Goody, Like Two Shoes

Note to Self: Never drink alcohol again. Seriously.

When I woke up, I had no idea, whatsoever, where I was.
All I knew was that I was peculiarly cold and that it was only early in the morning - a few spots of light, golden sun were spattered across the blue-grey walls.

I tried to sit up but my back was sore and my neck was stiff. Even my legs were aching.

A quiet mumble from behind me alerted me to the presence of another, and I worked up the strength to roll over, coming face-to-face with a sleeping Frank; his face, neck and perfectly chiselled shoulders the only things to be seen, the rest of him hidden beneath the mountain of dark blue bed sheets.

So I was in Frank's house.
How I'd gotten there was one hell of a good question.

I yawned, pushing myself up onto my elbows, and glanced at the clock on the table, on Frank's side of the bed.

5.17 am

I groaned, rubbing my eyes, and slumped back under the duvets, stretching my legs out until my feet knocked against Frank's fairly warm, bare legs.

I grinned - even though my head hurt - and decided that, to warm my feet up, I'd rub them against his stomach and make him cold instead; a perfect plan of revenge, because he'd done the exact same thing to me before.

I pulled the covers back and basically got a lot more than I bargained for.

It seemed that our dear Mr. Iero had forgotten about two certain creations : 1) pyjama bottoms and 2) underwear.

Okay, so maybe I looked for a second longer than I should've, but damn, I was in shock. I mean, you don't expect to see your best friend - who just so happens to be ahandsome boy - in bed with you, naked, after a night of --

A night of fun and joy and chatting, right?

Because, really, that was something I couldn't remember.
I couldn't remember anything.

Yes, everything in life has an explanation.

Frank is naked because he was ever so tired after our long, interesting chat, that he hadn't the energy to get ready for bed.

Yep, just nod and agree with me now, okay? It'll make me feel better.

My throat was all scratchy, too, so I pushed myself up off the bed, careful not to nudge the duvet off Frank, and I practically died once I was standing up.

No wonder I was so cold.

Where were my clothes?

"Crap!" I squawked, grabbing the duvet off the bed, not giving a damn if Frank was giving the whole free world the opportunity to oggle him, and I wrapped the duvet around myself, stepping over clothes -- last night's -- that were scattered on the floor haphazardly, as if they'd be flung around by a catapult.

Frank mumbled sleepily just as I found my jeans and he flexed his fingers, stretching his arms out as if he was looking for something - me, perhaps?
When his fingers came in contact with my pillow he smiled, eyes still closed, and pulled the pillow to his chest, rubbing his chin against it.

But I was really having a hard time trying to keep my eyes on his upper body while I frantically pulled my clothes on, then cursing when I failed to find my bra in the heap of clothes on the blue carpet.

As I pulled my shoes on, ignoring the fact that my socks were inside out, I wondered whether this could get any worse. I mean, Frank -- a boy --, had obviously seen me with no clothes on.
Shit, right?

Well I thought it couldn't get worse, but that was only until when I padded across the room on my way to the door.

A red box caught my eye, as did the huge, black word printed across it.

Condoms.

What the hell was Frank Iero doing with co--

Oh, damn, we hadn't done it, had we?

Crap, that solves the whole equation, doesn't it?

Frank - clothes + Sasha - clothes x condoms + bed = serious bed rattling.

No! First times are meant to be perfect and you're supposed to remember them! Ok, so maybe that's an exaggeration.
But they're supposed to be at least a bit romantic, aren't they? When neither of the two partakers are drunk.

Well fuck a duck.

Was this it?
Was this the part where I broke down and cried, because Hugh Grant wouldn't be the one to take my virginity?
And the part where I wake Frank up and smash a plate over his head?
Or the part where I go back to bed, snuggle up to him and profess my undying infatuation with him, and declare that five in the morning is a really good time to shag again?

Because, really, I had no idea what I felt right then.

And what's the easiest way out of this situation without police charges of murder and rape, I hear you ask.

You run.

You run the fuck out of there, go home and eat chocolates.
The chocolates you just so happened to buy for a certain boy's birthday present.
I needed them more than he did.

So I sat at the kitchen table at home, snivelling over a mug of camomile tea while I ate chocolate after chocolate until the front door opened and I glanced up as dad entered the kitchen.

Where had he been at six in the morning?

Did I just say that out loud? Well, whoops.

"Mom and I have been in hospital with your grandma. She had a fall and broke her ankle."

"How come?"I asked, wiping my bleary eyes.

"Some kids were egging her house, she went out to yell at them and she slipped in some egg."

I couldn't help but giggle - I really needed to giggle at something, anything - and dad frowned at me.
The old bat deserved to be laughed at, anyway; I'd come to that conclusion weeks ago.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm going back up there in ten minutes; feel free to come with me if you like. Grandma would love to see you."

Good idea. I get out of hanging out with and making breakfast for Frank.

"Yeah, that sounds good. Let me just get changed."

I headed upstairs and, just as I entered my room, my cell phone - Frank's old one that he'd given me after he bought a newer version - began vibrating along my bedside table and a new SMS popped up.

Hey. Where r u? Why'd u leave so early? Call me, k? - Frankie xoxo

I grabbed some clean clothes from my wardrobe, all the while wondering whether I should phone him or not.

In the end, I decided to just ignore the SMS and pulled my grey hoodie over my head, sighing to myself.

Today, I could tell, was going to suck.

And I was right, my morning and afternoon sucked completely.

First off, I was left with my grandma when dad and mom went to work, and she accused me of stealing her grapes, that were actually in a the fruit bowl on her lap.
Next she interrogated me about the shady boy's - a.k.a Frank's - whereabouts and whether he'd been arrested yet.
Then I had to get her home ... on a bus. And my grandmother and public transport really don't get on well together. At all.
To make things even better, on my walk home, I felt guilty about spending the majority of the day - Frank's birthday - with my grandma who really didn't appreciate my help, instead of with the boy who was supposed to be my best friend.

I didn't know why I was mad at him; I just was, and that was that. Full stop. Period. The end.

Would we be awkward around each other when we next came face-to-face?
Would he cringe? Would I?
Would I go weak at the knees?
Would he be repulsed at the thought of actually being with me?

Well, I didn't want to find out.

Maybe I could just forgo all of the birthday arrangements.
Frank wouldn't even notice that I was missing, he'd be having such a great time with the others.
Then, on Monday, I could just lie and say that I was sick.

"Yes," I said to myself, walking up the garden path and pulling my house keys from my pocket, "I'll tell Frank I'm sick."

"Really now?" a voice said and I looked up to see Gerard perched on my doorstep, arms crossed, looking the slightest bit cranky, "Where've you been? Frank was supposed to have bre--"

"Gerard, don't start with me." I warned him, "I've had a really bad day."

"Coffee. Let's get coffee, and we'll talk."