trouble | i.g

twenty three - "cinnamon rolls"

Bella's POV

"No!" I shouted at the television in dismay, picking up a throw pillow from the couch and chucking it at the set, "Don't pick her, she's just using you for fame."

It was somewhere around my fifth episode of The Bachelor, and my body had seemed to create a permanent indent in the couch from where I had remained sitting the past couple hours. With a small mountain of snacks at my side and a blanket styled in nun-fashion over my head- what more did I need?

"Companionship." My subconscious chided, as I threw yet another fruit snack at the screen and missed spectacularly, resulting in the gummy to stick onto the wall. I stared at it for a long moment before sighing in defeat and continuing to watch roses being handed out to the wrong girls.

I was bored. And confused. Life had placed its hands over my eyes, spun me in a circle, and told me to walk in a straight line. To break it down into a simpler science, the facts were easy: Ian missed me. And I, him. So to many there shouldn't seem to be a problem, because we were each other's solutions. But I really wanted to not want Ian. After our brief yet tense encounter at the grocery store, all I could was go over every word he said and how his eyes looked when he watched me and the way his shirt was wrinkled because he didn't know how to do laundry properly (even though I had taught him twice)

"This is such a hard decision to make," John, the current bachelor, declared from on screen.

"Agree." I grumbled halfheartedly.

"Not really." A voice said suddenly from behind me, "I would choose Ashley to give a rose to, because she understands his feelings better."

I turned around slowly and found Mickey and Iggy leaning casually against the back wall of the living room, their black clothes contrasting sharply against the light yellow wallpaper. They both looked as effortlessly badass and tough and handsome as two street kids can get as they watch The Bachelor.

"Ohmygodwhyareyouhere." I said after my initial scream passed. Although not uncommon for them to routinely break into my house and surprise me when I was alone, I had not seen them since the night Ian and I had broken up.

"Well, I don't have cable." Iggy replied, keeping his eyes trained on the screen.

Mickey pushed his sunglasses back off his face and regarded me coldly. I could never tell if he just disliked me, or kept his face impassive all the time to remain looking like he had just stepped off a runway and was forced to be surrounded by the general non-model population. "We need to talk."

With an agility I hadn't been aware I possessed, I did an impressive somersault out of my seat and rolled under the safety of the couch. With my cheek pressed against the rough carpet, I realized that I had only trapped myself further.

"What the fuck are you doing." Iggy sighed, and I could only see their ragged leather boots as they approached my hiding place.

"Get the girl." Mickey commanded with evident annoyance in his tone.

Iggy got down on his hands and kneels, peering at me crouched in the shadows. His nose crinkled in distaste. "But it's dusty."

"Your mom is dusty." I retaliated.

A large hand suddenly snaked their way into the small dark space under the couch and latched around my ankle, promptly dragging me out. Mickey planted his boot on the hem of my shirt to pin it to the ground, making sure not to touch me yet still keeping me in place.

"Well," I said casually as possible, "What a delight to see you two. Do come in."

Mickey frowned at my sarcastic tone, then glared at his brother, who had settled into my spot on the couch. "Iggy." He snapped, "Can you like- fucking not."