Tease // Robbie Kay

Chapter 8: Fake

Chapter 8: Fake

                       

He had fallen asleep.

I don’t remember how much time I spent petting his hair awkwardly until his sobbing stopped, but after a prolonged period of time, his violent gasps soothed into calm breaths of air.

He was laying against my chest, curled into my like a boy who just asked to sleep in his mother’s bed after a nightmare.  I found myself stroking his clammy stained skin, still sticky with tears and throbbing of bruises.  My heart was snapping each and every time his chest rose, however peaceful it should be.

I sighed and rolled on my back to face the ceiling, my arm still stuck under Robbie’s head.

After gleaming as his vulnerable state but also shaking by the pain, my mind finally wandered into the real predicament.

How exactly did this happen?

How did I end up with Robbie Kay, notorious for being an absolute troublemaker, him crying then cuddling in my bed?  Sweet and sour, I suppose. 

But I guess I’m a little afraid of what will happen when he wakes, if he’ll open his sleepy eyes and smile or if he’ll rush to the door when he no longer is craving comfort.  I think I’m starting to like him, actually.  He’s a little adorable but dangerous, and the forbidden part made him that much more exciting.  We shouldn’t even be seeing each other, according to Danielle!  Oh man, how would she react if she ever found out I let him lay in my bed with me?

And suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.

Isn’t this what happened with Harvey and Danielle?  She needed the comfort, so she lay with Robbie.  What is Robbie doing?  Oh, he’s upset, and now he’s lying with me.

I didn’t want to think about it anymore.  I couldn’t stop, anyhow.  I couldn’t shove him off my bed and toss him his jacket as I threw him outside. 

Whatever.

I’ll think about something else.

Robbie has very nice eyes.  Pale, dusky brown but not a poop brown.  A nice brown.  A woodsy tree setting kinda brown.  And lackluster skin.  But lucky him; not a blemish marked his face.  It was wintery, and always blushy, always somewhat shy even if he displays something more cocky.

I’ve always kinda wondered and wandered deep into my mind to see if I could figure out what’s behind the thick wooded eyes and December skin.  I want to know if he does dorky things, like draw shapes on his bedside table with a sharpie he found behind his desk, or sneakily use his mom’s soap when he runs out of his own.  Maybe he has a favorite book he could read over and over, or a sweater he frays the threads of when he’s bored but it’s still his favorite.  Or, even, he’s cried over a poem and spilled hot chocolate on his white sheets, but then found a way to stitch fabric over the soils.  I like to think the flirty tease that walked the halls was nerdy at home, and it was all a façade.

“What are you thinking about?”

My heart froze in my chest as I turned my head back to Robbie, the sleepy rasp coming from only his waking throat.

“Hey, you’re awake,” I said.

“Yeah,” he groaned, stretching out his legs and moaning in the process.

I guess he noticed my red face because he flicked back an eyebrow and smirked.

“Do I sound hot when I’m moan?” He asked.

I was immediately taken aback by his question. “W-what?  I just, I didn’t even-“

“Want to hear something hotter?” He countered.