trouble | i.g

thirty one - "the reveal."

Bella's POV

"Fine." Ian said, sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the cramped motel bathroom, "If you're not drunk, say the alphabet backwards."

I met his eyes in the mirror, pausing to wring out my wet hair in the sink. "Uh. Z,X,Y, um, B-"

"B is at the beginning of the alphabet."

"Damn your sorcery." I exclaimed, shaking my fist at him. "Nobody can even do that sober. You try." And he did try. And did it perfectly. Twice. And then again in French. I huffed, annoyed. "Show off. That's black magic like I've ever never seen."

Ian laughed and leaned back against the tiled wall, all strong arms and wet hair and tired eyes. It was late, like 2pm late, the time for insomniacs and mischief makers. Or, the time for a (only kinda) drunk girl and bipolar effervescent boy in a rented motel room to like each other a lot and try to figure out what to do with all of it.

We had just returned from the pool and had taken a shower together, since the water had left a slimy film coating over our skin, a fact I tried not to think much about. Ian had ran to his car to see if he had any extra clothes in the trunk. Unfortunately, all he could find were the clothes Mickey and his girlfriend Svetlana had left in the backseat after they, as Mickey liked to so often describe it (much to our distaste), made love while they waited for Ian and I to come back out of the grocery store. We returned too soon, apparently. (I remember closing my eyes and dropping the bags; Ian chased them out with a window spueegee).

"Cute." I said in regards to the neon tank I now had on that said 'I'm a good girl that swallows and never spits' that belonged to Svetlana. "I always swallow my drinks though. Wanna see me drink a glass of water?"

"I really would," Ian replied solemnly, adorned in Mickey's usual I'm-a-hip-artist-slash-cool-pimp-guy black shirt with some vague band name on it. "But that's not exactly what it means."

"What?" I said, then read it again. Ian looked down subtly at his crotch. "Oh." I exclaimed, "OH. Dear god. I didn't know you guys like- jazzed in a cup, then expected girls to drink it without spitting, like-" I chuckled. "Like, can I get a lemon wedge please?"

Ian face palmed so aggressively it looked like it hurt. He then explained something to me. I was horrified.

"Oh, sweetheart." He said after the brief sex lesson, "You're just so-"

"Naive? Prude? A model for abstinence? Possibly the only female of my age and relationship status who has never feasted her eyes on a man's diddly dangly?"

Ian's lips puckered like they did when he was trying very hard to take me seriously. "I'm trying to not sound overtly romance story cliche, but you're just so innocent." He spit his gum into the trash can, still managing to look attractive. "Even though we've had sex plenty of times, you still have the hot guiltless in ya. I realize now why guys like 'innocent girls'. Because we're all a bunch of fucking sickos who like to explain inappropriate things."

"We should watch a movie!" I shouted several minutes after that startling revelation, as Ian moved behind me and began towel drying my hair to stop the aggressive dog shake I had been previously doing.

"Bed." Ian deadpanned, pausing to work his fingers through an unruly tangle.

"How about an erotic horror film?" I suggested, bouncing on the heels of my feet. "Because I'm not tired. I think we should also play hide and seek or-"

Ian stopped and looped the towel around my waist, spinning me around and basically lassoing me towards him. He pressed a single finger to my opened mouth. "You've reached the high energy state of your drunkenness." He examined, tightening his hold on the towel to control my rapid movement. "Which means you're about to inevitably crash and burn. Besides, you hate horror. And erotic. You like glitter and skipping in public places. Now, bed."