Take This to Your Grave

Andrew was right behind me as I prepared to step down the stairs. I turned slowly, and looked at him, "Hey."

"What're you doing here?" He rubbed his eyes.

"I was returning a CD Pete let me borrow." The lies were piling up.

"Oh. This early?"

I nodded, "Yeah, my dad woke me up and I, uh, saw Pete in his room, pacing, so I decided to come over."

"My mom let you in?"

"No. Your folks were gone when I showed up."

"Hm, alright. See you later."

I held in a sigh of relief; "See ya, Andrew."

I hurried down the stairs and out the door, letting out a breath. I rushed over to my house, inside and leaned back against the front door; "Shit that was close."

With my close call still chasing my heart, I rushed up to my bedroom and calmed myself. It was hard to do, thinking about the repercussions if Andrew would slip to anyone that I was there; I felt sick about it. I was nervous and jittery; I took a shower and tried to think of everything under the sun to explain myself, if it were to get out.

I was far into this. I liked Pete a lot, even after a short week talking to him. He was enticing, there was something about him that I couldn't put my finger on. It ate at me because I shouldn't want to like him; he was supposedly bad for me, but I didn't see it. I also didn't want to like Pete because I didn't want to disobey or disappoint my dad. I wish this were all simple; I wish I could turn on this bitchy part of me to push Pete away, but I didn't want to.

I liked him and I felt bad for him. The poor guy had demons that he hasn't expressed to me yet. He had these feelings that I never experienced before. I wanted to help him through it, mainly, for the simple fact, that no one seemed to want to; or Pete didn't want anyone else to. And I wonder why me of all people; I think it's because I don't have a prior history with him.

Aside from all that, he's the first person who took interest in me in a while. I wasn't bored with him, and he likes me too. We're friends, and I really liked being around him; he's funny, and he's easy on the eyes. I wish there was a way to make this all work. My dad would be furious if he just knew a fraction of what I've done.

Maybe he'd take mercy on me since I'm not having sex with Pete.


When my dad returned home, I was lying on the couch with the air conditioner going. I didn't want to open the windows or go outside. I still had weary and nervous tides in my stomach and head.

"Hey Lazy Bones." My dad tapped my bare foot with his hand, "What're you doin'?"

"Chillin'." I stated simply; my eyes focused on the ceiling.

"Are you alright, Naomi?"

I didn't know how to answer. "I'm not sure." I sat up, scooting towards the middle of the couch.

My dad sat, "What's wrong?"

"I think I'm sick or something... I don't feel well."

He tilted his head a little, "You look pale, kiddo. You want soup?"

"Sure."

My dad let me lie on the couch and fed me soup until I wasn't feeling so guilty anymore. Later on, he went out with Amy, and made sure I was better. I had ushered him out and told him I was fine on my own.

I returned to my room after watching TV for a while; I wanted to sleep. I climbed the stairs and opened my bedroom door; I flipped on the light switched and screamed.

Lying on my bed was Pete, startling me; "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Pete laid out on my bed, hands tucked behind his head, smiling that big grin up at me, "Everyone is busy."

I shut my door, and exhaled deeply, "So you decided to sneak up into my bedroom?"

He nodded, "Yep." He sat up now, "You shouldn't leave your window unlocked, Naomi, some freak could come up here and murder you."

I snorted, "You're the only freak who has the nerve to climb that rusty pipe, Pete."

I sat down on the bed, looking at him as he sat silently. It was that nice comfortable silence. "How did you sleep?" I asked him quietly.

Pete looked over at me, smiling while scratching the top of his head, "Great, actually. I think it was talking to you that helped me."

"I'm glad to help."

Again, we were quiet, but Pete looked anxious. I waited for him to say something; the air was pregnant with anticipation. His mouthed bobbed, his hand rubbing the top of his head still, and then dropped. "You wanna come to a show next week?"

It was as if he was a boy asking me out on a date. He looked slightly nervous, and all I could do was wonder what the nervousness meant. I gave a small nod, "Sure. What kind of show?"

"My band." He smiled now, nervousness wiped away, "We're gonna be playing at this club. It's over 18, but I can sneak you in."

I giggled, "Alright."

"Good, because I wasn't gonna take no for answer." Pete spoke confidently, smirking cockily at me.

I rolled my eyes, "Don't be a smart ass, I can easily lock my window and ignore you."

Still, he kept up that cocky smile, "You couldn't ignore me, even if you wanted to."

"That's what you think."

"It's what I know." He winked at me.

I shook my head, remembering right then; "Andrew," I began quickly, panicky, "He saw me come out your room this morning."

Pete chuckled, "So? You act like we fucked or somethin'."

"I was worried all day that he may've told your parents. And, y'know, your mom could tell my dad," I was explaining this in short burst of troubled excitement.

Pete waved his hand in the air as if my words were a gathering of gnats; "Don't worry Naomi. What did you say to Andy?"

"I told him that I was returning a CD."

Pete nodded approvingly, "Good. You got anything good to eat?"

I furrowed my brow, "Are you joking?"

"No, I'm starving." He got up and started toward my door, exiting before I could even get up.

I followed way behind him down the stairs. Pete was in the kitchen by the time I was down the stairs. He was searching through our cabinets, "Are you crazy?" I muttered.

He turned to face me, grinning, "A little."

I frowned, "If my dad--"

"Calm down, honey," he chuckled, pulling out a jar of peanut butter, "I'm not gonna eat everything. I just want a sandwich."

I exhaled and leaned against the counter, "Don't make a mess, please."

He gave a short nod and began to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I watched him, making sure he didn't do anything that would lead to suspicion.

He looked at me once he finished and raised a brow, "You worry too much, Naomi." He took a bite.

"I don't want to piss my dad off. He expects different from me, especially how I've been towards my mom. He'll think I'm always a bitch."

Pete shrugged, mouth full, "Having a friend is bad?"

"Having you as a friend is bad." I murmured.

"Why?"

I hummed, "My dad says you're bad news, y'know."

Pete smiled, lips closed, and shook his head. He swallowed, "What else did he say?"

I thought about yesterday, and hummed a laugh to myself, "It's kind of funny, actually." Pete looked at me, motioning me to go on. "He said you were a punk, with tattoos who screams into microphones for attention."

Pete's lips turned up and he laughed, "You're dad is funny."

"Yeah, but he's protective, y'know."

"I'm not gonna knock you up unless you want me to." He smirked, moving his brows suggestively.

I rolled my eyes, "In your dreams, buddy."

He crooned, "Yes, only in my dreams."