trouble | i.g

six - "unfortunate innuendo"

Bella's POV

"Ian," I whispered urgently, tugging on his shirt hem to get his attention, "What are you planning on saying happened?"

At the moment we were currently standing in line at the reception desk in the ER of the hospital, patiently waiting our turn to register behind a man who appeared to have broken his right arm. Hospitals always made me nervous, with doctors bustling around and the nagging thought of how many people died behind these walls. Ian doesn't seemed to be too bothered by the idea.

"I was just going to say that you fell down the stairs or something." He replied offhandedly.

My lips parted, "Ian!"

"What?"

"You said you had a plan," I muttered through gritted teeth, anxiously twisting on a lock of my hair- it was a nervous habit. I had sudden envisions of them calling our bluff and me panicking and trying to run.

"Next!" The lady at the reception called, peering at us from over her wire rimmed glasses.

"I never said it was a good plan." Ian whispered quickly as we stepped up. The lady, who's silver name tag pinned to her blouse read Carla, looked wearily at my disheveled state.

Ian rapped his knuckles on the desk to get her attention away from me, "Excuse me, but I'd like to register Bella Young here to see a doctor. Her cut needs stitches."

"Uh-hu," Carla said in monotone, long red nails clicking away at her keyboard, "And who would you be exactly?"

"I'm her boyfriend, Ian Gallagher," Ian stated breezily. He gave me a cheesy, mega watt smile, draping an arm over my shoulder, "Darling." He cooed, as I ducked out from his touch.

Carla raised an eyebrow as she took in the two of us. That's when I realized another obvious flaw in our plan. Ian, with his red hair and rather muscular arms and broad shoulders, some bruised along his knuckles simply radiated power and arrogance, someone that would make you cross the street if they were walking down your way. He just looked mean- always with that constant scowl. And here I was, a much smaller girl, with brown hair and freckles across my nose and more child like demeanor. I had a suspicious cut on my head and Ian still had some of my blood on his hands. There was no way she would believe us.

"Right," Carla deadpanned, "Well, please sit in the waiting area. You'll be informed when a doctor is ready to see you."

I began to move towards the waiting area, flushed with relief that she was letting us through. Ian, on the other hand, prevented me from leaving, "Wait?" He barked, "You expect us to wait? She's bleeding all over the place."

To prove his point he motioned rigidly towards the small bandaid on my forehead, that did nothing to cover the cut nor stop the immense blood flow.

"And that will get taken care of, once you wait." She said, loosing her bored demeanor and suddenly looked nervous.

"Like hell it will!" He snapped, slapping a hand on the desk and causing a cup of pencils to tip over and scatter across the floor. People nearby glanced at us in alarm by his outburst. I quickly grabbed a fistful of Ian's shirt.

"Ian," I scolded, "For christs sake, calm down. It's fine. Jesus."

Ian stared down the receptionist for a moment longer, scowled, and brushed me off him, "Bitch." He muttered under his breath, still loud enough so that Carla could hear and know it was directed towards her. Her lipsticked mouth opened in shock as Ian stormed off.

"It really isn't a big deal." I counseled as we sat down in the hard, ugly patterned waiting chairs in the far corner of the room, "You really need to learn how to control your temper."