So... don't hate me. I don't like this chapter at all. I know it's short, but bear with me please? PLEASE?!
Also, just noticed the new layout for stories... Me gustaaa.
- Sierra
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“Are you ready?”
“Give me five minutes.”
“I’ve already given you twenty.”
“You’ve spent the twenty complaining!”
“Only because you’re taking forever.”
I grimaced and pulled my hair into a messy pony tail. Not even within an hour of himgetting here and I’m already annoyed. God. Outside of my bathroom, I could hear Grant’s nimble fingers thump a pattern against the wall. The song was completely foreign to me, but that didn’t matter. I had more important matters to attend to. I blew a strand of hair out of my face and screamed in frustration when the bobby pins in my hair fell lose.
“What, did you fall into the toilet?” Grant asked mockingly through the door. I sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault, and it’s not his fault…
“Seaver?” My heart throttled itself into my throat at the audible click of the knob turning.
I flung my weight against the door, causing it to slam shut. Grant let loose a very colorful word.
“You caught my fingers in the door, you bitch!”
“Then don’t come in, you piece of crap,” I retorted. Muffled curses could be heard on the other side of the barricade as Grant started to pace. Or at least I thought so.
“What are you doing in there?” I rolled my eyes.
“Building a transformer out of q-tips,” I snapped sarcastically. I yanked my hair out of its high placement and stared hard at the mirror. Out of all the days for Grant to take me to the mall to pick up guys—he says he said this Saturday, I call bullshit—I looked like I’d been tied to the back of a pick up and dragged around in the gravel.
I heard him groan obnoxiously and the creak of him leaning against the door.
“Seaver, it’s one o’clock. The mall closes in seven hours and I know it’ll take at least six of those hours for you to get up the courage to approach a guy. Hurry. The hell. Up,” Grant growled, his voice somehow carrying into the small tornado of chaos that was my bathroom.
I rolled my eyes at his threat. “What are you going to do, knock the door down if I don’t?”
My words were met with air. I deliberately stopped fiddling with my hair, the strands limp in my fingers. I paused to listen. Silence still greeted me.
“Grant?” Nothing.
“Grant?” I flipped the lock and cracked the door. Huh, where did he run off to?
A scream cascaded from my throat as a shadow shot out from the corner of the hall way. It barreled me through the bathroom door so hard and fast my back collided with the wall with a sharp thud.
Air whooshed from my lungs, my eyes watered. What the hell was happening?! I blindly thrust my hands forward, swinging wildly. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh sounded in my ears and I curled my fingers, hoping to choke the life out of whatever I was grabbing.
“Damn it Seaver, let go!” A voice. I knew that voice. Ever so slowly, I fluttered open my eyes. My hands were curled like claws on Grant’s forearms, the muscles tense to ward off my attempted strangling.
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If It Were Me
Ficção AdolescenteSeaver Annabel Proctor is sixteen years old and has never been kissed. Or held hands...or even had a boyfriend. She is more than content with this lifestyle, but Seaver's life takes a turn for the worst when Grant Sumner is her partner in her bigges...
