apparently this got deleted so here you go again

not edited sorry baes

“I’m puffing my chest. I’m getting red in the face. You can call me obsessed. It’s not your fault that they hover.” Jealous –Nick Jonas

 Nico Bear Forrest

            Blood was rushing down my hands before I had realized what I had done. Shards of broken glass lay on the ground; I saw vague reflections of me in them. I looked up at the shattered mirror in front of me.

I saw the guy Zoey wasn’t kissing.

Zoey gasped, “Forrest?! What the hell happened?”

Murmurs rose in the room and I couldn’t look at anyone but her. Why was I getting so bothered? She had the right to kiss whomever boy she wanted to kiss. It wasn’t like I had feelings for her. Pain shot up in my fist, I stared from my fist and back at her.

She had chocolate at the corner of her lip, probably from kissing fucking Leo. I hadn’t even bothered to learn his name; it wasn’t even worth it anymore. He appeared beside her, mouth dropped. A Hershey kiss wrapper was crumpled up in her fist.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Saliva had dried in my mouth and I tried to slow down my breathing, I was uncertain that people in Ottawa might have heard it.

A wrinkly old man rushed throughout the crowd, shouting excessive apologies. Our eyes locked for five seconds before he took action, instead of standing like a statue.

“C’mon, boy. Let’s fix you up,” he walked towards me and turned me away from the people in front. He led me to the infirmary and talked in a hushed voice with the nurse and handed her a twenty dollar bill, causing her to leave voluntarily.

Walters opened several cabinets before finding the first aid kit. He grabbed my hand and put it under cold water, as I gritted my teeth to resist the burning. It felt like needles were poking on my knuckles. The man took out the small pieces from my hand and dried it.

Since I didn’t know all that much about him, I couldn’t say anything. He and I were friends, he made horrible jokes, but that was typical for old people. He shone with warmth and wisdom and seemed truly happy with his life.

“Don’t move,” he warned. He wrapped a bandage on my hand and I felt the pain subside. Walters took the nurse’s chair and sat on it, contemplating me thoughtfully.

“Thank you,” I expressed my gratitude politely.  

He smiled, “For what? Doing what I should have done? Don’t worry about it.” He squinted his eyes at me and put his arms on his knees.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” he said.

The idea of seeing Zoey and Liam kissing came back into my mind and I instinctively clenched the wrong fist. This did nothing but exacerbate the pain, I grimaced.

“I don’t know,” I lied.

He chuckled, “Of course you don’t. I get it, I do.”

He probably had no idea.“You do?”

“You have feelings for her, don’t you?”

There this was again.

First there was Zoey, betting that I would fall for her sooner than I thought. It was complete bullshit, because I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for her. Hypothetically, the possibility of me falling for her was nearly impossible. I had dated or kissed other girls before her and I almost never had feelings for them.

Then there was the side of me that screamed: ‘SHE’S DIFFERENT.’

Of course she was different. Adjectives that could describe her to my eyes were: annoying, loud, talented, sweet, thoughtful, talkative, and irritatingly cute, has soft lips and possibly the most beautiful girl I’d ever met, on the inside and on the outside.

Oh, fuck.

“I don’t know?”, though the statement came out as a question rather than a definite answer.

Walters gave me a smile, “It shows, you know. You’re not good at hiding your feelings. It shows just by the way you look at her.”

“I don’t look at her in any way,” I defended, “I look at her like she’s Hunter.”

“Precisely, Nico. You look at her like she’s your ‘Hunter’.”

This man’s words were getting on my nerves. “I don’t like her, Walters. With all due respect, I think you’re getting a bit loony and imagining things.”

“Let’s play a game.”

He was loosing his mind. “Alright,” I ushered with my hands. “Don’t see how this is going to prove anything but alright.”

“I’ll say a word and you tell me what first pops in your head.”

I had to strongly resist the urge from rolling my eyes at him. This reminded me of failed psychology games that were overrated and didn’t prove anything. “Okay.”

“Tree?”

“Green.”

“Water?”

“Lake.”

“Boat?”

“Painting.”

“Painting?” asked Walters.

“Island.” 

“Mail?”

“Hazel.”

“Joy?”

“Birthday.”

“Kiss?”

“Z—girl.” (author’s note: imagine if he had said guy.)

“Girl?”

“Zoey.”

“Beauty?”

“Zoey,” I blurted out, without thinking. By now, the words shot out of my mouth without second thought.

“Stupid?”

“Levi.”

“Heart?”

“Zoey.”

Walters sighed triumphantly and leaned back into his chair, “Voila. Here’s your answer.”

Double fuck.

-

Walking back to the hotel room was easy, facing Zoey was harder. According to Walters, I liked her. Although, what was bizarre was that I had liked and loved Beth, but these feelings were completely different.

Beth had once been my everything. She was my partner, my best friend and my lover. In our relationship, we had both experienced our “first” everything. She came over so often I was fazed by her absence. She would curl up in my arms and sleep there, suffocating me with her big curls scented with strawberry shampoo.

Perhaps that was why I held onto her for so long. She gave me memories that got engraved in my mind like a sharp metal handwriting on a tree. Then, I found her entangled in my best friend’s arms. Christ, that scene was traumatizing. When I needed her most after Mum’s death, she was fulfilling her own sexual needs.

But then there was Zoey.

She slept beside me last night, when I needed someone to hold. She was warm and exciting. Every moment with her was unique from the other. She was far from despicable, she was admirable. It was undeniable that she could be a bitch sometimes, but it was because she had no filter over her mouth.

“Forrest?” said Zoey, opening the door as soon as I knocked.

Her eyes were teary and wide. “Hi,” I said, going inside.

“Hi?” she exclaims, bewildered. “You say “hi” after all that!?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” I rolled my eyes, taking my phone out of its charger. There were two missed calls, one from Dad and another from James.

She rushed towards me and sat on the bed next to me. “Are you okay?” She grabbed my bruised hand and studied it. A spark shot up my arm.

I flinched and took my hand away. “Don’t you listen when I talk? I’m fine.”

“No need to be snappy. Why did you do it?” she asked, placing her hair on another side of her shoulder. She eyed me carefully, analyzing my every move.

Should I lie? “None of your business.”

“It is my business. You’re my friend.”

Friends don’t have feelings for each other, I thought.

“Just let it be, Hunter.”

“I thought you didn’t like the Beatles?” She mused, eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

She suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled it close to her lips. She put  a kiss on my knuckles and let go, smiling to her self.

“What was that for?” I asked, “Having trouble controlling your savage hormones for me?”

She chuckled, “No. My mom just said that kissing a bruise or a hit or anything can make it better. It’s a substitute for medicine.”

Normally I would have snatched my hand from her and said a snarky remark. But I couldn’t. The reality of my feelings was hitting me, hard.

Fuck.

“How’s Leon?” I asked casually.

She looked up, narrowing her eyes at me. “You care?”

“I care more about the ant I killed this morning than about him, Hunter.”

Zoey laughed. “Then why are you asking?”

“Because a birdie told me you two had a lip-sy situation.”

“What?” she inquired in confusion. “What in the world are you talking about? Are you having an ‘imaginary friends’ stage, but in animal mode, Forrest?”

I sighed in frustration, “I mean that he kissed you, am I right?”

“You’re wrong,” she said, crossing her arms. She smiled mischievously, like she knew something I didn’t. 

“But you kissed him. You said something about making him feel better or something,” I insisted.

She shook her head, “I offered him a Hershey kiss. Your imaginary birdy must have misinterpreted it.”

Fucking hell, I’m an idiot. I got myself bruised, broke an expensive mirror and got a pep talk from Walters for nothing. Double shit.

“Ah.”

“You broke the mirror ‘cause you thought I kissed him?” she confronted, seeming to enjoy the situation very much.

Ground? This was your moment to shine and swallow me into your depths. “No, the fuck? Why would I?”

“You’re jelly!”

“I’m jam, actually.”

God, I’m turning into her.

She hit my arm playfully, “You’re jealous.”

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Whatever you say. I’m going back to the games. Are you coming back?”

“No,” I said, “I’ll watch try finding a movie to watch or something. I’ve got my laptop with me, I’ll jack the Wi-Fi and watch a movie.”

“Okay,” she smiled, walking out of the room with a bizarre smile on her face.

I took my phone in my hands and dialed a number which belonged to someone I was certain would help me.

“’Sup?” said the voice.

“I need your help, mate.”

“Zoey?” laughed James.

“Zoey,” I affirmed.

There was shuffling in the background. “Talk.”

“I’m in deep.”

“Duuuuude,” said James, “I thought you were experienced? You just pull out.”

I face palmed.

“Are you high?” I asked.

One of James’ secrets was that he smoked marijuana once a month or so, at the moment when his life was going bad. James was a happy person, but he needed help maintaining that feeling. It was certain that weed wasn’t the best way to go, but it was his escape. He was safe from becoming a big drugee.

“Nah. Me? Nah. Not even. Nah. No. Nada,” he said, before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“Call me back when you get off your high horse, yeah?”

“A’iiiiight. Neigh, neigh. Wait I don’t want a black horse, I want a white one. ‘Cause I’m black, we’d be Oreo.”

I hung up. He was hopeless.

I called someone else; whom I was sure would be sober of anything at the moment. When I called, I wasn’t too sure he would be alone though.

“Nico?” said Joel, sounding breathless.

“Are you running?”

“No.”

“Are you working out?”

“No.”

“Are you making out with the redhead?”

“Indeed.”

“Goodbye.”

What great friends I had.

I was resisting the urge of throwing something at the wall ahead. I held onto my phone in a grip expressing my anger and frustration. Who else was there whom I trusted?

No one.

There was also the possibility of going downstairs and socializing, maybe getting a few numbers to get my mind off Zoey. Problem was: I didn’t want to. All I needed was a distraction, without speaking to people. Lately, every time I spoke with a girl, I would compare her to Zoey. Dilemma was: they were never as good as her.

I took out my laptop from the suitcase, entered the hotel Wi-Fi code and went on Netflix. The shows appeared, followed by the movies. I scrolled by my history and pressed on We’re the Millers, a recommended movie.

The black suit I brought along with me for the ceremony tomorrow night was the only thing hanged in the little wardrobe. Zoey’s dress was on the other side, in a suit bag. She had made me promise not to touch it or open it, so that her look would be a surprise. To which I replied that whatever surprise coming from her wouldn’t be worth seeing. She wacked the back of my head with a towel.

Soon, the movie ended. I started watching Bob’s Burgers, but the fatigue and the softness of the bed gradually took over my body after the fifth episode.

Just when my lids served as curtains to my eyes and I started to fall asleep, my phone rang mercilessly. I picked up, sincerely wishing that James wouldn’t be calling me while being high.

“Yo, man,” he started, using an apologetic tone.

“It’s fine,” I said, rubbing my eyes. The sun was on the edge of setting outside. I got out of bed and stare at Times Square, how everything alters with every second. “You okay now?”

“I’m fine, you know me! I’m fucking amazing.”

I let out a laugh, “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Seriously though, why’d you do it this time?”

“Parents are fighting again. My mom wants to leave. Dad’s been sleeping on the couch now and sometimes he doesn’t come back home. My sister moved out to live with her asshole of a boyfriend yesterday.”

Pity flooded me, “I’m sorry. You alright now, for real?”

“I guess so. You know the girl, Rylie? She makes it better. I smoked less today ‘cause she called.”

I smiled, “Good for you, mate. Could you help me with something?”

“For sure. What’s up?”

“Zoey.”

James started laughing, “Finally! It took you so long. You’re so oblivious.”

Obviously, James didn’t know half of it. I had only told him about the birthday kiss, nothing else. I hadn’t really told him how I felt about it, just what happened. He and Joel were stuck on the idea that Zoey and I belonged together, proof was that in every conversation we had, he would ask: “How’s Zico going?”

“But I don’t freaking want to like her.”

“But you do.”

“I don’t want to,” I whined like a kid, “but I think I do.”

“That’s probably what I’ll say at my wedding. Listen though, you do like her. Just admit it and get over it. Make a move; if she accidentally kissed you, I’m sure she’ll want to do it again.”

“One problem: there’s a kid she likes.”

“Never knew she was a pedophile.”

“Bloody hell, James. A guy, our age. He’s crushing on her and she told me she might like him too. I’m fucked.”

“Is he hot?” asked James.

“I’m not gay, why would I want to know that.”

James sighed, “All I mean is if he’s attractive, like more than you to her?”

Did he just say I was attractive?

Then again, I wasn’t surprised. It was a commonly known fact anyway.

“Not really. But she likes him, so she must see something. We got this ceremony thing tomorrow, I’ll try getting a dance.”

The door knob twisted, I bid my quick goodbyes to James. I pretended that he was a girl, just to get the slightest spark of jealousy out of Zoey.

“Okay, bye, love. Try not to miss me too much. Love you,” I rushed, hanging up.

“Love you too,” mumbled James.

Zoey gave me a curious look, “Who was that?”

“I believe that’s none of your business,” I locked my phone and threw it on the bed.

“Fine, go ahead and break a billion of hearts, Player,” she accused, tying her wild hair up. Her features showed better, I preferred seeing her like this.

“Likewise. I feel bad for Leviosa, really.”

“Why?” she smiled.

I shrugged, “You’re going to break his puny, little heart.”

“What if I actually like him?”

“He’ll still get heartbroken. We’re leaving in two days, remember?”

“Right,” she assumed, “But until then, I can still have fun.” She applied red lipstick and rubbed them very slightly with tissue to erase the brightness.

Red suited her.

“Planning to lose your virginity with a stranger?”

She smirked, “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

One thing about Zoey Willow Hunter was that she was a horrendous liar.

“Alright, Not-so Innocent Angel,” I threw her my jean jacket, “Put this on. I’m taking you out for dinner.”

Zoey failed to catch the jacket, but hastily put it on. “Thank God. I’m craving pizza.”

“I’m craving spaghetti,” I protested, opening the door.

We had a silent stare down, until she groaned, walking out. “The Italian wants Italian. Ironic, really.”

“I’m not really Italian, babe,” I said. “My great grandmother is. Therefore, only a small part of me is Italian.”

“Too bad. I want you to be Italian, therefore, you’re Italian,” she crossed her arms, walking by my side.

I dared to put my arm around her. She stiffened for a second, but softened down almost instantly. “Whatever you say, princess.”

-

“How about Maialino?” I said, stopping in front of an overly fancy restaurant.

Zoey stomped her feet and got next to me, staring at it, contemplating. We had been walking around for an hour, my stomach was killing itself in the agony of famine.

She patted her pockets, “It’s too expensive.”

“Hunter,” I took our two bills of a hundred American dollars, “Did you think I came unprepared?”

She smiled, shook her head and walked inside. There were too many plaid skirts and suits to my taste. A lady with a weird up do was singing passionately in a squeaky voice that made my toes curl in distaste.

A short waiter appeared in front of us. He had a French, perfect moustache, that I wanted to laugh at. With slicked back hair and a straight face, he said: “’Ello signore, signora. ‘Ow could I ‘elp you today?”

I nudged Zoey and leaned to whisper in her ear: “Want to annoy a fake French/Italian dude?” She bit her lip and nodded eagerly.

“Howard,” I started, reading his name tag. “I want a table for four.”

“Impossible!” he exclaimed, “Maialino is by reservation only.”

“Oh my God,” shouted Zoey, “This man is rude and he insulted me and my friend!”

“You’re horrible,” I murmured, shaking my head in disappointment.

Howard told Zoey to calm down and apologized repeatedly, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

I snatched the handkerchief he had tucked in his suit and tapped his forehead. “Howie, you’re sweaty. You okay?” I was invading his personal space more than a desperate prostitute would.

“Oh, I’m fine! Pleaze signore, give me my hanky.” he exclaimed, reaching to take the handkerchief back. I held it up high and stood on the tip of my toes.

“If you want it come and get it!” I sang, waving the hanky from above.

Howard narrowed his eyes at us and grimaced. “Look, ya pair of annoying kids. Get outta the shop before I kick you out myself,” he said, dropping the French accent and slipping into his natural accent, a hard Boston one..

The man was barely 5ft. He wouldn’t be able to kick Zoey out.

Zoey tickled his moustache, eyes widening. “You have a bootiful stache, sir. I shall pet it like it is my cat.”

In the span of two minutes, two very large men grabbed our collars and threw us out of the restaurant. I still had the hanky. Zoey and I were on the floor, laughing to tears. I couldn’t stand up, my stomach muscles were aching from the laughing.

“I shall pet it like it is my cat?” I laughed, imitating Zoey’s posh accent.

“If you want it come and get it? You’re not any better, Forrest!” She said, looking absolutely beautiful in my jacket.

I was in deep, indeed.

That did sound very weird, I understood James.

I got up and brushed the dirt off my pants. Extending a hand to Zoey, she glanced at it and back at me, smiling absentmindedly. She took it and stood up as well. She was still holding my hand. I was still holding her hand. We weren’t letting go.

“Want to go grab some pizza?” I asked, feeling a big weight get off my chest. Lennon wouldn’t be able to make her smile like this, would he?

Zoey gave me a grin, “You don’t even need to ask.”

-

i am so sorry guys, I feel terrible. I just couldn't find the time. Four day weekend though, yay!

Who's happy about Nico being "in deep"?

I AMMMMM!

ps. random fact: Zoey's horrible jokes and blabbermouth personality is something I personally have. Although, I'm so used to writing as Nico that I've become sassy and my friends now call me mean. But they still love me.

see ya soon?

love, yas