Falling Upwards

/Bacon Or Poptarts?\

After some time like this, he kissed my forehead and crawls back into the bed, still in his boxers.

"You're one lazy fucker, aren't ya?" I say giggling.

"Mmhmm." He mumbles, face-to-pillow.

"Well, I'm making breakfast. I don't know if you want any, but come downstairs if you get hungry." I say.

At the very mention of food he picks up his head, suddenly fully awake.

"What are you making??" He queries.

"I don't know yet. Bacon or Poptarts?" I ask.

"What do you think?!" He says laughing. I'm guessing he means both. Great.

I pick up some sweats that my dad gave me and I toss them to him. He slowly gets up and pulls them on. They fit perfectly, and still show his 'v' line. Ughh. Okay, look away, Max. Pull yourself together.

He extends his hand and I grasp it firmly, and lead him down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Wow. You're perfect." He says out of nowhere. I suddenly feel extremely insecure. Is he joking? He could be messing with me. I stand like a stork. One foot resting above the other leg's knee. Stork-ish. I immediately take my foot down.

"Are you making fun of me?" I ask, messing with him.

He suddenly back pedals. Hard.

"What? No! No, oh my god, no what are you talking about?" He says, panicking.

I burst out laughing and he seems confused.

"I'm just *giggle* messing with you *giggle giggle*! Haha! Oh, the look on your face was priceless. Whew. Okay I'm done now." I clutch my stomach, out of breath from laughing. More like cackling. It's like laughing, but uglier.

"Oh. Damn you, Max. No, I wasn't making fun of you. I mean it. You're perfect. I mean, you're funny, you're gorgeous, you like video games, and you cook! Perfection at its finest!" He says, smiling sweetly. What. Is. Happening. To. My. Life. If this is a hidden camera show and he turns out to be an actor, I will cut a bitch. Or two. Or more...

I blush, but it's short-lived. The bacon is burning! God, damnit! In all of my gloating I burned the fucking bacon. Shit!

I quickly grab the skillet and run it over to the sink and instantly turn on the water. Bad idea. VERY bad idea. Hot oil and cold water? Let's not. Oh, wait. I just fucking did.

As soon as the ice cold water from the faucet hit the pan I heard Noah yell something but I didn't really hear him because of the searing pain that now covered my hands, wrists, arms, and a good-sized portion of my face.

I scream in agony and drop to the floor, clutching my injured areas with my scalded hands, already swollen with fat, hot, blisters. My eyes and ears seemed to stop working partially. I was visibly shaking.

Noah sinks down next to me swiftly and wraps a cold dish towel around my wrist, and holds a wet paper towel to my face while I sit there screaming. Tears stream down my cheek, burning all the way down.

"Shh, shh. Stop crying, Max. It's okay. You're okay. Do you hear me? We have cold water on the burns, so you're okay. Do I need to take you to the hospital? Max? Max!" He shouts rapidly.

I can't answer because I inhaled some of the steam as well. My throat and neck are on fire. Literally.

He seems to understand this and says, "Blink once for yes twice for no."

Blink. Blink.

Like hell I'm gonna go to a hospital and have to tell my mom "Oh, yeah. Did I mention that I burnt the living shit out of my everything whilst cooking bacon for my new boyfriend that I met yesterday? No? Well, now I have." Nope. Not telling her. I'll live.

He looks upset, but then thinks about it. He then looks understanding and tells me to hold the cloths to my burns, and that he's going to fix me a glass of ice water. Why is he this nice to me? Does he really like me this much? Do I like him? Uh oh. I think that's a definite yes.

It turns out that my burns are the least of my worries. These are the kind of injuries that actually heal.

•••

A/N

What is this. Ugh. Please comment and help me like idfk wtf I'm doing obviously. Like wtf is this. I'm sorry it's terrible ugh.

~Amanda