Sandstorm {Discontinued}{Rewritten}

23. Arguments and Comfort

Dez really doubted she’d be able to hold her own against someone of Mick’s stature again. (Maybe if she threw some sand in his eyes first…) The first time had just been pure luck anyway, and even then she had still been badly beaten up. Still, she found herself antagonizing him with a glare anyway. (It wasn’t as intimidating as she would have liked, though, because that dumb strand of hair kept falling in her eyes, and she had to keep pushing it back.)

“I said drop the attitude,” Mick growled.

“Make me,” Dez hissed. She could tell her stubbornness was pissing him off, and he might have even been a little tempted to fry her with his heat gun, only she’d noticed he didn’t bring it with him to her room. (She guessed he knew he’d be too tempted to use it on her with the bitchy attitude she had.)

“You think I won’t?” Mick's glare only grew more intense, as his hands balled into fists, a clear sign Dez should have probably just shut up. She didn’t.

“What are you gonna do about it? Hit me?” Deserey rolled her eyes, like she wasn’t remotely afraid of that prospect. She aggressively shoved the strand out of her way as it fell in her eyes once more. Her heart was pounding like an angry beast, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the fear or irritation.

Mick didn’t say anything to that, though she could tell from the look on his face that he was pretty tempted to do that too. “Knock it off with the attitude,” he repeated. “Don’t care if you’re a bitch to everyone else, but don’t even think about it with Leonard.”

“What, so he got offended that I called him out about that whore and sent his body guard?” Dez scoffed. “Fuck you. Both of you.” The strand of hair fell in her face again. Dez yanked it out of her face so hard it hurt her scalp a bit.

“Leonard didn’t send me,” Mick huffed. He seemed kind of offended by the insinuation. “I can think for myself! I’m not just sitting around waiting for him to tell me what to do!”

Deserey rolled her eyes again. “Whatever. I don’t give a shit. Get the hell out of my room.” She put her hand on his chest, and she was surprised he let her shove him into the hall way. The curl fell in her eyes one last time before she completely lost it.

Dez screamed at the top of her lungs, even startling Mick. She grabbed the strand of hair, clutching it in her fist. “I am just gonna cut my fucking hair off! God damn it!” She stormed back into her room, violently rummaging through her dresser, searching for scissors, only to growl in annoyance when she found none.

“We took all the sharp objects, dumb ass,” Mick hissed from the doorway, still glaring at her.

She whirled around, glaring right back. “Piss off!” Dez stomped over, her hand raised to slam the door in his face before she remembered they didn’t swing. She let out another growl of annoyance and bellowed down the hallway, hoping her voice would carry to the bridge, “God damn it, Rip, why the fuck can I not slam these mother fucking doors!”

She turned to the ceiling. “Gideon! Slam the door in his face!” But Mick stormed off before she got the satisfaction of seeing the door close on him, which sort of pissed her off even more.

{~}

The next day, Mick was in the galley, when Haircut started acting awkward as hell. He was sitting at the table eating a plate of gluten free pancakes. (Mick only figured that out after he had tried to steal them from the little nerd and realized they tasted disgusting.)