I'll Weigh You Down

Chapter 8

"Pete?" I regret saying anything, because he looks so tired and I feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. His head bends to my direction and he opens his eyes, narrowing them when he sees me behind the door.

"Why are you hiding from me?" A sly smile is smeared across his face as he walks up to the door.

"Oh let me think, maybe it's because I'm naked!" I say sarcastically. He just smirks, but gets me a towel and hands it to me.

"Calm down Chase, I was just playing. Who got your panties in a bunch?"

"How should I know? I'm not wearing any."

"Ooh sounds hot. Mind if I look?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows. I shake my head in annoyance, shutting the door after taking the towel. I run it over my body, collecting water droplets from my damp skin, finally rubbing it over my scalp in an attempt to dry my hair. I fold the used towel and put back on my already worn sweatpants and hoodie. I don't put back on my underwear because, well, that's just unsanitary. I leave the bathroom and sit on the bed next to Pete, my hair making the back of my hoodie damp.

"Thought about going out?" I ask, messing with a strand of wet hair between my fingertips.

"And leave you all by yourself? Fuck that!" He says, tackling me on the bed. He pins me by my shoulders in an enormous bear hug. I feel Pete breath deeply against me.

"Did you use my body wash?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Oh I don't care. You almost smell as good as me now." I roll my eyes, something that I find myself doing often now.

"Shut up." I snap, pushing him off the bed. "Make me." Pete responds quickly, using his hands to push himself off the ground. I look at his hands and notice small splits on his knuckles, and I finally remember what I was going to ask.

"Before I forget to say anything, you wanna explain this?" I say pointing to my nose and eye, hoping that he understands that I'm gesturing to the bruises on his face. He raises an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders.

"I kicked your boyfriend's ass last night and he got a few hits in. So you know, not a big deal." He says, making his way downstairs with me following behind. We get to the kitchen and takes out a bag if bread, grabbing two slices, popping them into the toaster.

"Why would you do that?" I ask, watching him from the sink as he leans against the counter.

"Because he deserved it, duh!" He spat, smearing overly pigmented, yellow butter with a knife onto the crispy bread once he plucks it from the toaster.

"Yes, what Frank did was bad, but you don't get to decide if people get punished for their actions, Pete. That's in God's hands." Of course I've always been a strong believer in heaven and hell, since I've been raised in a Christian household, but never have I actually mentioned that type of thing in a conversation, which is why I regretted the sentence as soon as it left my mouth.

"Well maybe I only did it because He's clearly not doing his damn job!" He raises his voice, loudly slamming the knife onto the counter, creating a slight echo in the kitchen, startling me. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turns around to look at me.

"Sorry I even brought it up." He mutters, shoving toast into my hands. We both sit in silence on opposite sides of the kitchen, the only sounds being the slight crunches from the whole wheat toasted bread. I lick the greasy butter around the edges of my mouth before simply muttering a sentence that I can barely stomach.

"I'm going to talk to him, try to work things out." He shoots me a glare, throwing his toast into the trash, though he's only taken one bite. "He was drunk, he didn't mean any of it." I add on, before he can even argue.

"He meant every fucking bit and you know it." Pete's right. He did mean it. But maybe if I keep denying how he acted was on purpose, then it'll be true. Maybe this whole thing was my fault for being so damn stubborn and not letting Frank take my virginity. I don't know, some shit like that.

"Fuck Pete, just stop worrying, please. This is my issue and I'll take care of it the way that I need to." He stays silent, making no eye contact.

"Can I at least drive you there so nothing will happen?"

"No. I'll just take your bike then come back here right away." I wipe my hands on my sweatpants in an attempt to get any remaining crumbs off. Pete doesn't respond so I put on the pair of jeans I wore yesterday in the bathroom, and slip on my tennis shoes. He follows me outside to his driveway while I pick up his bike that was on it's side, mounting it. It's still raining, but a little bit brighter than it was a few minutes ago. I don't bother to put my hood on, so the rain soaks my hair. Pete watches me as I pedal onto the road. I stay close to the side in fear of being hit by an asshole that can't see in the mist.

I ride the bike slowly and carefully, not trying to rush to Frank's. I'm in no hurry to get there. Frank didn't mean any of that, right? He was just drunk. Everyone makes mistakes when they're drunk. Maybe it was my fault? Shit, I'm starting to become one of those girls you hear on the news.

The girls who're always getting abused by their boyfriends or husbands. The girls who're too dumb or too scared to leave the asshole they're with. I mean what happened last night wasn't actually abuse, was it? Sure, I have a shit load of bruises but.. I can't tell what this is. Also, what the hell am I even going to say to him? Am I going to break up with him for practically trying to rape me? Or am I just going to break down and take him back?

What will I do if we break up? Did you even love him, echoes in my head. Did I? All this thinking distracts me, and I accidentally turn onto the wrong road. I mentally face palm. Guess I'll have to make a turn around. I decide not to do anymore thinking, so I don't get distracted, yet again. I pull the bike into his driveway, and swallow deeply, feeling fear and regret of coming here in the pit of my stomach. I step off the bike, letting it fall to the ground. I walk up to the doorstep and it feels like my feet are glued to the concrete. I force them to move, curling my fingers around the doorknob and swinging the door open.

I wish I hadn't come here.

They don't even notice that I came in. I know her from somewhere. Sophie's friend, Heather, from the cheerleading team. Of course it would be a perfect Barbie doll like her. There's clothes strung all over his living room. They're both naked, fucking on Frank's living room couch. Heather's riding the hell outta him, her face on his shoulder, eyes shut, slutty porn star moans escaping her mouth.

His hands are on her hips and he turns his head, looking right at me. His pupils are dilated and he stares, as if he wanted me to see, almost like dumping me right then and there without saying it. I don't even close the door, running out of there and hopping back onto the bike, and pedaling out of there.

___________________________

"What happened?" Pete asked, rubbing his eye, smearing his eyeliner. I was panting, lying on the couch beside him, my stomach in pain from biking so hard. That image is permanently stuck in my head. Z

"Well, I guess I'm single now." He looks at me, confused.

"Details! Explain!" Pete says, poking my face with his index finger. I slap his hand away and sigh.

"I'll tell you tonight at the party tonight."

"What party?"

"Did you forget already? Once every month we have a night at the tree house where we all just get drunk and talk about shit." I snap.

"Oh. That's tomorrow?" I sigh, rubbing my temples. Fuck.I

(I am so sorry that I haven't posted in a long time, things have been really hectic, am I right? This whole quarantine thing is really boring, so I hope that my book will keep you company😊! Since I'm going to be stuck and home and most of you will be too, I'm going to be posting often, once again! Ily, comment, vote, and share. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.)