ONE PLUS ONE

004: sappy movies

       Five minutes in, and Malia already wanted to tear her eyes out. She knew the movie inside out: the people, the scenes, the lines. Watching it again was like torture, making her want to scream and cry and throw a fit, but she could do none of those things—in fact, she had to sit still and watch the whole movie without any sounds. Scratch what she said before, it was torture in its truest form.

       Malia huffed and snuck deeper into the couch; at least there was one positive side to this, which was the fact Lydia owned the comfiest couch she had ever sat in, and when she wrapped herself in a soft blanket, it was like laying on clouds. It was so soft that it made her want to close her eyes and drift off into sweet dreams, far away from the corny movie playing on the big screen before her. So she did just that—closed her eyes, leaned her head back on one of the fluffy pillows, and hoped to awaken again when the movie was finished. It surprised her how fast she seemed to get drowsy, a few minutes passing by before she was borderline asleep; give her a moment, and she would out as a light. But, of course, Lydia didn't give her a moment—or a mere second—to slip into a dreamy state.

       "Oh, no, don't you even dare," she hissed, her dark red nails digging into the half-asleep girl's skin. Malia groaned when she felt her arm being shaken—and tormented by too long nails—but refused to give into her friend's abuse, so she pulled her arm free and rolled onto her other side, away from the redhead, tugging her arms into the warmth from the blanket. "Malia Tate," came the familiar voice again, disturbing her sweet silence. "If you do not wake up right now, I swear to God, I will rip your precious notebook to small pieces."

       At that, Malia shot up, blanket clenched into small balls by fists and deer eyes shooting daggers, and turned to face a smirking Lydia. "You wouldn't dare," Malia snarled, though she knew the latter could take the step and demolish her hours worth of work, if it meant she would learn her lesson—to not mess with Lydia Martin—but she had to act tough and fierce. "If you can't make it, then fake it," is what the redhead taught her.

       "Oh, you know I would." Fuck. "Besides, they're useless to you, anyway, without any of my help. You might as well get rid of it, especially since its content is incomprehensible to you, the reader. Who knows, one day you might even thank me for getting rid of that heavy burden." Lydia was spitting out malice-filled words, bringing a smirk to her pinkish-coloured lips.

       You're so busted, Malia thought. Much like Lydia, Malia could see through her friend as if she was made of glass; a friendship formed in their early childhood meant they knew each other better than themselves—and boy, did Malia use that to her advantage. You're not the only who can play that game.

       She knew Lydia never added more words onto her threats when she meant it—she kept her statements simple and short, since she once read it would give a stronger message than drawling it out—so when the redhead went against her own principles, Malia could call the bluff from miles away. "That's funny," Malia said and cocked her to the side, crossing her arms while doing so. She looked unfazed by the threat, much to her Lydia's dismay—she could tell by the way her friend tensed, clenched fists and teeth, as if she was biting back the frustration before it broke her already-damaged cover—and it took everything in Malia to fight off a fit of laughter. "If I'm not mistaken, I would think you're bluffing."

       "Am not," Lydia growled through her gritted teeth.

       "Really? Then tell me, how come you always tell me to keep real threats short when you just prolonged yours?" Malia retorted, spewing out her final punch—and on the look Lydia wore, she knew it had done its job. The redhead might as well have being waving a white flag, the words I give up written across her forehead.

       "Fine, you know what, I don't care. Sleep or do whatever you want, but don't expect me to tutor you on Monday," Lydia huffed out before she pushed herself off the couch and strutted out of the living room, heading toward the kitchen—probably to re-fill the bowl of popcorn or grab some more chocolate. Malia followed her with curious eyes until she was out of sight, to try and read her body language and facial expression, so she could decipher whether the redhead meant what she said. From the angle Malia watched her, it seemed to no longer be a bluff.

       "Lydia, you can't be serious, right?" Malia asked.

       There came no answer from the redhead.

       Malia sighed and sunk back into the couch. Now, Malia had to find a new tutor—fast.

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this is trash i know but we're heading towards the good parts now i think