trouble | i.g

nine - "drunken confessions"

Bella's POV

"Did you know," Ian stated factually, "That a person needs human contact at least seven times a week to remain mentally healthy."

I was laying upside down on Mickey's cracked leather couch, my head hanging off the edge and hair dangling down onto the ground below. My knees were hooked around the top as I took in the upside down boy in front of me.

Ian's eyes locked onto the tan strip of skin on my stomach that had been exposed by my shirt falling down from the position. I hurriedly pushed it back into place.

He continued when it was obvious I wasn't going to answer, "So that fear you have, it's an actual phobia. You're not gonna be mentally sane if you don't let people touch you."

"But I don't feel mentally sane when people touch me." I replied stiffly. Placing both my hands on the wooden floor below, I swung my legs over and let the momentum send me somersaulting forward. Once right side up, I blinked rapidly as blood rushed to my head.

Ian stared at me, "I want to kiss your stomach."

"That's a little strange."

"It is," He agreed, pausing and squinting at the ceiling, "I don't know why I do, though. Can I?"

"No."

He shrugged absently, as though what he had said wasn't a big deal, "Anyways, it says that haphephobia is usually caused by a past traumatic experience."

I tried not to react at his words, instead kept my face impassive and neutral. Ian cocked his head at me, obviously seeing past my facade.

"So tell me, sweetheart," He said slowly, "What past traumatic experience might that be?"

I stared at him, opened my mouth briefly before snapping it shut. My eyes darted around for something to draw my attention to. Anything but where this conversation was headed.

Yet Mickey's house lacked much interior design considering we are in South Side. We had come over to his place after a loud, music blasting drive, with him cackling and swearing in the background. He was eccentric but also a total and supreme dick. This might explain his rather weird relationship with Ian, even though Mickey is a 19 year old high school dropout.

They say surround yourself with good people, but here I was. Sitting across from Ian, who had his thin fingers wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle. Mickey had offered me some earlier.

"She's not drinking." Ian had said sternly,
giving me a warning look.

I glared at him, "Why?" It's not that I wanted to, or was even planning on it, but it was bothersome when Ian thought he could boss me around.

"Oh come the fuck on," Mickey whined, forcing a cold bottle into my hand, "I wanna see this gal get tipsy."

"So you can try to make out with her when she's barely unconscious?" Ian snapped, "I said no."

I blinked back into the present as Ian's voice came breaking through my thoughts, "It's obviously something. You weren't born being afraid of touching."

He swirled around the drink in the bottle, spilling a little over the edge and onto the floor. It was sometime past his second bottle, and it was obvious he was slightly intoxicated by the way his blue eyes clouded over.

"Why is your hair red?" I asked fiercely, desperate to draw the attention off me, "None of your other siblings have red hair except for that girl. And why do you have a tattoo of a star on your hand?" (An: IK Ian doesn't really have a tattoo of a star but for the sake of the story, I made him)