Derek's Stupid Babe
______________________________
He likes stupid things. He likes calling me babe. I'm stupid, and appearently, i'm now his babe.
______________________________
“Fucking. Hate. You.”
Derek winks at me, giving me his infamous sly smirk. “Hate you too, babe.”
“Do. Not. Call. Me. Babe.”
“But you’re my babe.”
“I. Said. Do. Not. Call. Me. That.”
His eyebrows dip. “Why the hell are you talking like that?”
“BECAUSE I’M TRYING TO CONTROL MY ANGER, ASSHOLE!”
The smirk comes back on. “Oh.”
“I’M GOING TO TEAR YOUR SKULL RIGHT OFF YOUR SCRAWNY NECK WITH MY BARE HANDS AND SELL IT TO A VOODOO KILLER!”
“Voodoo killer?” He echoes, backing away slowly, because he knows I’ll pounce any moment now. My beautiful Mercedes car is now a wonderful tie-dye rainbow, looking like a hippie’s van. Along with that, on the back window in sloppy black ink says, ‘Derek’s Babe’.
Derek and I go way back. I remember it like it was yesterday, the beautiful sun shining on my pale skin. It was 4th grade, and I was playing jump rope with a few girls. All of a sudden, Derek comes up sneakily and snatches away the rope. Every single girl ran away screaming, but not me. I stood my ground.
“Give me back the rope, Derek.”
The same cocky grin that I would have to live with for 8 more years was planted on his lips. “No.”
That one word made my blood boil on that hot day. Without thinking, I ran towards him, ready to snatch back the rope and be a hero. Only my plan backfired and with one twist of his arm, the rope came down, whipping my neck and right arm.
I wailed and screamed, but no tears came out. I was a tough cookie, still am. Hard nut to crack. That day I was rushed to the nurse’s office, and Derek got a speech from the principal. I still have two large scars from that day-one on my neck, and one on my right arm.
Ever since that day I’ve loathed, despised, hated, whatever you call it, Derek McCathy.
And Derek McCathy has loathed, despised, hated, whatever you call it, me.
“I HATE YOU!” I holler as I pounce towards him, only he knows all my moves, just like I know all of his, and he takes one step back, still with the same smirk.
“Face it, babe, you won’t be able to lay one hand on me.”
YOU ARE READING
Itty Bitty Stories
Short StoryThese are all little itty bitty stories that are just here to make you happy. They never end; I just keep posting and posting these ideas that pop into my head or dreams that come to me in my sleep. There's never a sad ending, just a dash of humor...
