nineteen - "soap operas"

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Bella's POV

"You're a drug dealer?" I exclaimed, trying to whip around and glare at Ian, but his grip tightened to contain my struggling form. "Oh god, how did you not tell me, you liar! Ugh, how typical. How did I not see that. Oh hell, there were rumors but-"

"Technically," Ian said timidly, "I prefer the term drug distributor. I don't actually do them."

"Like a salesman. Except it's pot, not insurance." Mike added.

Jacob took another long drag. "So Ian, I'm done politely asking, now I'm demanding. This is your last warning, smart ass. I want you to get your act together, and I want this stupid thing gone."

"You can't tell me what to do." Ian hissed, and out of all the things said that night, that was the one that I agreed with.

"Oh, of course." Jacob said with false sincerity, "I forgot that since you have orange hair, you're an uncontrollable badass. My bad."

"Red copper." I said loudly. Everybody then stared at me, where I was still held around the waist by Ian. "It's clearly red copper," I continued, "I don't know why everybody thinks it's orange."

As though it mattered. It was a tense situation, and I can admit, I was a little frenzied after finding an assuming dead body under Ian's bed and now finding out he was a drug dealer. (factor in the still lack of pants and you have utter chaos) I wasn't mad as much as I felt betrayed.

"I don't give a flying fuck about what color his hair is." Jacob spat, "But what you should care about is this: did you know that Ian wanted to see how long it would take to sleep with the girl afraid of touching? Clearly hasn't though, said he would've had you in a week."

There was a long moment of silence. I felt like a knife had just been plunged rather brutally into my gut, twisted, and then repeated. For some reason I wanted to cry- which was stupid, because I never cried in front of people. This whole situation was stupid, Ian was stupid and the color red copper was stupid and I was feeling stupid, stupid, stupid.

Ian moved towards Jacob, but was instantly tackled by his ex-friend Mike. They both crashed to the floor as Jacob extracted a cellphone and gun from his pocket just as the back door opened. All of our heads whipped to the right, spotting Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Carl, and Liam stumbling in with groceries.

"What the fuck?" Lip shouted, racing over to the living room where Mike still had Ian under his wing, "Guys, take Liam upstairs and don't come down until I tell you to!"

"Think of this as a warning." Jacob hummed, as he dialed a number and held it to his ear. "Hello? Yes, I'd like to report a public disturbance. Sounds like fighting going on next door. My neighbor has his girlfriend over, and I'd hate myself if he had done anything to her." And he gave them Ian's address, before hanging up and quickly dropping his I'm-a-concerned-friendly-civilian voice.

"What the hell is going on?" Fiona and Lip both hollered at the same time as I was shaking uncontrollably at the sight in front of my eyes.

"You're brother here is a real dope peddler." Jacob sang with the gun pointed to Ian's head, his finger locked on the trigger tightly.

"Fuck you." Ian snapped, struggling to push Mike off him. He managed to jerk his arm free and attempted to roll over, only to be slammed back onto the floor. "I'm going to kill you, literally, and I will be standing at your fucking funeral!"

None of us knew what to do. Calling the cops would be a waste of time considering Jacob had already done that and he would probably leave as soon as they get here. All of us were shaking in fear as we watched. I then got to a realization: he was sick.

Jacob suddenly faces me, and I flinch and put my arms up the way Ian once showed me, as though preparing for a boxing match. He scoffed at me and held his palm out. "Give me your hand."

I stared at his outstretched arm in disdain. "Trust me, you don't want to hold my hand now. My palms are a little sweaty."

This receives a few snickers from Mike, but Jacob merely rolls his eyes and snatches my wrist, raising my hand up. I panicked, attempting to twist out of his grip and pull my arm free. Jacob watches my frenzied escape attempts in pure amusement with the gun still pointed to Ian, causing Fiona and Lip to be on the edge of their seats, whispering profanities under their breaths.

"You really don't like touching." He observed, and my cheeks are beginning to turn red, as though oxygen is being cut off. "How odd." And then he does something I did not see coming, which is slice a pocket knife across my palm in a quick slash of code metal. For a moment, it doesn't hurt, but the blood rises and begins to pool all over the place.

"Okay," He said, "Crazy boyfriend, injured girl, cops on their way. Let's see how this plays out. I warned you Ian. I really tried. See you soon."

And I'm still staring at my hand in shock when I hear them get up and leave. The red contrasts spectacularly against the pale skin, and I curl my fingers around the cut to stem the flow. I look up at Ian, who's slowly getting to his feet and ignoring Lip and Fiona's deafening screams. He doesn't approach me, surprisingly. He looks wary, practically exhausted, as though knowing this situation is now completely out of his hands, and he's just about to give up. Maybe though, I consider, that he's afraid of me at the moment.

"I'm sorry." Ian finally said. He pauses to close his eyes and let's out an angry groan before a soft smile comes on his lips.

"You lied to me." I replied bitterly, "And this is all your fault." And then because I need to, I say, "Where's your calendar to mark how many days it takes to sleep with me?"

Ian shook his head, eyebrows furrowing, and smacked his fist into his palm. "Is your hand okay?"

He comes over to grab my hand but I move away, completely breathless and for a second, terrified. "Ian," I said. "Ian- don't touch me."

"I said I'm sorry." His voice rising, "What the fuck is up with you?" He roars just before the cops come running in from the front door, Fiona and Lip still stand there completely oblivious and worried.

"She's been cut on her hand." Someone is saying. After we've been pulled apart, and it's a whirl of uniforms forcing their way into the house. Pajama clad neighbors watch from outside. Somebody had put a trauma blanket over my shoulders, which is thick and heavy and I keep trying to push it off.

"I'm not traumatized!" I exclaimed, "Get off- let go of me. Ian!"

A man with a notepad steps in front of me. "Honey, it's okay. He can't hurt you anymore. Now somebody tell me, does this man have a history of mental illness?"

"Yes." Fiona chimes in with a shaking voice, tears pooling in her brown eyes, "Bipolar disorder."

My breath gets caught in my throat and I suddenly feel like I can't sit up straight. I squint my eyes shut, palming myself in the forehead with such overwhelming anxiety.

I look around, trying to find him. "He's fine-"

"Did this man make any unwanted sexual advances?"

"Ian!" I shouted, ignoring the man furiously scribbling my words down. I see him a bit across the room, and everything's sort of confusing and there's just so much movement. But I see the red copper hair, and he looks scared and just vulnerable.

"I'm sorry." He said from over heads. He's done trying to voice his innocence, the scene has begun and they aren't listening. They're trying to handcuff him, and he's batting them off. Which is stupid, and I want to tell him that, but instead different words surface.

"I love you."

Before he could respond, he's dragged out of the house with such force he almost falls down the steps. I then feel my breath start to quicken, and the watery feeling rimming my eyes.

I think I'm crying.

::

an: this made me so sad

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