Hmm, that was quite an interesting chapter, wasn't it? He he. Hope you enjoyed. Well, here's Chapter 7. Xoxo.
C.H.A.P.T.E.R. 7
Whew. I let out a breath as I walk up the stairs, doing my best not to run full force and stomp my feet. That was hard. It was hard not punching Will in his goddamn, stupid, jerkish face. No guy takes advantage of me. I groan quietly. Except one just did. And now I have to spend the rest of eternity with him. I can only hope Sheldon doesn't find out.
I hear whispers coming from the kitchen, and then the slam of the back door. I keep walking to my room, my back straight. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder, and Will's right beside me.
"Tiffany," he says, speaking quietly. My eyes flare, and I'm glad he can't see them from where he's standing. How dare he act so calm and collected? He should be on his knees, begging for forgiveness! I'm not the type of girl that gets played.
But I take a deep breath and turn to him, giving him a bright smile. His takes in a breath, surprised that I'm smiling. I take step closer and clear my throat. Then in one sudden motion that surprises me even more than it surprises Will, my fist connects with his face, meeting his jaw with a loud crunch.
Will shouts and presses his hand against his chin, his eyes full of pain. "Dammit, Tiffany!" He rubs his jaw, his eyes smoldering into mine. But he's still not mad. I watch as his broken jaw heals itself within ten seconds, thanks to his invincibleness.
"I guess I deserved that," Will says finally. I roll my eyes as if to say, "you think so?" and turn away to walk into my room. But then he's in front of me, blocking my way. I put my hands on my hips.
"What the hell do you wa-" Will pushes me against the wall, his hands on either side of my shoulders. I narrow my eyes at him.
"Get the eff off of me, Will, or so help me--"
"Listen to me," he says. "It's not what you think."
I snort. "So you're telling me you weren't just fooling around with your girlfriend while I was in the same house, despite the fact that you failed to mention you even had a girlfriend to me when we were fooling around last night? Because if it isn't that, then please tell me what it is." I cross my arms, and wait for him to counter my statement, fully equipped with a suitable argument. "And give me one good reason I shouldn't just go straight out that door and catch up with her and tell her the truth."
"Look. I really don't think you should get mad at me before knowing my side of the story," he says, looking into my eyes. When he sees I'm not protesting, he takes a deep breath.
"Alison was my girlfriend in high school, ever since we were sophomores. I know what you think. That she's just a dumb blonde, or whatever sarcastic thoughts are running through your mind right now about her."
I raise an eyebrow.
"But she's not," he continues. "I mean, maybe she's not the brightest crayon in the box, but she has her qualities. . ." He shakes his head, not wanting to trail off topic. "But I want you to know that the reason I texted her to come over here so early, was so I could break up with her. I haven't had time to since I left home, and I decided I didn't want to go through that whole long-distance relationship. And," he takes a deep breath, "after meeting you, I realized I just didn't go for bimbos anymore."
I snort. "That has got to be the worst apology line ever. And besides, if you were going to break up with her, why the hell were you making out with her?"
He sighs. "She just got excited to see me, I guess, and started kissing me. And I got into it. . . dammit, what am I supposed to do? I'm a guy! We run differently than girls."
"You're the most pathetic thing I've ever seen," I hiss, and push him off me. He makes a sound of frustration.
"I didn't mean it like that," he pleads. "What I meant to say was-- I just wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking when I made out with you about Alison, and I wasn't thinking when I made out with Alison about you." He hangs his head. "And I want another chance."
I summon all my strength and shake my head. "If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I've got my pride. And I'm not going to hand it over to you just because of a little make-out session. You totally disrespected me," I tell him, and cross my arms. "And I don't like that. Did you even break up with her?"
Will's face suddenly adopts the deer-caught-in-headlights look. "Well, I really didn't have the chance after you-"
"Save it for someone who cares, Will." I'm halfway inside the room when he speaks again.
"I don't want her anymore, Tiffany."
"You know what, Will? Maybe we have something in common." I shrug. "We're both players." He's about to protest but I cut him off. "But the difference is that I don't cheat. And the guys I fool around with, they know they're not going to see me again. But you made the very huge mistake of cheating on a girl who seems to totally be into you, as well as piss off the girl that you're going to see for the rest of eternity, who also is somewhat into you."
"Tiffany-- I didn't want to upset you."
"But you did," I say, and shake my head. With that, I walk into my room and shut the door in his jerkish, stupid, infuriating, pleading, and amazingly handsome face.
It's moments like this that make me wish I never had to do this job. I know I had no choice, but still. Why couldn't mom just suck it up and take it? Why was she so selfish? Because of her I have to deal with this. Sure, I get to be immortal. I get to live in an amazing mansion, and have delicious food every day. I can transport to anywhere on the planet in less than fifteen seconds. I can manifest anything and everything I want.
But what's the use of all that? Yeah, I get to live in Hell, with a pain-in-the-ass Sheldon, a three-headed dog who eats souls, and the irritating player, Will. The food is good, but the taste wears off once you don't know the difference between that and normal food, and the same goes for the luxurious house. By my second week in Hell, I had already gotten every object I had always wanted. There's no more challenge. And to top all of this off, I have to deal with it forever. Unless I died. But the only way to die when you're immortal is to commit suicide. Which is a tad bit dramatic.
Sometimes I just wish I could have a normal life. It sounds crazy, but I miss my old life. Getting up in the morning, eating a normal breakfast, doing mundane chores. I never even got to experience high school.
The only thing that keeps me from really breaking down about my old life is the fact that my family life was pretty much terrible.
My mom was cheating on my father, with not one but four men. We all knew this, except for dad, of course. And by we, I mean myself and my brothers, Finn and Gabriel, the twins who were almost thirteen at the time.
We didn't snitch because we knew mom would hit us. She was dangerous, her brain always numbed by alcohol and the occasional cigarette. Even though I am unable to be killed by other people now (thanks to the Devil), I can still feel pain. Sometimes I swear I can still feel the leather of her belt on my exposed back.
My dad was okay, just a quiet old guy. I still didn't know him very well, though, since he was always at work, happily oblivious to the turmoil at home. I guess ignorance really is bliss. It was easy to let go of him, and mom. In the three years I've been working for the Devil, I haven't visited them once.
What was hardest was leaving my brothers behind. They were like my best friends, people I could count on. When my first boyfriend, Kenton, broke up with me in the eighth grade because I wouldn't let him touch my boob, they were quick to comfort me, as well as kick his ass.
I sigh and bury my face in my pillow, thinking of where to go now. I don't want to go back to Hell, even though the gates are probably open now. I don't want to look at Sheldon's I-told-you-so face when he finds out I made out with Will. I also can't take the chance that Will might be back there already.
There's a voice in my mind urging me to go home. Not to Hell, but back to Connecticut. To see my brothers. You might be thinking it was crazy of me to never visit them in the first place, considering how much they mean to me, but I thought it best to just cut off all ties from my family. It was easier, since my schedule is always so busy working. Add that to the fact that I didn't want to risk running into my mom.
My brothers are the only people that can make me feel better-- so why not be with them now, when I'm feeling frustrated and horribly out of place?
I haven't been there in three years, and I have no idea what will await me there. But one thing's for sure: I can't put this off any longer.
I'm going home.
I land smack on my butt in the front yard. I make a noise of pain and rub my bum, standing up to look around. I don't think I'll ever get used to using the Portal as transportation.
The house is the same, although the light blue paint looks fresher, unlike the chipped and crumbling paint I grew up with. Sparrows hop between the red and orange leaves. I can't believe I'm doing this, coming back to my old home.
I can't imagine what's waiting for me on the other side of that door. I move up the path to the two-floor house, rubbing at the goosebumps on my arm. Maybe they won't be home. Why am I even doing this? This is crazy. I should just turn around and poof myself out of here. Anywhere but here. But my feet have a mind of their own, and they're determined to see this insane plan through.
As I step onto the creaky white porch I smoothen my black hair, straighten my light blue tee, pull up my black jeans. I hesitate by the door. I can still see scratches on the floor where I used to carve pictures with my mother's keys when I was little, before she started to hit me for it.
I push past my hesitation and knock on the door, wincing at the loud noise.
I'm ready I'm ready I'm ready-- Oh hell, I'm not ready.
Before I can make the wise decision and dart off of the porch, the door opens and I'm staring my younger brother in the face.
"Yeah?" Gabriel asks in a voice that's gotten so much deeper I hardly recognize it.
It takes a moment for me to speak, as my eyes take him in: His black hair is cut short and shaggy, his blue eyes interested as they look at this person standing on the porch, unannounced. His nice-fitting navy blue shirt shows off just how muscular he's gotten. He's easily taller than me, maybe 5"11. I know it's Gabriel and not Finn because Finn has a freckle above his left eyebrow, and Gabriel doesn't.
How can this be the thirteen-year-old I saw three years ago?
Gabriel clears his throat, more than a bit freaked out by the way I'm assessing him.
"Um, can I help you?"
I take a deep breath, and fiddle with the hem of my shirt. Finally I look up and meet his eyes.
"It's Tiffany."