Head In The Stars

Chapter Seven

"Don't!" I yell and reach for the remote.

Dallas holds it away from me, standing up on the couch. I pout, laying by his feet. His big plan was to spend the day at my house, watching tv. We aren't getting much watching done though. We just keep fighting over what shows to watch.

"Let me watch this show then," he argues.

"What teenage boy watches fishing?" I snap. "Only old guys watch this shit."

"I'm not watching fishing!" He exclaims.

I take this moment to jump up and reach for the remote. I knock it out of his hand. He scowls and grabs me as I'm about to jump off the couch and grab it from the floor. I fall backwards, crashing into him. The couch isn't big enough to fit both of us so we go tumbling towards the ground.

"Ouch!" I scream.

"Fuck!" Dallas curses.

My head hits the ground and I whimper. Dallas lands on my legs. I suck in a breath, holding back my scream. I close my eyes as I try to squirm away from him.

Suddenly, I feel warm breath on my face. I open my eyes to see Dallas staring at me, his face a mere inch away from mine. His legs are on either side of me with his hands on either side of my face.

"Dallas," I hiss and place my hands on his chest to attempt pushing him away. He laughs and gently pushes my hands away. His face is still super close and I curse him when my breath hitches.

"Do I make you nervous?" He whispers in my ear, leaning closer.

"Yes," I say and then pause. "I mean, no!"

"Too late," he says and laughs. His laughter vibrates through his chest and rings in my ears. It's a beautiful laugh. If guys can have beautiful laughs.

"Dallas, my head," I pout.

He kisses my forehead. "You're fine."

I freeze. "Stop!" I snap suddenly, pushing him away. He falls off of me and I jump up.

"Avril?" He asks, reaching for me. "Are you okay?"

Am I okay? Well considering I'm five seconds away from having a mental breakdown, I'm going with no. What is it with him that makes me emotional? I haven't looked at my feelings since the funeral but here I am, letting them loose. God damn.

"I'll be back," I say and back out of the living room. I run down the hall, into my room. I slam the door and sink to my knees, leaning against the closed door. I rest my head in the palms of my head and let out a scream of frustration.

What the actual hell? Get your shit together, Connor. He's just an annoying, stupid, teenage boy. Hot as hell but that's beside the point. He shouldn't make you lose your mind. You're not friends.

With a sigh, I shakily stand up. My gaze lands on the picture beside my bed. I walk over and before I realize what I'm doing, slam my fist into the glass frame. The picture flies into the wall, where it shatters more. I stare down and give a weak laugh as I notice that my knuckles are bleeding.

"What the hell?"

I whirl around at the sound of Dallas's voice. He sees my hand and raises an eyebrow.

"Do you have an obsession with hurting yourself or something?" He asks and walks over. Taking my wrist, he leads me to the bathroom.

I sit on the vanity counter as he rummages through the first aid kit. Using my left hand, I brush my hair out of my face. I sigh and lean against the mirror. Dallas looks up at me as he finishes wrapping my knuckles.