Inspiration
I had a spark for a story....and for the past 3 hours I've been writing it
It's crazy...
Just imagine...X-Men....but with real people.
...................
"Fold," Miche suddenly ordered. She popped open the door to the dryer and shifted through the contents. She had to be fucking nosey about the dryer, didn't she? Bitch. If she wasn't my best friend I swear she would have been drowned months ago. Blue T-Shirt. Pink T-shirt. Purple T-shirt. A black "Metallica" t-shirt with a burn hole near the bottom. Ryan always had a way with...burning a whole in his shirts. I was always amazed that he never burned the whole thing up.
Miche pulled each article of clothing out and tossed it over to me, as if barely noticing the 'one of these things is not like the other' aspect of it all. Which was bull, because shit, she took in everything.
"I don't fucking fold," I retorted lettting the clothes fall to the ground. I folded the comic I was holding and placed it on the shelf away from the flying clothes. I jumped down from the washer I was sitting on and leaned back onto it as I realized which dryer she had chosen to go through next.
Awwww bloody fuck.
"Fold," she repeated, adding her pattened death look at me. It was that precise moment when she pulled out a pair of tighty-whities. Tighty-whities. Whities that were tight. Black Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs with the initials "RT" in laundry marker on the tag followed by a charcoal gray pair and a black pair, both also marked.
T-Shirts were one thing. They could be easily mixed up. That wasn't that bad. That part was relatively simply to explain: it was dirty and it fell into my pile of clothes. I was just being a nice guy and helping my roomie do some laundry. Underwear? Well, fuck. A dude just didn't wash another dude's skivvies unless there was something not quite roomatie going on. Which ironically, there wasn't.
She held the underwear up by the waistband with her index finger. A flash of multi-colored light illuminated the laundry room. I blinked quickly getting the dots to leave my vision and I looked towards her to take in her expression. I was expecting a patronizing smirk. A quirk of her upper lips and that sassy slight dip of her shoulders and a slight tilt of her waist, all of which were preludes to insults, mainly towards myself. A snide comment about the fact that I wore dorky, flashy underwear while Ry was more fashinable in his labled underpants.
I wasn't expecting outright anger.
The weirdest thing about what was happening was that my first startled reaction was not self-preservation. It was: She better not fucking fry Ry's shorts because there's no fucking way I wanna explain that one to him.
Instead, Miche swore at me in Mandarin -- something about a dog, a feather duster, a tractor, and my ass -- before launching into a tirade that I had no hopes of following since she'd only ever taught me to swear and say monkey with attitude in Mandarin. She then threw Ry's boxers at me before pelting me with all the other contents of the dryer, and of the one next to it.
When Miche's tone hit strident, I tried not to laugh. Really I knew better then to laugh at a girl that bcontrols electricity, but a Chinese girl screaming in Mandarin and throwing laundry at me was damn funny, I couldn't help it.
Which, of course, made it worse. A bolt of static flew and hit my right under my left nipple as it made me stop laughing and snarl, "Goddammit, you fucking bitch!"
Tears sprung to her eyes as she held up a fistful of clothing and screeched, "He called you Alexander!"
Betrayal rang in her voice. God, I was a dead man. "Mich-"
"HE FUCKING CALLED YOU ALEXANDER!" she yelled. Mich pointed to a pair of my blue hawaiian boxers on the floor. A flash of electricity sailed from her left index finger and engulfed the pair in a flash of orange and yellow flames.
"Bloody FUCK!" I yelled as I ran over to stomp out the ensuing embers.
"Alexander!" she repeated. Then with precision that would have made Ms. Munroe proud, she proceeded to spark up a pair of my boxers each time she screamed, "ALEXANDER!"
"Goddammit, Chel," I shouted as I put out the sixth pair of flaming boxershorts. If we had been outside, I would have summoned up ice spears and keep shooting them six inches from each of her toes. Here, in the mansion where the room could fill with ice and water and I could drown half the fucking mansion, I couldnt.
I ran to Michelle, squared my shoulders, and gripped her arms tightly but gently. I could see the sparks sizzling on her fingertips as she finally stopped repeating my name and focused in on me. It wasn't the first time we had argued, but it was the first time ever that there was a danger that we were going to go too far. I grabbed the remaining non-burned clothing from her hand and flung them behind me. I stepped closer into her personal space but she didn't yield.
"Is that why I have no unerwear anymore? Because of a fucking nickname?" I spat out at her.
A pregnant pause permeated the room after my question. We stared at each other until she closed her eyes, as if she were conceding that part of the battle to me. When her eyes opened again, she met my gaze and with less anger accused, "You didn't tell me."
Usually, I don't respond to such generic charges. Usually I would blow it off with a sarcastic comment or a joke about someone's mom. But this was Miche and I had to start somewhere. "Didn't tell you what? Him calling me Alexander?"
She gasped. Miche bit her lips and turned her head away from me. The moisture again pooled in her eyes and fuck, I've never seen her that vulnerable before. "You don't tell me anything." The tears streaked down her face as she sniffled woth each sentence, "Not anymore. You... you don't tell me anything at all."
I didn't lower my gaze from her. She turned her head back to me and as I looked at her straight-on, I undrestood how vulnerable she felt. Softly, knowing the blow was going to hurt no matter how much I tried to say it, I whispered, "I can't."
She sniffled but still crossed her arms defiantly. Despite the confident stance she was now in, her voice wavered, "You're shutting me out."
"You know more about me than anyone else does," I said putting my arms around her waist. "Always have. Always will."
"But things will change," she whispered slowly meting into my arms. Her arms wrapped around my neck as she buried her tear-filled face into my neck.
If it had been Ryan, he would have kept going. He would ramble on into some line of reasoning because that was what Ryan sometimes needed. Ryan need to find the ways that lead to what he was feeling. WHy he was sad and if it was someone, what caused that someone to want to make him sad, or angry, or whatever. But this was Michele, he knew that simplicity worked best with her. "Not with us. Never with us."
"You'll leave me out of everything," she choked out as she buried her head deeper into my neck.
"I won't. Whatever happens, with anything, we'll make it work." I lifted her head up so she could look me in the eye. I placed my hands on either side of her face and brushed her tears away with my thumbs. She tighthened her grip on my neck as I repeated, "We'll make it work."
........................
It's crazy...
Just imagine...X-Men....but with real people.
...................
"Fold," Miche suddenly ordered. She popped open the door to the dryer and shifted through the contents. She had to be fucking nosey about the dryer, didn't she? Bitch. If she wasn't my best friend I swear she would have been drowned months ago. Blue T-Shirt. Pink T-shirt. Purple T-shirt. A black "Metallica" t-shirt with a burn hole near the bottom. Ryan always had a way with...burning a whole in his shirts. I was always amazed that he never burned the whole thing up.
Miche pulled each article of clothing out and tossed it over to me, as if barely noticing the 'one of these things is not like the other' aspect of it all. Which was bull, because shit, she took in everything.
"I don't fucking fold," I retorted lettting the clothes fall to the ground. I folded the comic I was holding and placed it on the shelf away from the flying clothes. I jumped down from the washer I was sitting on and leaned back onto it as I realized which dryer she had chosen to go through next.
Awwww bloody fuck.
"Fold," she repeated, adding her pattened death look at me. It was that precise moment when she pulled out a pair of tighty-whities. Tighty-whities. Whities that were tight. Black Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs with the initials "RT" in laundry marker on the tag followed by a charcoal gray pair and a black pair, both also marked.
T-Shirts were one thing. They could be easily mixed up. That wasn't that bad. That part was relatively simply to explain: it was dirty and it fell into my pile of clothes. I was just being a nice guy and helping my roomie do some laundry. Underwear? Well, fuck. A dude just didn't wash another dude's skivvies unless there was something not quite roomatie going on. Which ironically, there wasn't.
She held the underwear up by the waistband with her index finger. A flash of multi-colored light illuminated the laundry room. I blinked quickly getting the dots to leave my vision and I looked towards her to take in her expression. I was expecting a patronizing smirk. A quirk of her upper lips and that sassy slight dip of her shoulders and a slight tilt of her waist, all of which were preludes to insults, mainly towards myself. A snide comment about the fact that I wore dorky, flashy underwear while Ry was more fashinable in his labled underpants.
I wasn't expecting outright anger.
The weirdest thing about what was happening was that my first startled reaction was not self-preservation. It was: She better not fucking fry Ry's shorts because there's no fucking way I wanna explain that one to him.
Instead, Miche swore at me in Mandarin -- something about a dog, a feather duster, a tractor, and my ass -- before launching into a tirade that I had no hopes of following since she'd only ever taught me to swear and say monkey with attitude in Mandarin. She then threw Ry's boxers at me before pelting me with all the other contents of the dryer, and of the one next to it.
When Miche's tone hit strident, I tried not to laugh. Really I knew better then to laugh at a girl that bcontrols electricity, but a Chinese girl screaming in Mandarin and throwing laundry at me was damn funny, I couldn't help it.
Which, of course, made it worse. A bolt of static flew and hit my right under my left nipple as it made me stop laughing and snarl, "Goddammit, you fucking bitch!"
Tears sprung to her eyes as she held up a fistful of clothing and screeched, "He called you Alexander!"
Betrayal rang in her voice. God, I was a dead man. "Mich-"
"HE FUCKING CALLED YOU ALEXANDER!" she yelled. Mich pointed to a pair of my blue hawaiian boxers on the floor. A flash of electricity sailed from her left index finger and engulfed the pair in a flash of orange and yellow flames.
"Bloody FUCK!" I yelled as I ran over to stomp out the ensuing embers.
"Alexander!" she repeated. Then with precision that would have made Ms. Munroe proud, she proceeded to spark up a pair of my boxers each time she screamed, "ALEXANDER!"
"Goddammit, Chel," I shouted as I put out the sixth pair of flaming boxershorts. If we had been outside, I would have summoned up ice spears and keep shooting them six inches from each of her toes. Here, in the mansion where the room could fill with ice and water and I could drown half the fucking mansion, I couldnt.
I ran to Michelle, squared my shoulders, and gripped her arms tightly but gently. I could see the sparks sizzling on her fingertips as she finally stopped repeating my name and focused in on me. It wasn't the first time we had argued, but it was the first time ever that there was a danger that we were going to go too far. I grabbed the remaining non-burned clothing from her hand and flung them behind me. I stepped closer into her personal space but she didn't yield.
"Is that why I have no unerwear anymore? Because of a fucking nickname?" I spat out at her.
A pregnant pause permeated the room after my question. We stared at each other until she closed her eyes, as if she were conceding that part of the battle to me. When her eyes opened again, she met my gaze and with less anger accused, "You didn't tell me."
Usually, I don't respond to such generic charges. Usually I would blow it off with a sarcastic comment or a joke about someone's mom. But this was Miche and I had to start somewhere. "Didn't tell you what? Him calling me Alexander?"
She gasped. Miche bit her lips and turned her head away from me. The moisture again pooled in her eyes and fuck, I've never seen her that vulnerable before. "You don't tell me anything." The tears streaked down her face as she sniffled woth each sentence, "Not anymore. You... you don't tell me anything at all."
I didn't lower my gaze from her. She turned her head back to me and as I looked at her straight-on, I undrestood how vulnerable she felt. Softly, knowing the blow was going to hurt no matter how much I tried to say it, I whispered, "I can't."
She sniffled but still crossed her arms defiantly. Despite the confident stance she was now in, her voice wavered, "You're shutting me out."
"You know more about me than anyone else does," I said putting my arms around her waist. "Always have. Always will."
"But things will change," she whispered slowly meting into my arms. Her arms wrapped around my neck as she buried her tear-filled face into my neck.
If it had been Ryan, he would have kept going. He would ramble on into some line of reasoning because that was what Ryan sometimes needed. Ryan need to find the ways that lead to what he was feeling. WHy he was sad and if it was someone, what caused that someone to want to make him sad, or angry, or whatever. But this was Michele, he knew that simplicity worked best with her. "Not with us. Never with us."
"You'll leave me out of everything," she choked out as she buried her head deeper into my neck.
"I won't. Whatever happens, with anything, we'll make it work." I lifted her head up so she could look me in the eye. I placed my hands on either side of her face and brushed her tears away with my thumbs. She tighthened her grip on my neck as I repeated, "We'll make it work."
........................