Enemies with Benefits

Chapter One

SO THIS IS THE FIRST CHAPTER! I'M SUPER STOKED ABOUT IT! ENJOY!

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It always started out the same way. I said something wrong, and Devon lost his crap.

     This time, I told him that he needed to wash his car. My boyfriend like, never washed his car. It was gross. Sure, he washed his windshield, but everything else was just dirty. Very, very annoying. And if I dare mentioned it, he yelled. As always. You'd think I'd be used to it, since I'd been dating him for almost six months, but no. Not even close to being A-OK with his car-of-uncleanliness. Not that Devon was unclean. Only everything he owned. Like his room (seriously. I wondered if he even had a floor), his car (just in case you haven't figured it out), his house (although mine wasn't all that nice either), his shoes (please don't ask how I knew that), his backpack (how did he find his books?), and everything else that fell into that category. Even he knew that his organization irked the heck out of me. But that never even fazed him, nor did he hesitate to throw a soda can on the floor of his Porsche Cayman (that his super-rich daddy bought him). Actually, he didn't throw trash on the floor once, but that was only because I was giving him that do-that-and-see-what-happens glare that I'm pretty sure every girl has mastered.

     "I just don't see why you have to be so uptight about this!" he yelled. Lucky for him, my father was out for the evening, like every Saturday when he attended these dinners in Mom's place that her company threw (I'd rather not explain my mom's situation right now). It was like cotillion, but for the elderly. We'd arrived at my house after our movie date, and just when I thought we'd have a little make out session, I'd let slip that his car was really dirty and does he ever clean it? So fast forward the past five minutes of us bickering like we've been married for ten years, and you've got a clear picture of words that would follow that we'd regret.

      "Because your car is NASTY," I told him. "What do you have against cleaning a freaking car? It's not going to kill you!"

     He sighed. A full-blown, irritated sigh. "Why are you so pissed about it? It's MY car! Not yours, or anybody else. I bought it, I pay for the insurance, gas, and every repair it has needed---"

   "Are you kidding me? Your dad bought it. HE pays for the insurance, gas and all the repairs. Hell, I went with you guys when he bought it for you! You should at least have some respect for a car your dad got you. I mean, that thing was expensive!" At least compared to the cars that my family drove. Meaning the Chevy truck my dad had owned for about ten years, and the Ford Hybrid Escape that I'd been saving up since it came out for. I'd have to buy it with my own money, since my dad had to use his less-than-huge salary to pay our bills, food, and his  car. Then, what was left over from that, plus what my older brother and sister pooled in, went to pay for my mom's bills (what kind of bills those are I will not discuss). So basically we had to scrape together what we could for other stuff. Which means that if I want a car, I'm paying for it myself. And you'd think Devon knowing all this, including his father (who is a lawyer for celebrities whom I am unaware of because of the confidentiality factor) would actually say something like, "Hey, here's some money that is practically nothing to me because I make like a trillion dollars a week," but no. Any time I mention how short on cash we are, Devon just says that sucks then tries to get his hand up my shirt. How romantic!

      "So? The point is you get upset about everything!" Devon said. Which was mostly not true.

     "I do not! I am just sick of seeing everything you own be so gross." I had to keep my voice down. Our neighbors had this super-sonic hearing, and were nothing if not nosy. I swear, you couldn't even use the bathroom in their house without them asking if you're going just to do drugs. Had happened before.

    He sighed again. "God, why do you have to be such a---" he stopped himself just in time,

    I arched a brow. "Such a what?" I bit my lip. "Go on. Say it."

    "Ugh! Such a bitch!" He exclaimed. I flinched. "There. I said it. Happy now? Why do you have to be such a bitch about everything?"

     "Well, if I'm such a bitch, why do you still date me?" I crossed my arms.

     He looked up at the sky. "Honestly? I don't know."

      That hit me in the gut with a blow so hard I almost doubled over. Only because I really loved him. Sure, he could be annoying and was always messy, but I still loved him! Didn't he love me? He said he did on our third date!

       "Is it because I didn't put out?" Okay, that was a bit over-the-top, but it could be true. I mean on our six-month anniversary, he asked if I was ready. I said no, and he seemed really pissed about that.

       Whatever his answer was, I'm sure I could look past it.

       "Maybe."

     That son of a bitch.

      "Are you kidding me! Seriously? Just because I won't do it with you, you think I'm a bitch." Not really a question at all.

     "Trish did it with Michael on their second date!" Devon said exasperatedly.

     "Well Trish is a slut!" Hurtful, yes. Untrue? Not at all. Trish Caunlee basically slept with anyone who could breathe. But since she was nice to most people, was rich and pretty, she got away with it. But if it was someone like Melinda Raymond, she'd be labeled Super Whore in a second.

     "At least she like Michael enough to give it to him."

     "Give it to him? For real? I don't think I wanna date someone who refers to having sex with someone like people describe getting a sandwich," I said.

      "Fine."

     I didn't know what to say next, so I just turned on my heel and walked inside. Devon never once called out for me to come back. He thought I was bitch, and that was that. Devon didn't apologize. Ever. Sure, he'd sometimes say he didn't mean what he said, but I'd never heard a "Sorry" come out of his mouth, unless it was followed by "That so-and-so died" or "You're such an idiot." Now that I think about it, he was actually a bit of a jerk, like, all the time. He made fun of kids at school. The nerds, to be exact. And he flirted with cheerleaders. I was just to wrapped up in love to see it. But if you'd been dating blond-haired, perfect-built Devon Marks, you'd be wrapped up in him, too.

     I walked through our messy "foyer," if you could call it that, into our messier living room, and up the stairs in need of vacuuming. My room was at the end of the hall, so I got to walk past all the pictures of our family. Meaning that Mom was in them. God, I missed her. Before you ask, no she's not dead. But it would have been a lot easier if she had been. That way, every Sunday at three o'clock, I wouldn't have had to see what I'd done. But I knew that I couldn't  bring her back. She slipped away.

      Opening my door and closing it behind me, I fell on my bed. A few tears slipped down my face, but not many. I suppose that me and Dev were never meant to be together. I run a hand through my brown hair, remembering how my mother used to do that any time I was sad.

      "I miss you, Mom," I whispered. "God, I miss you so much."

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Pretty short, I know, but this was more of an introduction. To set things off.  Hoped  you  liked  it!!

I worked pretty dang hard on this first chapter, and hopefully you guys enjoyed it!! The next chapter should be out soon!

What do you think happened to Amelia's mom?

Where do you think she is?

Will her and Devon make up?

COMMENT AND VOTE!!!

LOVE YOU GUYS!!!

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