me... It’s a bit embarrassing to believe that you think I am gay, because I’m not. Did the jumper give it away—” he asked as he began to pull up the bottom of it.

“Uh… no, wait! You don’t need to…” my response then died in my throat.

He had already lifted his shirt and I stared dumbly at his great physique. He had a muscular body with a six pack. Donnie has a six pack. Every time he stays over he likes to walk into the kitchen with only boxer-shorts on and have a discussion with me. It usually revolves around him talking about the different muscles he’s toned lately at the gym or something, so I’m brilliant with male human anatomy.

He had tattoo’s covering his body. All different kinds. Lyrics, dates, drawings, tribal drawings, everything. Everything!

“Yes?” He asked, smirking at me.

I blinked. Oh no, I was staring!

My eyes snapped back upto his face. “W-What?”

“I also work at a school.”

“Huh?”

“It’s why I dress like that…” he said. I had to resist looking down at his torso again.