Frostbite

How fucking dare he. How fucking dare Will call on a weekend. Not only did this goddamn bitchass spermdonor interrupt our happy-go-fucking-lucky pre-camping morning, he did so right as I was about to leave to get a few last moments in on the ice.

This was the kind of rage that instruments were too complex to even interpret without pissing me off. Only the satisfying sound of stick against puck and puck against net could. But it only pissed me off that this trip to the rink was so quickly flipped from one meant for joy to one meant to blow off steam.

It pissed me off farther that my skates decided to be as fucking retarded as my shitty looking hair today. Just, you're really fucking kidding me. I've had these skates for years, they're my favorite, now they decide they don't want to fucking fit on my fucking feet. Who the hell is swapping out my shit? Clary is probably trying to use my stuff for cosplay again, this little bitch, she has a fucking problem.

After The Great Skate war, I skated onto the ice and just glided around for a few minutes, enjoying the perpetual bliss of cool air enveloping my bare arms, ground sliding by almost silently, and the lack of any fucking people. Once I started slinging pucks, I wonder what would happen if I missed the goal. Would the wall crack? I highly doubted that would happen considering we slam against it every game, but if it did. With my luck, it'd shatter. Eh, might as well try.

In the middle of my first attempt, a little surprise caught me off guard and the abrupt stop almost landed me flat on my face. The sight of Micajah melted most my anger on contact, like I was suddenly sunbathing in Hawaii instead of skating on ice.

Though the bitchass greeting I got in response to mine brought it all back. Mr. Issac, I can't stand that bastard. Usually I would refrain from cursing or seeming pert, cheeky, and impertinent, but he pissed me off so fucking much I just didn't care.

I would have left if Mr. Issac hadn't suggested something so damn appealing, pissing me off that I was doing what he told me to. Of course, my anger once again melted when we got to the more, um, challenging stretches. You can just imagine why.

"Figure skaters are insane." I mumbled to myself, attempting to get comfortably in my own skin. For the first time ever, I felt odd in my clothes. Like I should have dressed better for Micajah, impress him, and was now under dressed and..... inadequate.

"Excuse me?" He asked

For a moment, I was confused until I realized he had heard my mumbling to myself. "You heard me."

"You're just jealous that you're not this flexible." Hey retorted, a smug smile settling on his face before he said, "Or that you've never had anyone as flexible as I am in bed."

For once in my life, someone other than my mother had struck me dumb and quiet. How the fuck was I supposed to react to that!? That was well fucking thought out, speed skating quick, and just damn fucking clever. It would have pissed me off if it had come from someone else. Or if it wasn't true.

Lately, I've reluctantly come to the ego-crushing, mind-exploding, never-would-have-guessed, image-destroying realization that me, Benjamin fucking Thestry, may possibly have a crush on a -dare I utter the thought- figure skater. But, come on, how the fuck would I be able to help that? He was cute, ambitious, amusing, and hard to look away from no matter who you were. Not to mention just innocent enough for me to have fun corrupting him. What can I say, I had a bit of a sadistic streak; someone like him who doesn't even have time to have a boyfriend, what with his concentration on this whole figure skating thing, had to be a virgin of every kind. That alone would get my attention.

But I could find someone like him somewhere else. Someone who didn't act as stuck up, knew what sports were, and I didn't feel I had to please. I'd be easy, I could just wank into the mall and find three. I didn't need this flexible little shit. I don't need this crush, I don't have a crush. I'm Benjamin fucking Thestry.

But that's the thing. I'm Benjamin fucking Thestry; not Benjamin fucking Micajah. Watching his spinning and gliding around on the ice, I knew I wanted to be. I really wanted to be.

Depressed and distressed, I left he rink and headed home before I was scolded for taking so long. I was going to make that happen, I was going to somehow get Micajah, I wont let myself not. But how exactly? I don't think he's the fondest of me so he may refuse a date right off the bat. I had to work my way up to the privilege of that.

Shit, did I think that of a privilege? I shuddered the rest of the way home.



During mine and Clary's annual stargazing session, I found it hard to concentrate on the constellation. Not only had they once again managed to piss me off by claiming to have a fucking unicorn up there, but the same image kept popping into my head.

I sighed hard, deciding to tell the one person who would never laugh at me. 'Cause, lets face it, everyone would laugh at me on this, -my mom, Nathan, Lee, even Izzy- but not Clary."I have a crush on Micajah."

"You know, I would have expected anything else. If you said you've turned to bestiality, decided to play for the other team, or even went celibate, which I guess would be giving up sex completely considering gay marriage isn't legal in this state. Hell, I wouldn't have been shocked if you said you're shaving your head and going to live with your sperm donor, but fuck! You come out with this! You just pull this stuff out of your ass, don't you?"

"I like how you associate me with sex." I said half sarcastically half intrigued.

"Have you seen yourself around other boys you've dated, or even just screwed? It's kinda hard not to."

"What do I do?"

She looked over at me like I was stupid and puffed a big cloud of white into my face. "You ask him out, nimrod! What else? That's normally what people do after they figure out they like someone."

I blinked at her like she was stupid. "Clary, I don't know if you know this or if you've been retarded for the time we've known each other and I'm just now figuring that out, but I'm the biggest jackass you will find on this side of the universe. You know what, I’m glad there’s only one me. Not because I want to be original or I don’t want to be copied, but because I’m a horrid person. I’m confused, I’m angry, I freak out a lot, I’m hard to handle, I don’t make sense, and I think I’ve lied more than anyone else has in a lifetime. If there was more than one me, society would be in trouble. What in the world would make you think that a sweetheart like Micajah would go out with me?"

"Huh." Looking back at the sky, she chewed this over, and eventually said, "Well, you admitted that on your own, that's gotta be something."

"Thanks Clary." I rolled my eyes sarcastically. "That's a lot of help."

"God, let me finish talking first. Just do the opposite of what you normally do."

"Was that supposed to make sense? If so, you need a new definition of the word sense."

"It made so much sense it makes Death Note confusing. Instead of being a jackass be sweet like a bag of sugar. Instead of making fun of him, complement him. Instead of letting him see you when you're pissed, try to let him see you when you're..... happy. Okay, that last one didn't make too much sense, but you get what I'm saying?"

I sighed, kinda pissed that a fourteen-year-old could come up with that and I couldn't, even though it was so simple. "Yeah, I get it."

"Good." She stood and stretched her arms high, actually seeming tall for a moment before she held her hand out to help me up. "Plus, you're really not that bad a guy. You just don't show it."

"Aw, you think I'm nice?"

"What? I never said that. I said you weren't a bad guy. I'm not a puppy, but that doesn't make me a kitten either."

"I'm going to cut through the shit coming out of your mouth for you and just say thank you. You're not a geek either."

She rolled her eyes before hugging me. Heading back to her tent, she mumbled, "This guy and his figure skaters."

In my tent, I buried myself in blankets and blankets and blankets before grabbing my phone and searching my contacts. I stopped at the spot his name should be and flipped through the two that would had surrounded it if it was. Mathew. Nick. Mathew. Nick. Mathew. Nick. Mathew. Nick. Mathew. Nick.

No Micajah.