Ten Things I Hate

As he'd said, Garrett had organised a movie night as an "official belated welcome home from Phoenix" later on that week. A good selection of pirated films had been tried and tested, all of impeccably bad quality, so we'd spent a good fifteen minutes trekking to the video store and half an hour picking cheesy horror films and arguing over which would be better: Step Brothers or Pineapple Express. Eventually we settled on both, all pooling our small change and small bills together to rent four DVDs. Another fifteen minute walk back to Garrett's house and we all piled into the roomy basement, a bag of popcorn each and cans of soda with our initials branded across them in Sharpie spread across the table.

We all agreed Step Brothers would be first and I realised we made a huge mistake twenty minutes into the film when Pat began to snort everytime he laughed. I began to get so annoyed, I stuffed all the popcorn I could into my mouth to stop myself from exploding at him to shut up. After I'd made it through 98 minutes of pure torture, not including the the outtakes that everyone insisted watching for extra shits and giggles, I was almost ready to punch Pat repeatedly in the back of the head. "The next one should be a scary movie!" I suggested the second the outtakes finished, waving The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in front of everyone's faces. Kennedy and Jared agreed, Rachel complained that we'd seen it a "hundred times already", but then John and Pat protested that they hadn't seen it and Garrett told her it was a tradition at movie nights so she'd better enjoy it for the hundreth time.

The first question came only twelve minutes into the move. "Hey, who's that guy?" I heard Pat whisper to nobody in particular. I closed my eyes in exasperation, almost ready to pounce on his after the whole Step Brothers fiasco. Garrett politely answered that the guy lived in the giant house. Another question came out of Pat's mouth almost before Garrett had even finished answering. "Why does he live almost in that house? That's fucking huge."
"Pat, you just gotta watch," Kennedy answered nonchalantly, concentrating as Jessica Biel talked to the old man. It was silent for about three minutes before Pat spoke again.
"Anyone else think Jessica Biel's really, really hot?" That was it, I turned around and glared at him.
"Pat, I swear to God, talk again and I'm going to drag you up the stairs and lock you out of the basement," I snapped. He almost shrank back into the couch, the shock of my suddenly venemous tone obvious. He didn't talk again for another 30-odd minutes, until he just had to ask another question about why Leatherface was killing these poor people for no reason. And then again, as to why someone would want to make such a horrible movie. And then again, when Kennedy told him it was based upon a true story, as to why anyone like this person would exist. I thought to myself that I would never judge Leatherface again, and that he had probably been driven insane by a movie questioner similar to Pat in the past, and had turned to a life of vicious, "kill anyone" murdering to save the rest of the human race from this particular breed of homosapien.

"Paaaat," Rachel groaned, looking just as mentally exhausted as I did, "just watch the movie and quit asking questions." It seemed that Rachel's politely direct manner made sense to Pat, and we got to watch the rest of Texas Chainsaw Massacre in peace. Occasional laughs were had when we watched John flinch, as he wasn't a particular fan of horror films. I'd finished my can of Coca-Cola earlier and stood up to go to the kitchen to get myself another.
"Does anyone else want another soda?" I asked, watching as everyone's hands went up in the air without their eyes being torn from the screen.
"I'll come with you, help you carry them. I've seen this already anyway," Kennedy offered. I nodded and he followed me up the stairs to the Nickelsens' kitchen to grab the sodas out the fridge. "So... how was Phoenix?" I was taken back by his attention to detail, the last time we had talked was a week ago and I was sure he'd forgotten considering how brief it was.
"It was okay, but there isn't really any need for me to live with Dad there cause I can get the train to college from here if I have to," I said, pulling the cans out off of the bottom shelf of the fridge and putting them on the countertop. "I think he just wants me to live with him cause I haven't since him and my mom split up."
"My parents divorced too," Kennedy said, taking the sodas into his arms. "My mom married some guy that lived in Scottsdale, so we moved over there, but I hated it so I came back to live with my dad." Kennedy had never mentioned his parents had been divorced since I'd met him.
"It sucks, cause my dad left my mom for the woman he's married to now. They have a daughter and it's really weird. She's my half sister, but I've seen her three times," I threw my family into the mix, Kennedy nodding along.
"You know Pat thinks you hate him," Kennedy suddenly said, but before I could comprehend an asnwer, John appeared at the kitchen doorway and told us we'd been up here for twenty minutes and the movie was finished. Kennedy re-scooped more than half the sodas into his arms and grinned at me, following John back down to the basement. I blushed a little, and carried the two cans I had in my hands to the basement as well.

Promising myself I wouldn't force or trick myself into having feelings for Kennedy, I resumed my position on the floor, handing the second can I was holding to Rachel. Perhaps I was just confused by what Garrett had asked me (the question had been playing on my mind all week), but I couldn't help but feel the tiniest spark that had potential to grow into a strike of lightning.