18 | Oatmeal Cookies

Even with all the tossing and turning I did, I couldn't drift to sleep.

Jackson's breathing was evened beside me and his soft snores told me he was asleep. But how could he sleep so easily? The sounds of the raging party might be barely audible, and the room was calm but that didn't mean I could shut my eyes and fall asleep right away. I had willingly let go of Jackson's hand to try different positions and I had even taken another pillow to cuddle, but nothing was working.

It might be the tiramisu and M&M's talking, maybe the clothes, or I could just be overwhelmed of today's events – including my late night talks with this mallow monster.

Fed up, I sat up and turned the lampshade on. Jackson was sprawled on his side of the bed, limbs spread and mouth wide open, snoring lightly. How gross.

"Jackass," I poked his cheek – one time, two times, three times. "Wake up, jackass." I opted for the tip of his nose, moving my finger up and down. Poke. Poke. Poke.

"Yes, sweets?" he said tiredly, taking my finger and putting it down. He held my hand again, squeezing. It baffled me how he didn't sound the least bit annoyed.

"I can't sleep," I said bluntly. He rubbed his eyes and yawned to look at me. My eyes squinted at the crust at the corner of his eyes. "Tried everything. I can't sleep," I repeated.

I lowered myself back on the bed and turned my head to face him. Under the sheets, he was playing with my fingers carefully. "And you just had to wake me up?" he asked. And I merely nodded.

"You know, I read somewhere that you should count backwards to sleep. You know, instead of counting sheep," he advised.

"But how do you know which number to start with?" I wondered aloud, "What if you reach zero and you're still not asleep?"

"Then you start from ten thousand to make sure. That's a pretty big number."

I laid back for a while, taking in his advice. There were numerous time before in which my eyes refused to get heavy, and so I had tried origami, counting sheep, two hundred sleeping positions and milk. However, trying to fall asleep was just as difficult as staying awake. I wanted to wait for the time when I'd suddenly wake up and wonder what made me fall asleep.

"Ten thousand, nine-thousand nine hundred ninety-nine, nine-thousand nine hundred ninety-eight, nine thousand nine hundred ninety-seven . . . " I went on, more focused on getting the numbers right.

"Sweets, I didn't mean out loud."

"But Jackson," I complained irritatingly, "There's a lot of things going on in my mind. It'll drive me out of focus. There's this song that won't stop playing . . . "

"What song?" he asked curiously.

I hummed Beyoncé's Halo as it played inside my head like a broken record. There was one song just stuck there per day, and sometimes it drove me crazy during tests. Other times, those songs made me dance, so people would be surprised to see me suddenly moving to a beat.

It had brought me into many embarrassing situations.

"I have a song stuck in my head, too," Jackson said. Again, I was surprised he didn't wave me off and went back to sleep. Probably it was because he knew that I would just continue being frustrating until he had me asleep.

"What is it?" I asked. Maybe it could get rid of this earworm in my brain.

"I don't know what's it called," he answered, "But it's about closing the damn door."

"Bastard! Now you got that song stuck in my head!" I started singing quietly, my body shaking a little to the rhythm. It should be probably living in my mind for weeks and weeks.

"Stop it!" Chuckling, Jackson nudged my side. And laughed, too and continued singing the worst I could.

"Wouldn't you just sleep?" he asked.

"I told you I can't! The counting doesn't help, okay?" I defended, "Do you have milk in here or anything else?"

"No, I don't," he grunted, "It's one a.m., sweets, go to sleep."

"But Jackson – "

"What?"

I sat up and began poking him again to keep him from sleeping. He stared at me, unimpressed. "You can bore me to sleep!" I said, "You have your books, don't you? Read them to me!"

"Why don't you read them to yourself?"

"I don't want to! I'll throw it on the wall by the time I reach the table of contents!"

"Then, what makes you sleep?"

"I don't know – what makes you sleep?"

He rose from the bed and held out his arms, motioning for me to come to him. I huffed and wanted to bring up that when I asked for a hug, he wouldn't budge. But instead, crawled into his arms. He laid me down on his own pillow and began to stroke my hair. My eyes furrowed as he just did so.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"This does the trick when I can't sleep."

I slapped his hand away and turned around so that I laid on my stomach. "You stop it. It doesn't even feel good." I brought my head up and began smacking it down on the pillow as I groaned.

"What do you want me to do then? Cuddle you?"

"Hypocrite," I muttered, "This morning you didn't even want to hug me. I'd prefer a real spoon over that spoon any time."

Jackson laid back down and the bed and held my hand. That, I could let him do. I closed my eyes and traveled to my thoughts instead, deciding I could imagine a music video about the new song in my head. As I sifted through the many scenarios I could use, Jackson shifted beside me, trying to get close.

"Sweets?"

"Jackass?"

"Would you be offended if I asked you," he paused, "If I asked you if you were a virgin?"

"No, not at all." So what if I was untouched? So what, also, if I had experienced the deed? One shouldn't be ashamed with either of those things.

"Then, are you a virgin?"

"Do you plan on de-virgin-izing me?"

" . . . No."

"I am, in fact."

"Really?" His eyes turned wide, I saw in the weak light. His hand clutched mine tighter. "For someone too confident about sexual things, you're a virgin?"

"Should I shout it with a megaphone?" I said, "I'm a virgin, yes. But that doesn't mean I'm innocent and ignorant about the frickly frackly."

"But why?" he was still shocked, "Are you saving it for someone? For marriage?"

I've never really thought about giving up my virginity. It was a cool topic in school, and we were educated enough, but there were more important things than that. Like food, for example. But the thought about doing it made me feel anxious, depending on the person.

"You'd think I'd end up marrying someone?" The idea amused me. Even Mom saw me as an fat lady who did nothing but cook in the future. Meanwhile, I didn't want to pay much attention to the future years. Whatever I did in the present affected the coming future, didn't it?

"Why not?" Jackson rubbed each of my fingers.

"I don't know what will happen," I told him truthfully, "You? You're pure and untouched?"

"What? I'm not. I've done it a few times."

He didn't count?

I remembered the first time I met him, Brennan had warned me to stay away from him. That he slept around, but I didn't think he was the type. I had always seen him as a virgin, with the way I couldn't even appear in front of him in just a towel.

"You?" I couldn't help but laugh. "For a non-virgin you're prudish. You can't even hug me without blushing!"

I bet he was blushing right now.

"Stop," he murmured.

"You're unbelievable, Jackass Dale," I smiled.

♫ ♫ ♫

The aftermath of a whole madness was always as troublesome as the event itself. The remains would be scattered, and the consequences of your actions will bite you back painfully. That was the case of Brennan, and not Jackson and me, fortunately. The hangover-flooded boy stumbled into the room while we were picking things up to put in plastic bags.

Much to my relief, the box full of Maira's clothes was untouched last night. So, I had fresh clothes to wear, clothes not coming from a boy's closet. But with every upside comes a downside. That downside was that the pants I had found refused to fit me, but the skirts and dresses were my size.

There was no way I would wear a skirt or dress, especially one that is a size too small. Grudgingly, I had picked out a pair of shorts which was too short for my taste.

The nightmare was that I haven't shaved.

And Brennan was obnoxious to point it out. As he stagger into the room, he caught sight of my legs and gestured, "Hairy legs!"

My face grew hot and red, and I tugged the edge of my shorts. Jackson stood up from his crouch and glared at his brother. Brennan was howling with laughter, "Wild animal! Hairy! Eyes hurt!"

"Ignore him," Jackson whispered to me just as I was ready to tackle Brennan and shave him with my bare hands. "He hasn't taken the pills yet."

Brennan was still chuckling and twirling around. "Is he drunk?" I asked Jackson softly. He shook his head and explained that it was Brennan's way of coping with a hangover. I had felt what that was, but if I were Brennan, acting insanely was not the answer.

"Where did you wake up this time?" Jackson asked him patiently. I knelt back down and resumed picking up the mess. There were different garbage scattered around the room – broken shards, solo cups, and I had even saw a wig and a fake mustache.

"Oatmeal cookies," Brennan murmured drowsily, dropping to the floor. I cringed, when I heard his head hit the floor hard. He only gave a little grunt and then closed his eyes.

"Oatmeal cookies?" I turned towards Jackson, who was picking with a thong using a pair of scissors we had found.

"He means exactly that," he said, "I think he woke up around a batch of oatmeal cookies."

I had nothing against oatmeal cookies, but I personally preferred other cookies. "In the kitchen," I guessed, "Wait, they didn't mess up the kitchen, did they?"

"We'll clean it up after this," Jackson raised a golf ball with two fingers, and then into the box it rolled. On the other hand, I had picked up a ping pong ball.

I looked back warily at Brennan's figure sleeping on the floor. If I had my way, I would let him sort out the mess he'd created last night, but I knew Jackson had his threats all ready if I left them alone. Brennan had thrown a party last night, and it basically translated to sacrificing his house to be thrashed by strangers.

"He'll be fine. He'll need sleep for his throbbing head," Jackson held my elbow gently to divert my attention from Brennan.

"Jackson," I suddenly came into a realization while I tossed a fedora into the garbage box. "The rooms. Do people . . . ?"

He smiled grimly, "I guess we have to find out for ourselves."

"What!" I croaked, "There are strangers sleeping in the rooms? I thought you locked them?"

"I don't have the keys to all the rooms, sweets."

I wanted to shudder, thinking about the couples occupying the rooms in the upstairs or basement. It meant that we weren't alone in the house.

I stood up, putting my hands on my hips. Brennan was snoring loudly now. I looked at him as his hand dropped to a mysterious puddle of unidentified liquid on the floor. "We should move him, at least," I told Jackson. "He could get in the way."

"Dining room," Jackson flung a horse head mask into the growing pile. We made our way to the Brennan, and I had to say that he looked too unattractive while sleeping.

"You take the feet, I get the upper," Jackson said. At the count of three, we hauled Brennan up, and damn, the boy was heavier. My legs shook a bit as we tried to walk.

I struggled to hold him up. Jackson was the one carrying most of the weight. "He's heavier than I last remembered," Jackson wheezed. Brennan's arm lolled to the side, dangling above the floor.

"It's his ego," I sputtered.

"Ollie – Ollie wait – "

Too late. Jackson was cut off as he slipped and tumbled downwards. Then, Brennan collapsed on top of him while I tripped and got the weight of his feet. "Oh chocolate," I grunted as I tried to move his legs away, clad in knee socks. Hurriedly, I went over to Jackson, poor Jackson who got buried underneath his brother.

"Again?" I asked. We were by the doorway of the dining room now. Jackson nodded and we tried again.

Finally, after gasps, grunts and lots of sweat, which were completely out of sexual context, we managed to get Brennan on top of the dining table and he hadn't opened an eye at all. He snored loudly as Jackson and I tried to catch our breaths.

"How do you carry yourself?" I nudged the side of Brennan's head but only got drool in response.

I took a peek at Jackson and I kept in a wince. "Jackson? You got a little – uh – " I pointed to the side of my face.

He rubbed the area and pulled on a look of disgust when a string of saliva got on his fingers. "Brennan, you disgusting human," he mumbled, hastily wiping the drool on his pants.

Once we went back to the living room to continue cleaning, my phone buzzed. Today, I had kept it in my bra because the shorts had fake pockets at the back, and short pockets at the front. I didn't fail to see the look on Jackson's face when I pulled the phone from my rack.

"Morning," I greeted after I answered.

"Oliver? What took you so long to call me? I told you last night!" Mom began firing me with yells, "You're pregnant aren't you? What did you puke on this time?"

"Keep your pants on, Mom," I said, "I'm fine. I just woke up late and we're cleaning up the mess from last night."

"Then why aren't you home right now?"

I took a second to glimpse at Jackson, who was sweeping the room, and then listen to the melodious snores from Brennan.

"They need me here, Mom," I sighed, "I can't leave them alone. I have to cook breakfast and help fix up . . . there's lots to do."

"You won't clean your own room, and yet you'll clean a whole mansion for two boys?"

"Creamy vanilla, Mom! I'm just trying to be a good person!"

She didn't sound convinced when she said, "Fine. But don't get into trouble."

"I'm not getting into trouble. More like I'll be keeping the boys out of trouble." In the background, I could hear the sounds of a busy kitchen. Mom must've opened the shop already.

"You won't starve will you?"

"I won't let that happen."

After a bit more babbling from Mom, telling me to do this and that, I reassured her that I'll drop by for lunch. But I still planned to go back, because we had the whole day to clean up anyway.

And then I hung up.

"You're staying?" Jackson asked me. I went over to a wall and fetched another broom. Later, we still have to mop up the stains and rub away the dirt on the walls.

"Of course I am," I said it like it was common sense. "Wait, what time is it now? Do you want me to cook breakfast now?"

Jackson answered a 'yes'. "Brennan would like some soup with that headache. Can you cook hotdogs and sausages for me?"

"Will do," I started towards the kitchen, but Jackson stopped me.

"Wait a second, sweets." I whipped around. Jackson was looking at me with a nervous expression.

"Can I get your number?"

"My number?"

He cleared his throat, "Yeah."

"Why don't you just take it from Brennan's phone?" I felt a smile creeping on my face.

"I don't want to just take it. I want to ask from you, so you give it willingly."

What a gentleman. Smirking, I started to recite my phone number as he quickly got his phone out and took note of it. "How do I know this isn't one of those fake phone numbers?" he asked when I finished.

"Why don't you call it to make sure?"

I trudged into the kitchen, thinking how it would be a long day for us.

I had to check out that pile of oatmeal cookies Brennan woke up in.

♫ ♫ ♫