[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 11 : Explosions
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 39|
Background: Font color:
Disclaimer: I only own Mellie, and the ridiculous plot.
Chapter Eleven: Explosions
It looks like a bomb has gone off in my room. Some sort of new-age clothing bomb. The military really should get to work on those.
There are clothes everywhere. In my bed, on the floor, on my bedside table, on my desk, under my bed, in the corner, on my armchair, even on the curtain rod. I’m not sure how I even managed all that.
But what the hell am I supposed to wear?!
I know it shouldn’t really matter what I wear. That Sirius should like me for who I am on the inside and all that. Plus, he’s seen me all sweaty and gross, and in my awful swimming uniform, and dripping wet. So he clearly doesn’t care what I wear.
But that hasn’t stopped me from spending most of my morning trying on clothes. And rejecting clothes. And flinging clothes to the floor in frustration.
Should I wear shorts? No, all my shorts are too casual, or short, or mysteriously stained. But it’s too hot for trousers, I mean, I don’t know what we’re doing or where we’re going, but it’s best to be prepared for all temperatures. A skirt then. Not a really dressy one, a slightly casual one. Because again, I don’t know where we’re going.
Ooh, if I’m wearing a skirt I should probably shave my legs. I haven’t in a few days. But wait, what’s the thing people say? If you want to make sure you don’t have sex, don’t shave before a date?
Oh, my God. I’m already thinking about sex. Mellie, you are not that type of girl. I mean, I want the L-bomb to be dropped well before I even think about having sex with a bloke. Ah! Now I’m thinking about love! We haven’t even been on date yet and I’m already thinking about sex and love! I am obviously a hormonally-deranged teenage girl.
Okay, I’m shaving.
After I’ve finished, I check myself out in the mirror. Oh bloody hell. Is that spot?
It is. A massive one, right in the middle of my forehead. Bugger it all. It’s planet sized. The size of Pluto! I swear that was not there this morning. I have the worst luck ever! My first date in forever and my face decides to try and grow another head. Brilliant.
Okay, I’m definitely wearing make-up. And . . . a blue shirt, because I read in some magazine that if you’re breaking out and you wear pink it just emphasizes it. Or something like that. Anyway, blue brings out my eyes. I hope.
I walk out of my bathroom once I’ve applied make-up and survey my room. Blimey, it really is messy. Thank goodness Mum and Dad are at work, or they’d see the mess and start asking me what I was picking an outfit out for, and then I’d have to tell them about the date, and then they’d insist on meeting him, and I don’t want to subject Sirius to that torture.
And another thank goodness they’re going to be gone until eleven or later tonight, because after work they’re both going straight to some party with a bunch of snooty rich doctors.
I start tossing clothes back into my wardrobe, picking out a nice, casual denim skirt and a blue top. I get dressed and then flop down on my now clothes-free bed (there’s still a dress hanging from the curtain rod) to mentally prepare myself for this evening. It’s five o’clock now, so I have an hour before the date.
I’ve been lying on my bed for a good twenty minutes, just staring at the ceiling and thinking about Sirius (pathetic, I know) when I hear the phone ring downstairs. Thinking it’s one of Mum’s doctor acquaintances so low on the social ladder she didn’t even know about the party, I walk lazily down the stairs and pick up the phone with a bored “Hello?”
And then I drop it, because whoever’s on the other line is screaming, “MELLIE?”
What kind of crazy person has rung me? I carefully pick the receiver up, but hold it away from my ear as I cautiously reply, “Yes?”
“THIS IS SIRIUS, IS THIS MELLIE?” Huh? Why is Sirius ringing me and why is he screaming? Has he gone off his meds or something?
“Yeah, it’s Mellie,” I reply at a normal volume, holding the phone slightly closer to my ear. “Why are you yelling?”
“CAN YOU HEAR ME?” he shouts, and I jump a foot in the air and almost drop the phone again.
“Yes! I can hear you! Is something wrong with the phone you’re using or something?” I ask, completely confused. There’re some muffled sounds and then a scratchy noise before Sirius responds.
“Um, no, I don’t think so. Um, can you hear me alright?” he says, not shouting, but still a little too loud.
“Yeeees,” I say slowly. “Can you hear me?”
Honestly, does the boy not know how to work a phone or something?
“Yeah,” he replies, and then there’s a slightly awkward pause. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” I say, because I’m polite, but I’m still wondering what this whole thing is about.
“So I’m ringing because I just realized that I have yet to make my motorbike run, and the Potters’ are going out tonight so they’re using their car,” he says, and he sounds just a little bit nervous.
“Oh,” I reply, a sinking feeling in my stomach. He’s cancelling. I know it. And I got dressed up and everything. Why, why, why?
“I was thinking you could just come over here instead, and we could stay in, without James or any other obnoxious people around, and I’ll make dinner and we could watch a film,” Sirius explains, and now I smile, partly in relief and partly in anticipation of what I’m sure will be a brilliant date.
“That sounds great,” I say, sounding a little too eager. I’m clearly not one for playing hard-to-get.
“Honestly, yeah, it’ll be brilliant. I love having people cook for me,” I reply, in what I hope is a casual tone, but I’m pretty sure I’m failing.
“All right then, just come over in about half an hour, and there’ll be feasts waiting for you,” he says. “See you soon.”
I say good bye and then there’re some muffled noises, and I hear Sirius say “how do you turn this thing off?” There are some more muffled noises, and then Sirius says, loudly,
“Um, sorry about that, Mellie. The Potters just got a new phone, and it’s malfunctioning. Er, bye now.”
There’s a very loud click, as if someone has flung the receiver down, and I can’t help but laugh. How hard is it to work a telephone, for Pete’s sake? I set the phone down and then waltz off to watch the telly until what should be a fantastic date.
And twenty five minutes later I’m standing in our entrance hallway taking deep yoga breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. I’m kind of freaking out a bit, thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong on this date. As I’ve said before, I have a very active imagination.
So I do some more deep breathing and then walk over to Sirius’s house, a fashionable two minutes late.
When I ring the doorbell I see Sirius push back the curtains from the window beside the door, an expression of mild panic on his face. He mouths “hold on” to me before closing the curtains and leaving me a bit confused.
Then there’s an explosion.
Not a huge explosion, a small one, like maybe a minor grenade going off. It was enough to make a huge bang but not enough to shake the foundation of the house or anything, but enough to make purple (yes, purple) smoke gush out from under the Potters’ front door.
It takes me a few moments to process exactly what was going on. Mum would say I just went into a mild state of shock for a minute there.
By the time the shock fades, I’m busy freaking out, because what the hell just happened?! What exploded?! And what kind of explosion creates purple smoke?! Probably a poisonous one, and I’m about to die, and I’m going to die before my date with Sirius, and my parents won’t discover my dead body for hours, until they come home and see my rotting corpse on the neighbours’ doorstep and—
The Potters’ door flies open and Sirius tumbles out, coughing and fanning smoke away from his face. I start coughing too, because Sirius has let a ton of smoke out, and soon we’re both coughing and fanning until I hear Sirius mutter something and the smoke suddenly disappears. I wipe my eyes, which had been watering from the smoke, and see Sirius shove something in his pocket with a shifty expression on his face.
“What was that?” I ask, my voice freakishly-high pitched.
“The oven,” Sirius replies quickly. ““It kind of, partially, somewhat, a little bit, exploded. But don’t worry, the food is fine. I think.”
The food is—how can the food be fine with an explosion like that? There was purple smoke! Purple! I’m beginning to think that I must’ve fallen asleep on my bed, before Sirius called, and this is all just a very weird dream, due to the fact that I was stressing about the date and I always dream about what I’m stressed about.
Yup, it has to be a dream. I’ll just pinch myself then.
“Ow!” I exclaim, and Sirius gives me a very strange look, which is a bit rich coming from the boy who just exploded an oven.
“Are you okay?” he asks, sounding more curious than concerned. I probably shouldn’t have pinched myself. Because unfortunately, this is in no way a dream. I should’ve known. In dreams I never think I’m dreaming. And my dreams are usually even crazier. An emu would’ve generally run by at this point.
“Yeah, just peachy. Should I come in then?” I reply brightly, hoping I don’t sound mental. “Or should we wait for the smoke to clear?”
“Sure,” he says, and then he takes a step back and holds the door open for me like a gentleman. Aw!
I walk inside and head to the kitchen to check out the damage. But Sirius sees where I’m going and leaps in front of me.
“Er, actually, the smoke’s probably still bad in the kitchen, so you should just wait in here for a sec while I take care of things, and then we can go to the living room and eat and watch this film I found about zombies,” he says in a way that makes me very suspicious of what’s in the kitchen.
I try and casually lean around him to get a peek of the kitchen, but he moves so I can’t see anything. I suppress a frown and instead say, “Okay, sounds good.”
I refrain from saying “Sounds good, except for how you somehow exploded the kitchen, and I’d love to know if it was a grenade or some chemistry experiment gone bad because I feeling that going out with a bloke who causes shifty explosions is a bad idea!”
I turn and head to the living room and Sirius turns and heads to the kitchen but as soon as he turns his back I turn and sneak a glance of the kitchen.
So, there are three possible explanations for what’s happening right now: One, I have gone completely, utterly, bonkers. Two, this is actually all a very strange dream. Three, there are actually floating pans in the Potters’ kitchen, which appear to be cleaning themselves.
Sirius blocks my view of the pots for a second and when he shifts they’re all lying on the counter, not floating and not cleaning themselves.
Right, so I must’ve just lost it completely then. Brilliant.
I plop down onto a sofa and try to do deep yoga-breaths, because the possibility (certainty) of me being mental has shaken me a bit. More than a bit actually.
WHAT IS GOING ON!?
Just as I’m about to start hyperventilating Sirius comes in, carrying two steaming plates food and grinning adorably. He sets the plates of food (which are absolutely fine, which is weird because the explosion should have damaged them) on the coffee table and sits next to me, giving my hand a little squeeze.
For some reason I feel better. I’ve pushed the pot incident (or as I shall now refer to it, the P.I.) to the back of my mind and I find myself smiling back at him.
It’s probably those freakishly shiny teeth that did it.
“No, don’t open the closet, you bloody idio—AAAAAHHH!”
The film Sirius picked turned out to be a horribly gory, zombies attacking everyone, mutilated corpses popping out of nowhere kind of film. He also put a huge telly in the cupboard I saw yesterday and so we’re watching it on video while cuddling on the sofa with a blanket and a fire in the fireplace and it’s quite romantic, except for the fact that I keep jumping a foot in the air every time a zombie appears from nowhere, which is every five minutes.
Sirius, however, doesn’t seem to mind the fact that I’m scared out of my pants (or skirt), since I keep using his hand, or arm, or chest, to cover my eyes. In fact, I think he’s enjoying it and he picked something terrifying on purpose.
It’s not that I’m some sissy who’s scared of bad effects, I just hate being startled by things jumping out suddenly and that’s all this movie is.
Okay, maybe I’m a little bit of a sissy. But like I’ve said before, I have an overactive imagination, and I just know that later I’ll have horrible nightmares about zombies. And I might be overreacting a bit on purpose, because I like holding on to Sirius’s rather muscle-y arm.
“People in scary movies are always stupid,” I say, leaning back against Sirius after I just leaped up to yell more degrading remarks at the telly. He wraps his arm comfortably around my shoulders.
“Yes, but yelling at them isn’t going to make them any smarter,” he replies playfully. “In case you forgot, they can’t hear you.”
I elbow him in the gut, not hard, and he laughs. “Oh shut it, it makes me feel better,” I reply. Sirius laughs again, which earns him another elbow in the gut.
Despite the elbowing, the being terrified, the P.I., the explosion, and the whole phone thing, this has been the best date I’ve ever been on. I think it has something to do with the fact that being with Sirius is just . . . easy. I just feel comfortable around him (unless of course, something’s exploding) and he knows how to make me laugh or smile. Talking to him is easy, there’s never a lull in the conversation. It’s really nice.
The fact that he’s an excellent cook helped make this date great too. I mean, really brilliant; the food’s so good, I kind of suspect Mrs. Potter made it before she left.
There are still some things nagging at me though. The explosion, for one. The P.I. And how when I made a comment about Sirius must have a “magic touch” when it comes to cooking, he kind of froze up for a second and then started laughing really loudly, almost hysterically. It was odd.
But I’m choosing to ignore these things and instead focusing on the feeling of Sirius’s warm arm around my shoulders, and zombies and crazy people running around on the telly’s screen.
After the bloodbath—I mean film—is over, Sirius grins at me, gets up, and pops in another. I fake a groan but I don’t mind the zombies if it means I get to continue overreacting and grabbing Sirius’s arm. I feel like such a stereotypical girly girl for doing it, but I can live with that. I mean, I’ve already spent hours on getting ready for the date in typical girl fashion; I might as well go all the way and continue with the girly screams and squeezing Sirius’s hand.
I’m having such a good time that I completely lose track of time until I look at the clock, and after getting past the weirdness of it (it has moons on it instead of numbers), realize it’s half past eleven and my mum and dad should be back any minute now and if they find out I’ve been out this late with a boy they’ll go crazy.
Dad will probably lecture me about making good decisions, while Mum will ask me for all the little details of my date, like we’re friends or something. Obviously, I want to avoid this at all costs.
“Hell!” I exclaim, and leap up, barely managing to disentangle myself from Sirius without falling over. He stands up, much more slowly, and looks at me, confused.
“Sorry, but it’s late and I should really be home before my parents, or I’ll have to tell my mum all about the date, and she’ll probably comment again on how attractive you are, which creeps me out, and my dad will give me a safe sex lecture, and it’s really best that I just not tell them anything at all, because they overanalyze even more than I do, which I know is hard to believe possible,” I explain, and then have to pause for a few seconds to breathe.
“Um, okay,” he says, sounding confused, as if he didn’t get all of that. But a second later a smirk settles on his face. “Your mum says I’m attractive? How attractive?”
Really bloody attractive. Or at least I think so.
“Ugh, never mind, pretend you didn’t hear that,” I say as I back towards the exit. “The point was, I really should be leaving.”
Sirius follows me to the door but then grabs my arm and pulls me close before I can open it.
“I—I had a great time,” I stammer because being close to him makes it hard for me to remember why I should leave. He grins and hugs me.
“I’m glad you did. So did I. Even though I think you permanently damaged my hearing with your screams,” he says. I lean away and stick my tongue out at him. He chuckles, then tilts his head down and kisses me.
A fantastic ending to a fantastic date, I think as I walk out the door, hoping Sirius doesn’t notice the way I’m walking like I’m about to fall over. I look like a drunkard.
As I lock my door behind me, thanking my lucky stars my parents aren’t home yet, a weird feeling nags at me, but I push it away with thoughts of how good Sirius’s lips feel against mine.
I’ve got a goofy grin on my face that’s not going away as I wash my face and get ready for bed. I feel silly and ridiculous, but happy. Really happy.
To get rid of some of the happy jittery feeling I have, I jump up and down on my bed a few times before putting the rest of my clothes away, clearing away all evidence of the clothing bomb.
The clothing bomb reminds me of another explosion, and suddenly my happy feeling is spoiled.
There were so many little things that happened today . . . things just . . . off.
I feel like I’m not noticing something huge about Sirius, like I’m missing this big, obvious secret he has. I should probably write down all the weird things I noticed in my notebook.
But when I plop down on my bed to start writing, a wave of exhaustion hits me and I let my eyes fall shut.
I’ll save the worrying for another day.
A/N: Soooo again, I'm sorry I took so long, but real life got the best of me. And I hit a major writing slump. There will definently not be another 5 months between this chapter and the next. Thank you so much everyone who's reading this and has stuck with me through the big gaps in updates, you are the best readers ever. :)
Please review!! I ADORE reviews!
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories
What's Not t...
I Can't Love You
Of Shiny Tee...