The Rebellion of Cora Hart

*Cora's POV*

Jett flicked on the TV as he crashed onto the sofa, the leather making a soft squeaking noise. He flicked through the channels until he got to the football, chucking the remote onto the sofa. he kicked up his feet onto the worn coffee table, which was tattooed with numerous cigarette burns and coffee stains. I walked out of the bathroom, towel in hand as I dried my damp hair. It still shocked me every time I looked in the mirror that I had actually dyed my hair this way. But it looked great, so I didn't worry about that, and plus, mum would loathe it.

"What pizza did you order?" I asked Jett, as I gently lowered myself next to him, crossing my legs as I continued to wring my hair of water.

"Meat lovers and margerita," he told me, eyes staring straight at the screen intently as someone scored a goal. I didn't follow football- mum thought it was a useless sport- but really I didn't care. Sports wasn't my forte, and I was so uncoordinated I trip over my own feet. "Are you done in the shower?" Jett asked me after he tore his eyes away from the screen. I gave him an 'Are-you-fucking-serious?' look, and he shrugged. "Who knows what you're thinking."

I rolled my eyes, and kicked him off the sofa. "Get in the shower," I ordered, pointing my forefinger forcibly at the bathroom. He gave me a very agressive finger, and sauntered off to the bathroom, and soon enough I heard the water running. I grinned, and stretched out oh-so-comfortably across the length of the couch, my feet dangling off the end, my head resting on a fluffy square pillow I found. The sports channel had switched to an ad break, an advertisment for some foot cream playing, the lame theme song softly heard in the back ground as a woman with obviously fake boobs and tan bent down seductively to apply the creamy shit to her feet. Fuck, when did they start using sexually charged women for foot cream ads?

I changed the channel, and since I didn't watch TV much, I settled for a show called the X-Factor, where some little kid was singing his heart out in a really... odd costume, which in my opinion made him look like a peacock. He wasn't a bad singer- just hit a few wrong notes every now and then. He was singing Teenage Dream, and I found myself humming slightly, when I heard the bathroom door creak open, revealing a half-naked Jett, towel wrapped dangerously low on his hips. His hair was still wet, bead of water dangling on the tips that hung down his tanned neck. His skin shimmered, still slightly damp, and I craned my neck to get a glimpse of his toned body consisting of rock-hard abs that weren't like Arnold Swarzenegger's, but beautfully smooth and lickable... wait. Hold that thought. DId I just...

I shook my head violently, meantally kicking those thoughts out of my head. Sure, he's pretty damn good looking, but Jett Miller, Cora? You have to check out Jett Miller (who is wet and practically naked, might I add) who is the one known as the Devil himself. He's a psychopathic maniac who, honestly, will probably murder someone some day, considering his track record so far.

Jett suddenly turned and smirked, as I snapped my head away, my blush putting a tomato to shame. "Were you just checking me out?" Jett asked, his voice low and cocky, yet dangerously sexy. Ack! For fuck's sake, Cora! Get. A. Grip. It's just a really hot naked man-boy thing that's smirking at you. Oh, not to mention he's still wetform his shower! Bad Cora! Bad, bad Cora! Stop thinking naughty things!

"I was not checking you out, shithead," I said calmly, after I composed myself. "I was just about to ask you to mop up that massive puddle you created." Phew. Smooth, Cora. Jett glanced down at the watery mess around his feet, regarding it for two seconds, and then turned and walked into the bedroom, where I heard him get changed. He came back out, still shirtless, but with boxers and a pair of long grey pyjama pants that rested low on his waist.

"So, you gonna mop that up any time soon?" I asked, and he replied with a curt "Nope." I growled, and he smirked again, hurdling over the back rest of the couch and landing ass-down on the couch. I let out a loud, frustrated groan, throwing my hands up. "God, you are sych a child! What are you, five?!"

"18, actually, thanks for asking," he told me matter-of-factly, a playful gleam in his eyes.

"That's even worse! Clearly your level of intelligence made you stay back 2 grades," I jabbed, hitting him on the head with my palm. He laughed, and I noticed that he had adorable dimples. I guess I had never seen them before- he never smiled, just smirked and maybe the occasional barely noticable grin. But when he smiled his whole face lit up, like a child's on their birthday. Well, I guess that made sense- he was immature in a sense.

"Hey, is that a tattoo?" I asked, spotting a dark design on his chest.

"Yeah," he said quickly, his smile dropping off his face. "It's nothing. Just something I got when I was wasted last year.

"Oh? Is it special? Come on, I know it's not nothing," I teased, leaning over to look at it. I got a quick glance, and realised it was a word in cursive with small printed numbers in the right-hand-corner of the design. A name and date, maybe?

Jett sent me a blood-chilling glare, and suddenly grabbed my forearm tightly, pushing me onto my back. He then climbed on top of me, his mouth curled in an angry snarl. His legs were either side of my slim waist, his hands holding my arms down by my head. He leaned down, and an absurd thought flittered through m brain. He's going to kiss me.

His hair brushed my cheek, as his lips stopped by my ear. I flinched, my body wriggling beneath his, but he was so much stronger than me. I felt his chuckle before I heard it, a deep rumble of his chest which resonated through me, all the way from my chest to my toes, which squirmed as I tried to push him off me.

"J-Jett..." I mumbled. "Get off me you motherf-"

"Just because we're being 'fake-lovers' does't mean I won't hurt you," he hissed, his voice making me tremble. "This is just a deal, like you told me. There are no feelings attached, because frankly, feelings are useless. You're using me to get back at your parents, I'm using you to get me whatever shit I want. A deal, nothing more, nothing less." He stayed there, resting on top of me, before pushing himself off when the doorbell rang. He didn't look at me as he walked to answer it, and I just lay there, shocked and...

Hurt. Incredibly, stupidly hurt.

I bit my lower lip, and rolled over, burying my head in a pillow. He knew it. I knew it. An only God knows how it happened, but I think I like Jett Miller. And not just like him as a friend or a brother. I'm talking about like-liking him. As in 'I-want-to-get-in-his-pants' like him. Even though I had only known him for a day, something about him was just so familiar, as if we had known each other for ages.

"I am so screwed," I murmured, hugging the pillow tighter. "I am so fucking screwed."

~Later that Night~

After brushing my teeth I crawled onto the couch, my make-shift bed, and wrapped myself in the cheap blankets Jett had found somewhere in his drawer. I couldn't help but notice that the blankets smelled like him- of cigarettes and that intoxicating, intimidating scent that only Jett has. My mind flashed back to what Jett had said earlier.

There are no feelings attached... I'm using you to get whatever shit I want.

I guess it would be best if I completely reject and forget these feelings that I have for him- they'll just end up getting me into some pretty serious shit. It's not like I knew him well, anyway. Actually, I didn't know shit about the guy. He's 18 and stayed back 2 grades because of poor attendence, lives in this apartment, has had 3 ex-girlfriends who ended up either buried 6-feet-under or locked up in jail, and that he hates me. Yeah, it hurt to admit it, but it was painfully obvious that he didn't care jack-shit about me, that girl that pathetically asked him to date her to get back at he over-bearing mother.

Just forget about him. He's just a tool for you to get back at mum. He's nothing more than a business partner. He's nothing more, nothing important. He's just Jett Miller, and you don't have any feelings for him at all.

"I FUCKING HATE YOU JETT MILLER!" I screamed, and heard Jett yell back something that sounded like 'bitch'. I guess I'll be fine if we stay like this, constantly insulting each other without really meaning it. I was content if I could just stay around him with out being the object of his violence and hatred.

It should be okay.

And this was the beginning of Cora Hart's first romance.