How To Be Human

How To Get My Mother In The Palm Of Your Hands

Chapter 18 : How To Get My Mother In The Palm Of Your Hands

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“Ah - no!”

“Tell me, my little whipped cream.”

“Stop it!”

“Tell me, dammit!”

“No!”

“Tell me!”

“Okay, okay, okay, ah - okay! I’ll tell you!”

I blew out a breath of relief as he lowered his saliva-covered finger. This childish 310 year old human being was going to give me a wet-willie. He held me captive, pushing my head against the bed as he slowly brought his finger towards my ear. If that wasn’t disgusting, I didn’t know what was.

“Where does she live?”

“I’ll just drive you there, God,” I tried to escape him. “Let me go.”

“Okay. But first - ” The finger went straight into my ear. I let out a shriek as he wiggled it around. I kicked my legs but it was no use. He rolled off me, snickering like a little girl. I ran into the bathroom, shrieking the entire time. I washed my ear out for a good ten minutes, scrubbing away all of his disgusting germs.

When I was finished, I marched back out and gave him a glare. He was still in hysterics. “Now I’m not taking you there.”

He sobered up instantly. “I have nine more fingers to put in your ears. There’s also many other places I could put them.” He flashed me a wicked smirk, and when it hit me, I almost starting dry-heaving.

“Let’s go,” I gasped, pretty much running out the door.

He did all this just to get my mother’s address. He followed me out the door, brushing his black hair back messily. His stubble was already starting to grow back, but it wasn’t very visible. When we got in the car, I drove as slow as possible to my mom’s house.

“She’s probably not home,” I said to him. “But if she is, do not mention anything about what’s going on, understand? You’ll give her a heart attack.”

“I’m not an idiot,” He snapped back.

“Really? You could’ve fooled me,” I snorted.

That earned me a slap to the back of the head.

When we got to my mother’s house, her car was parked in the driveway. I swore under my breath when Warren gave me his trademark smirk. She didn’t own the same house from my childhood. It was a small, one-story home that was made entirely of brick and was placed in a large field with a large driveway. It was perfect for her, because she was just that type of person.