Book 1: Lost In Translation (Another Reason To Cry) (Izzy Stradlin FanFic)

Ch. 10: Lost In the Sheets

Melody was rushing so quickly through the various hallways that I was falling all over myself trying to keep up with her. I somehow managed to keep up, following her through twists and turns until we reached a section of the house that managed to seem lonelier than the rest. The paintings that had been strategically mounted onto the walls began to become less and less until they just up and disappeared, and all that was left were white marble floors and even whiter walls.

At the end of the hall sat a large, bright red door. It stood out against the blankness of the house like a sore thumb.  And that was how I instinctively knew that we had reached Melody's room.

Melody came to a halt at the door and twirled around to face me, biting her bottom lip playfully.

God, she's perfect.

"Lead the way," she seemed to say to me, nodding her head towards the door behind her.

I chuckled at her command. I thought it was cute how someone as little as her always managed to boss people around as often as she did. It was almost as though years of people never listening to words she couldn't speak had conditioned her to make people listen to the actions she could execute. This adorable little girl was a force to be reckoned with.

Deciding I'd humor her, I began to inch passed her in the narrow corridor, making sure to turn sideways so that we were chest to chest. I smirked down at her and she gazed up at me with those mesmerizing baby blues and I was dying to reenact our kiss in the limo.

Instead, I reluctantly turned the door knob and lightly pushed until the door swung in, revealing a wooden staircase that was curling upwards towards God knows where.

"Up you go," I murmured, my fingers brushing Melody's hip as I began to usher her through the door.

I was surprised when she pushed against my arm, forcing my hand to drop away from her. She shook her head defiantly and jabbed a finger towards the stairs. I realized that, once again, she was telling me what to do. I also realized that, once again, I was letting her.

"Fine, fine," I chuckled, shaking my head and turning towards the flight of steps. "I'm going."

As I got to stepping, I made a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure that Melody was close behind. The flash of auburn hair told me that she was. I turned back around and continued my leisurely ascent into Melody's bedroom.

It seemed as though the further we climbed, the more paintings began to return onto the walls. As we passed them, I would take a second to glance at the canvases, only to be forced back into motion again with a shove from behind followed by Melody's giggles as I began to trip up the stairs. Although Melody was determined to keep me walking, I had still managed to observe enough of the paintings along the way to notice that most of them were pictures of the same, far off horizon.

When we reached the landing, I finally realized why.

Although Melody's room was covered in about a million different paintings, the first thing that I noticed was the spectacular view. From the ceiling to the floor, one whole wall of her room was just one, giant window. The glass looked out onto LA and the mountains beyond. It was a surreal look at a city that I had never really found beautiful and to which my friends and I referred to simply as "the jungle".

When I finally tore my eyes away from the window to take in the rest of the room, I noticed how the famous California sunlight poured in through the window pane, engulfing all of the paintings that littered the walls in a pulsing light, making the colors seem to come alive.

A circluar, king-sized bed lay unmade in the center of the room, covered with lavender comforters, sheets, and decorative pillows. Next to the bed stood an easel with a blank canvas as well as a table, cluttered to the edge with various paint bottles and brushes.

Needless to say, the room was fitting to her style.

"This is..." I gradually trailed off before coming back with: "amazing."

Melody smiled appreciatively and skipped passed me. I watched her shuffling through the items on the table before emerging with a notepad and a pen. She began writing as she walked back towards me, handing the items to me once she had finished scribbling.

"This is my room. These are all of my paintings."

I laughed. "I can see that!"

She chuckled and turned away, walking over to her bed and flopping down into a pile of blankets and sheets.

I wanted to join her there, but I didn't want to seem like a horndog who would jump at any and every excuse to hop into her bed with her.

Sex and money, I remembered her mom scolding her. I didn't want to prove that bitch right.

Luckily for me, Melody seemed to take everything her mom had said with a grain of salt because, when she realized that I hadn't plopped down next to her on the bed, she gave me a pouty look and slapped her hand against the mattress, signaling for me to come and sit there.

Hesitantly, I sauntered over and sat down beside her, exactly where she had told me to. As I got comfortable, she began writing again.

"I'm sorry about my mom," I watched the pen fly across the page as she wrote it. "She doesn't approve of most of the things that I do. Hopefully it didn't offend you too much."

She looked to me for a response and I grinned down at her sheepish frown.

"She didn't imply anything that I didn't already know," I said matter of factly.

"Like what?" She jotted down, a look of worry in her eyes.

"Obviously I don't dress like a model," I pointed out, motioning to my ripped jeans, shabby hat, and unbuttoned shirt.

Melody rolled her eyes and returned to the paper. "You don't have to dress like a model. I like how you dress."

I chuckled. "If you like it, I'll keep doing it."

She beamed at that, grinning at me for a moment before turning slightly so that I could no longer read over her shoulder as she wrote. The anticipation ate away at me and it felt like hours before she finally turned the notebook to face me so that I could read what she had written:

"Does that mean you'll keep kissing me?"

I gaped at the message, tearing my eyes from her words and looking over the notepad so I could stare into her eyes. She quickly glanced away, staring down at her blankets and blushing.

I waited until she was looking at my face again before answering her with a question of my own.

"That depends...do you like it?" I felt myself beginning to turn red.

Melody read my lips carefully before she began to giggle like crazy. She seemed barely able to even scribble down another note for me, she was laughing so hard.

"You tell me."

Within seconds, the notebook was tossed onto the floor, the pages rustling like leaves in the wind as it flew through the air. Melody practically leaped onto my lap, planting herself there and wrapping her arms around my neck as though she was holding onto me for dear life.

Of course I wanted this. I wanted her all over me. I wanted her on top of me, under me, wrapped around me. But I didn't want to rush things with her. I couldn't ruin this. I couldn't let her act out on impulses like this. What if this wasn't what she really wanted? Surely, she had to believe what her mother was saying. I mean, it wasn't so hard to believe that I was a low life.

"Mel-"

I opened my mouth to try and stop her, but her lips crashed against my own, blocking all of my worries from flooding out of my mouth with her tongue.

No. This isn't right. You can't even communicate with her properly. Her mother hates you. She's so out of your league, it's ridiculous.

But her lips said otherwise and, as she rocked her hips back and forth against my hardening lap, I lost all train of thought. Succumbing to her advances, I grabbed a handful of that fiery red hair, smashing our lips together even more and pulling her down on top of me.