Always Caught

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Parker's P.O.V

"Come on Romeo, don't wanna be late for school do you?" Brooke's familiar, vexatious tone slipped its way into my dreamless sleep--followed by several pounds on the door. Instantly, i rolled my eyes at the obnoxious nickname she imposed on me since the "big relationship reveal".

I groaned only loud enough for her to know I was conscious.

"15 minutes! Mom wants you downstairs!" She slammed her fist against the door one more time, like usual. That door had more than its fair share of beatings over the years.  I waited until her receding footsteps thumped off out of ear shot. 

I struggled in the tangle of blankets around my legs, eventually causing myself to tumble off of my bed. The jungle of sheets, blankets, and a certain girl's forgotten hoodie followed me to the floor.

I unsnarled my foot from the comforter and kicked it away, free as a bird. I scrambled to my feet, and scanned my room. I half expected for Isabella to be curled up in the corner sound asleep--but i knew better. Even so, I kept my bedroom window open.

I sighed and stumbled into the bathroom.

Peering into the mirror, I saw myself staring back at me. They say love changes you, I think I could be the one to vouch for that.

Things were changing. I could feel it in my heart, my bones. 

My feelings for Isabella weren't so innocent  anymore--they never were. The thin line between want and need were intermingling, getting all mixed up--tripping over themselves in between reason and insanity. Now, one thought of her would bring on an avalanche of reasons why. My head gets so filled with thoughts of her, I feel like floating away. I didn't know what I'd do if I let myself slip. Let myself float off like I wanted too.

I shook my head. I was drifting.

I stripped down to my boxers, and pulled on the standard; a black T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots. 

Restraining yourself isn't as easy as it sounds.

I thundered down the stairs, and slid into my chair at the kitchen table. 

"Why are you so happy?" Brooke questioned, voice high in mock-curiosity. I ignored her, throwing my hair back from my face, and looking over my plate.

About a dozen pieces of bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, blue berry pancakes, tied altogether with a cup of freshly brewed orange juice. Add that to one of the many reasons why I love my mother.

I piled the eggs and bacon onto my pancakes, folded it over, and crammed it into my mouth--all while listening to Brooke's rant about the local grocery store not having her choice of coral colored lip gloss in stock.

"Slow down bottomless pit, what's the hurry? You still have a rough 10-15 minutes left." My mother was all smiles, not to clingy, and not to far away. Just the way she'd always been. 

"Probably going to go pick up Isabella, so they can make out on his motorcycle or something." Brooke glared at me, while sucking the syrup off of her fingers. She'd since let up enough about my new found relationship to joke about it, but she still wasn't happy.

"Jealous, little sister? I know you want to spend all the time you can with your dashing older sibling, but I have to--"

Brooke shoved a piece of bacon into my mouth, interrupting my speech of triumph. She stood up briskly as I swallowed, and sent me another not-so menacing look. 

"No fighting at the table." My mom lectured, though she didn't mean it--no amount of motherly preaching could keep Brooke and I from trying to tare each other apart. But that was how we all liked it. It wouldn't be normal of we weren't.

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