Abercrombie & Bitch

Saturday, April 26, 10:43am – Rob’s apartment

I didn’t know what woke me up the next day. Maybe it was just the fact that I wasn’t in my own bed, and my body finally registered it, or something equally as strange. I didn’t know. But, when I did wake up, Rob wasn’t in his bed.

Is it just me, or did that sound a lot worse than it actually was?

I shook my head slightly and sat up, glancing around the room and stretching my arms over my head. Rob had never really gotten around to unpacking all of his stuff. The entire room was lined with boxes of what I assumed was junk, if the contents spilling out of a few of them were any indication. It was mostly his art supplies, as far as I could tell, along with a few power tools and even a pair of boxers, the sight of witch made me cringe.

This was… awkward, to say the least.

I mean, it wasn’t like Rob and I had, uh, done it, but I certainly wasn’t all that used to waking up in beds that weren’t my own. Especially because this one smelled like Rob. Who knew turpentine and laundry detergent smelled so good? I slid my eyes shut and tipped my head back, nursing the minor headache that was forming.

That’s when I heard the voices.

“Oh, Rob, you’re, like, so funny!” a high, squeaky, very female voice said from the other side of the door. That was definitely not Rob.

My entire body froze. I glanced down at the T-shirt I was wearing – also Rob’s, since the pajamas I’d grabbed at my house smelled like play-dough thanks to Meg. This really, really didn’t look good, because I knew for a fact that Rob didn’t sleep with a shirt on. I thanked god the door to the bedroom was shut, otherwise I’d be in deep trouble.

I heard Rob chuckle. “Thanks, babe.”

Babe? Since when did Rob have a girlfriend? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised, since – let’s face it – he’s not that bad looking. And he’s one of the sweetest guys I know to boot. I was just a little bit hurt that he never bothered to tell me about her. Even just a little, ‘oh, hey, you know blah blah, the girl I’m dating?’ or something like that would have sufficed. But now I’m stuck here, sitting on Rob’s bed and feeling guilty as hell because, well, we’d kissed last night.

And, unfortunately, I didn’t hate it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, in a casual voice, “I thought you were supposed to be back tomorrow.”

Is that why Rob wanted me to keep Mowgli?I wondered as the dog jumped onto the bed, nudging my hand. He was frantically pacing around the bed, glancing at the door before hiding behind a precariously tall stack of boxes. I guess Rob’s mystery girl didn’t like him.

“I wanted to surprise you, Robbie!” she said, and I heard clapping. “Isn’t that, like, awesome?”

I never pictured Rob dating a valley girl. Mostly because this was Maryland and not Beverly Hills, but still.

“Uh, yeah, Dylan.”

I stiffened. Rob always talked about his ‘friend’ Dylan. That was why I always had to work late on Saturday nights, or at the very least close up shop. It was stuff like ‘Dylan and I are going to the game’ or ‘Dylan and I are going to a party and won’t be back until late.’ I clenched my fists. I mean, really? He couldn’t have told me?

I shook my head and finally pulled myself off of the bed. Why was I so upset? I mean, it wasn’t like I had to tell him everything… Except I did. Whatever.

“You know,” Dylan said in a much softer and –though it was nasty to think about – seductive tone, “I’ve been gone for a while… Let’s have some fun.”

My eyes widened to the size of softballs. I swallowed hard. Fun?

Rob cleared his throat. “Uh, Dyl, I don’t know that’s such a good-”

But the door handle was already turning. Damn, why was it turning?! I glanced around the room, hoping there was a closet or a bathroom or something for me to hide in, but God must hate me because there wasn’t. I quickly picked up my bag and dove behind the big stack of boxes that Mowgli had just hid behind, grabbing said dog and putting my hand around his muzzle for a fraction of a second so he wouldn’t make any noise. One of the many commands I’d taught the dogs on a lazy afternoon, and now it was definitely coming in handy.

I heard the door creak open and suddenly two high heeled, very tan feet appeared right in front of me. I clamped my mouth shut as I glanced up at Dylan, in all of her blonde-haired, short-skirted glory. If I though Ashley dressed like a slut, I was in for an unpleasant surprise. She had her back turned to me, so thank God she didn’t know I was there.

I caught a glimpse of Rob’s expression, and it seemed that he was thinking the same thing I was. This wasn’t good. Because I really, really didn’t want to be scarred for life.

Suddenly, Dylan attacked him. And I do mean attacked in the literal way – from this angle, it very well looked like she’d tackled him onto the bed. It was like watching something from Animal Planet. I squeezed my eyes shut, silently paying that a meteor would hit the house or something and stop this madness. I heard sucking noises. Why did I hear sucking noises? Ew, ew, ew.

“Meet me on Thames Street; I’ll take you out though I’m hardly worth your time…”

Crap. I yanked my phone out of my bag pressing random buttons in a vain hope that it would stop ringing. I didn’t exactly know how to use my phone well. I was one of those strange people that -- even though I’m a teenager and grew up with it -- have a hate/hate relationship with technology. Riley always joked about how she was surprised I could even manage to drive my car. Then again, it was built in 1990.

“What was that?” Dylan asked suddenly, lifting her blonde head like Guinness does when he smells a squirrel. It took a lot of my self-control to keep from laughing.

Rob gulped loudly. “Nothing, ba-”

“Think of you later in my empty room, where I – I will fall asleep alone…”

I stared at my phone like it was an alien from another planet. Didn’t I just turn the volume off? Ugh. Donelle was always the techie one for me. The only thing I could do on my phone was text and make calls and such. Note to self: get Donelle to give a course on the interworkings of Blackberrys. Soon.

Suddenly, a pair of pink stilettos appeared in front of my face. And, unfortunately, I knew they weren’t Rob’s. “Who are you?” Dylan demanded, cocking her head and putting her hands on her hips. Her long, straight blonde hair shifted to the side like a curtain, and her blue eyes narrowed. Not like she was trying to be intimidating, so much as if she were trying to figure out where she knew me from. She had to be two or three years older than me.

I stood up shakily and relinquished my grip on Mowgli. “I’m Miranda,” I said, glancing at Rob nervously. He was sitting on his bed like a statue.

“Well, what are you doing here?” she wanted to know, “Ohmigawd, are you one of those people from the F-B-Guy?”

I blinked up at her, since she had about five inches on me with those heels on. Was she for real? “Uh, no, I’m not with the FBI. I work for Rob. I’m only here because-”

“She was having problems at home,” Rob finished for me slowly, finally coming out of his state of shock. It’s about damn time, bucko. “You know what that’s like. Right, Dylan?”

She nodded. “Totally. I mean, like, when Daddy took away my gold card for a month before prom, I went nuts.”

Rob and I exchanged glances. “Yeah. Something like that.”

This was… strange. I’d been all set for screaming and yelling and clawing and whatnot that usually comes with catfights. Well, the ones in the movies, anyway. (Not that I’d be much of a fight, since I’m not that strong to begin with). It wasn’t like Rob and I had done anything… that Dylan knew about, anyway. It just…. It felt weird, okay?

Dylan’s eyes widened as she stared at my face. “What happened to you?” she breathed, tracing the three parallel cuts on my face gingerly with her perfectly manicured fingernails.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I muttered, flinching away from her touch. “Listen, I’m just going to go-”

“Wait!” she said, grabbing my good hand, “Let me help you take care of that.” I gave her a funny look. “No, it’s okay. My mom’s a nurse.”

As if that made everything okay.

Without another word, she hurried out of the room and, presumably, to the bathroom. Sighing, I sank down on the edge of Rob’s bed and ran my hand through my hair.

“I’m sorry,” we both said simultaneously, followed by an awkward silence.

I stared at the ground. “What are you sorry for?” I asked softly, so quiet I could barely hear myself.

Rob sighed. “I’m just… I’m just sorry, Miranda. For not telling you about Dylan. For getting you into this mess. For…” For kissing you. But he didn’t actually have to say that.

I gave him a half-hearted smile as Dylan jogged into the room, armed with a bunch of different lotions and bandages and stuff I wasn’t quite sure I knew was for. “Apology accepted.”