Your Bones Are My Bones

I suppose I felt a bit mental for forcing Ketley to marry me. Okay well, I wasn't forcing her and we weren't actually getting married. But still. Even I had to admit the whole thing was a bit... not normal.

I had told Ketley that if we were to be married then we needed to live together. Meaning she needed to move her skinny arse in to my flat. She grumbled and went on about how nice her flat was; that her dad was paying for it, that her maintenance man was really hot, that her mattress was the perfect amount of fluffiness, and blah blah blah. But she finally caved and said she'd move in with me. I guess she really wanted that camera.

It was the first time in weeks, maybe months even, that I woke up early, showered, ate, got dressed and then painstakingly cleaned up my flat. Ketley said she would not live in a quote unquote bachelor's pad that smelled like a sweaty jock strap and month-old veggie pizza. And I couldn't really blame her. Even I didn't want to live here.

I was still cleaning when I heard someone come in.

"Well it looks like somebody decided to put pants on today," Ketley snickered behind me as I was fishing for garbage under the couch. "And it's not me."

That sure made me turn around. But what I was expecting to see was not what I saw. Sure Ketley had no pants on, but that was because she was wearing a skirt. The cheeky wanker.

"Ya're goin' ta wear a skirt ta move all yer stuff in?" I asked, wiping the dust off my hands on the front of my pants.

"Oh no," she got a wicked grin on her ivory face. "You see Hubby, I was hoping you'd move my stuff in for me since you are my husband and you just love me to death and you're so big and strong and you wouldn't want me to get hurt or get anything on my pretty skirt."

I hope my expression portrayed exactly what I felt: pure unadulterated spite.

No way in hell was I moving all of her stuff into here. No matter how long, toned and sexy that skirt made her legs look—it just wasn't happening. Oliver Sykes was no one's moving service.

And there was no way she'd be taking advantage of the whole "husband and wife" thing this early.

"Yeah that’s so not gonna 'appen, sweet 'eart, " I told her in a fake cheery voice.

"But baby don't wou wove me?" she forged a pout and batted her long eyelashes at me.

"There's some a' Amanda's old clothes in my dresser, go find some decent pants an' then come out ta yer car when ya're nice n' dressed," I instructed her, walking past her and out my door.

☽ ☼ ☽

Who knew lugging a shit load of girls' clothing, shoes, towels, toiletries, DVDs, pillows and whatever else Ketley had packed up a flight of stairs and in to my flat could be so exhausting? Definitely not me. I thought we'd be done in like fifteen minutes. But that wasn't the case. It was nearly nine o'clock by the time we were finished and everything was put away.

"So what do ya wanna eat fer dinner?" I asked Ketley as we both laid on the couch, limbs overlapping each other, tired and sore.

"Chinese food," she groaned, peeking out at me from underneath the icepack on her head. Something may or may not have fallen from the top shelf of my closet and clunked her on the head causing her a terrible headache. "Or ice cream. Or another Tylenol."

"How 'bout all three?"

"Do you not know anything, Oliver Sykes? You do not mix General Tso's ,ice cream together and Tylenol. Duh," she informed me as though it were common knowledge.

"Oh my, I am so stupid fer not knowin' that," Sarcasm was used as I sat up and disentangled our limbs and nearly pushed Ketley off the couch.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, called Mister Cho's, ordered our food, then hung up.

"What're you gonna tell your parents?" she asked as she sat up and placed her icepack on the table.

I had given this subject a fair bit of thought last night. "That I were away on a long, romantic holiday with me girlfriend an' we ended up gettin' hitched."

"But didn't Tom tell your parents that you've been cooped up in your stinky apartment, pants-less, moping around, reliving all the times you and Amanda fucked?"

I hate when she mentioned Amanda. I hated the way her name sounded coming from someone else's lips. I hated what she did to me. "No, if 'e would've they would’ve been 'ere, pesterin' me, tellin' me ta go ta therapy or summat."

"They wouldn't think that was... weird, though? That you just went off and married your best friend?" she ran her fingers through her blonde hair, I assumed to untangle any knots that had formed.

"Nah, 'specially since it's ya. They always said I'd marry ya someday," I said simply. My parents would actually always tell me how wonderful and quirky of a girl Ketley was, and that I should be dating her and not some "air-headed stick of a model". But I just thought they were looney.

I think Ketley might've blushed, but she turned her face so it wasn't in my view. "Oh Ian and Carol, what crazy cats."

"Well what're you gonna tell yer parents?"

"The truth," she shrugged, turning her face back. "They won't care and there's no need for me to lie to them."

"I wish it were that simple," I sighed just thinking of all the people I'd have to lie to. To deceive. Maybe even hurt. Just for Amanda. But she was worth it—I swear. "If we want this ta be convincin', then all me mates and all a' yers will actually 'ave ta think we're married."

Ketley sat there, looking at the floor, mumbling in Italian unintelligibly. She looked... Stressed. Which did not suit her well. For as long as I had known Ketley, I'd never seen her looked stressed a day in her life. She'd always been happy, sarcastic, care-free, outgoing, a bit nutty, but never stressed.

I waited a while for her to say something—something in a language that I could understand. She never did.

"Wha's wrong Kettle?" I gently laid my hand on her shoulder. Kettle was also another nickname she earned in secondary school seeing how it was nearly her name.

She let out a long sigh. "It's just really complicated, Oliver. Actually, messy's a better word for it. This whole situation is messy. And I just don't see it ending well."

"Ya've gotta a'least give it a go." I was surprised she hadn't yet shrugged off my hand. "I mean, Kettle, I really love Amanda. An' I really want 'er back. An' yer the only one that can 'elp. Don't ya wanna 'elp lil’ ol’ me?"

She took my hand off her shoulder and held it in hers. "I do, Oli. You're my best friend and I hate seeing you this upset over some girl, and I would do anything to help you, but... I just don't think this is the best way."

"This is the absolute best way, m'sure of it," I told her as she rubbed circles with her thumb on the back of my hand.

She sighed again and shook her head. "My head hurts too much right now to argue about this. But believe me when I say I am not done talking about this."

She laid back down on the couch and put the icepack on her head. But for some odd reason she didn't let go of my hand. And for some odd reason I had no problem with that.

I smiled a bit and said, "Well thank the Lord fer 'eadaches."