Chapter four - Cocky Cook

Edited by the wonderful xxLiciaPinkxx

~*~

"You know," Lana says as we watch our third High School Musical DVD, "we should do something... something," she continues and does some moves with her hands, waving them in the air, "something more grown up."

"Why would we do that?" I pop the last popcorn I could find into my mouth.

"I don't know. I mean we're seventeen and we don't have a boyfriend, we don't have future plans nor are we famous yet."

"Yeah, it's a shame we're not famous yet. We'd be good at that, you know, just being famous." I give her a shove in the side, making it pretty clear that she had to get out of the way because otherwise I couldn't properly drool over Zac Efron.

"That's true, we have to change something about that. Can't we invent something?"

"Like what?"

There is a good second of silence before she jumps up and down yelling, "Oh, I know, I know!" Her hands fly in the air in all different directions, like a little kid who knows the answer to a difficult question.

"Yes, Miss Campbell?" A smile edging on my face.

"We should invent this thing," she makes some other weird forms in the air, "that can teleport like celebs and hotties from posters to real life!" she exclaims, thinking she just had the most brilliant idea in the history.

Of course, she didn't, but me being my silly self, I decide to play along.

"That's great! And some machine, so you can, like, just click your fingers and BOOM, they're naked!"

"Yes!" We both start springing around on my bed. Then, I throw a pillow at her face, which leads to a huge pillow fight.

"Loren!" a very familiar, anything but friendly voice yells.

"Yes, my lovely stepbrother?"

"Keep the fucking noise down!"

"Okay." I shoot Lana a look and that's all she needs to know.

In two seconds she picks her phone out of her pocket, starting the music, bringing our private pop concert to life.

And dear lord, he really enjoys that.

Luckily for us, there is a lock on my door.

For five songs we give the best of ourselves, I can assure you that that is not that much. We cry and yell and (kind of) sing as loud as we could.

When we are both out of breath we stop, only to notice that his angry banging on my door has stopped and that everything in the house is quiet.

Too quiet.

"This isn't good," Lana says, obviously scared.

And I would be too, if I didn't know he doesn't hit girls. "Don't worry, he won't hit us."

"But he could ruin my hair," she whisper-yells while covering her prestigious hair with both of her arms.

"What do we do now?" I am kind of desperate at this point. I almost never piss him off, or better yet, I never try to piss him off. Seems like he is already annoyed with me being alive.

Three weeks ago, he was sitting on the couch, just texting like he seems to be doing all the time. I sat on the same couch, as far away as possible, just enjoying my ice cream.

Nearly ten seconds after I sat down, he sighed. "Can't you go sit somewhere else?"

I had had a really, really shitty day that day, plus I was on my period so I wasn't in the mood to move more than two inches. "Nah, I am good." Outwardly, I was the optimum of calm, but he was the fifth person I had killed in my head that afternoon.

"Are you doing this to piss me off?"

"Doing what? Breathing?" I no longer tried to sound nice. I breathed loudly in his direction, he was so taken back that he nearly fell off the couch.

"Dude, stop that."

"I'm not a dude," was my best comeback.

"Oh really. Then, where are your boobs?"

"Ha ha, very mature," I said, wanting to say something about me being on my period as a proof of my gender. Acknowledging that he'd probably use that against me, I shut my mouth. Smart girl, I know.

"At least I already hit puberty," he said.

"Oh yeah, your boobs have already developed pretty well."

He paused a second, shooting me a glare which I thankfully accepted.

He got a nice one in return as well.

"Whatever, I am going to sit somewhere with some fresh air that isn't poisoned by your horrible body smell."

"Do you think I stink?" I suddenly ask Lana.

"Yeah, of course," she put her poker face on.

"Really?" I ask. Cue puppy eyes. Oh my god, I've smelled like this my whole life and no one has ever told me. I feel betrayed.

"No, silly, of course not, but as your best and only friend, I felt obligated to answer that." This causes her to receive another hit from a pillow. "Oh no. That hurt so much, I think I am going to die," she says in that fake drama queen Lana-esque way of hers.

"I sincerely hope you do and that you may rot in hell for the rest of your days if you're lying.."

"Oh, I love you too, lame-ass." She blows me a kiss and winks. I display my love and affection by showing her one of my nicest (and tallest) fingers.

"Lor," she says with a neutral facial expression.

"Yes, Lan?"

"I'm hungryyyyy."

"How's that even possible? You just ate." Damn now we'll have to leave the safety of my room because when she is hungry she is even worse than when she is on her period.

"Says the one who eats as much as all the players of our football team combined."

"Hey, I might eat as much as one football player, but all of them is way over the top, missy." I point my finger at her, making me look all scary and - sadly - kind of lame.

"Potato potato." She sighs before exposing her tummy and opening her mouth. "Feed me."

"Na-ha, I wish you all the luck in the world to make it downstairs, grab some food and come all the way back up here before that psychotic, good-looking-when-I-wake-up, supernatural monster can catch you."

"Okay, now I am scared." And actually she should be. Because Geoffrey is one of the most dangerous -and only- teenage boys I know.

He has gotten into many fights and has never backed out. He doesn't seem to be afraid of anything and is anything but scared to use his trained arms to make his fist collide with your face. He's nuts.

Once the police came to drop him off at home because he hit some guy in a bar who apparently was sitting in his seat.

The most stupid thing about all that was that the dude was a body builder. What kind of idiotic, brainless creature starts to throw punches at that?

But yeah, the police intervened pretty quickly and brought him home All his dad said was 'Go to your room'. So he did, taking along a bottle of vodka and sneaking out half an hour later.

Although with a motorcycle that produces at least three hundred billion decibels you can't say it was a sneaky escape.

After that, my mom has been visibly scared of him as well. The weird thing is, it doesn't affect me that much. Yeah, I know he is big and he fights, drinks and uses drugs regularly, but I'm not afraid of him.

Apart from the time he caught me when I tried to take a look in his room.

And now.

But I am more scared of my hair being ruined than my face being damaged, I know he doesn't do such things. Not to girls at least. Well, that's what I suspect. The guy's got to have some kind of morals, right?

"Loren, you can hate me as much as you want, but I need food!" She emphasizes the three last words like some hungry lion that hasn't eaten for years.

"Fine, but if we get killed, I'll tell everyone it was your fault!"

"Here we go." She slowly opens the door. I let out a small shriek before placing my foot on the wooden floor. Oh dear lord.

Like professional members of the CIA, we make our way over to the kitchen, paralyzing at every single noise that the floor boards produce. It takes us exactly four minutes and 33 seconds to get down twenty stairs.

And there he was.

Cooking?

"What the hell are you doing?" I blurt out.

"What does it look like I am doing, dumbass?"

"Aren't you supposed to be scaring slash killing us?" I take some steps forward, still fearing a blitz attack.

"Yeah, like I don't have anything better to do than to chase you and your stupid friend."

"Hey," Lana snaps, taking a step forward and dangerously pointing a finger at him, ready to verbally harass him. He turns around and the first thing that catches my eye is the big butcher knife he is holding, and apparently Lana notices it too because her voice changes. I can see all the horror stories I've told her about him processing in her brain.

"Hey. I'm Lana." She sticks her hand out. I shoot her the 'what are you doing?' look.

"And?"

"Okay, first, put that knife down."

"What? This one?" He provocatively points the knife up.

"No, she meant the invisible one in your other hand," I sarcastically remark.

"No need to get sarcastic, Poole."

"Well apparently there was." I roll my eyes at him.

"Don't get all smartass on me." He steps forward, thankfully letting the knife rest on the kitchen counter.

"Then don't give me a reason to." Ah, me and my lame comebacks.

Trying to show him I'm not afraid of him (which in this moment was partly true), I step forward as well, minimalizing the space between us.

"Loren. You know that thing, upstairs at the end of the hallway?" I mentally follow the map of the house inside my head. What is he talking about? "Well that's called a shower, I'd highly recommend you to use it some time." He pulls his nose up in disgust.

"Listen, you asshole," Lana hisses from behind me, "the only one who is allowed to tell Loren she stinks is me, so why don't you take that pretty ass of yours out here and fly off to Europe where you can live underneath a bridge and hopefully not meet a nice mouse called Ratatouille because that would really piss me off."

He just chuckles at that.

"Am I supposed to be intimidated by that?"

"Dude, she is hungry and I promise you, if you piss her off once more she is going to take that knife and put it somewhere I can assure you is not nice to have something that sharp."

"Seems like you've got some experience shoving sharp stuff up your arse." He grins and then returns back to his stew-pans. Lana and I start shooting murderous looks at his back, hoping they would suddenly change into bullets.

After some minutes we realize that isn't going to happen and escape from the kitchen to the backyard house.

"He is so lucky that he was making my dinner, else I would have killed him ASAP," she says and I laugh. "What's so funny?"

"You think he is making dinner for us?"

"Wait, he isn't? Why the hell didn't you tell me!"

"I don't know, it seemed obvious. We hate each other's guts, the words that floated out of both of our mouths five minutes ago were more than all the ones we've ever used combined, and you think that is going to make me dinner?" I plop down into the seat that is there, right next to a second fridge.

"It's like instead of blood evilness runs through his veins."

"I told you he was evil."

"Pure evil," she grumbles, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge.

The backyard house was designed to be a place to hang out with friends. Some seats were located here, as well as a fridge, a television and a toilet. The other part of this place is Geoffrey's work out area - a gym of sorts. The result of that is that the fridge -which could have been our savior right now - is only filled with bottles of water and energy drinks.

Sadly enough, there is no heating in here, so the evenings are too cold to come and sit here. Which is a bummer since I have to share the remote with the king of the underworld inside the house.

"I'm hungry." She sighs again. "And in case you didn't notice, I'm not the most pleasant person when I'm hungry."

"No shit, Sherlock." I laugh before receiving a-not-so friendly pat on my head.

"Then make me something woman, I'm your guest."

"You basically live with me, you lost the title of guest four years ago." She gulps the bottle down in one time.

"Still hungry. By the way, technically I am a guest in this house. I've never been here before."

"If you want someone to serve you food, go ahead and ask Geoffrey if he'd be so kind to offer you some of his." I smile insincerely, like I just made a reasonable offer.

Geoffrey. Share his food with one of us? Yeah, right.

"Well, maybe I will, and while I ask him I can immediately tell him what kind of evil bitch his stepsister is." Ew.

"Don't call me that."

"What? I call you an evil bitch all the time."

"And I haven't got any problems with that, I was talking about you calling me his stepsister." I scrunch my nose in disgust. Stepsister. Yuck.

"Honey, reality check: you are his stepsister."

"Our parents aren't married, so no, we aren't. And that's never going to happen. I bet they won't last another two months. And now you agree that you'll never call me that again and we're going to make you some food so your brain can function properly again."

I stand up, head out and she follows me, knowing it pisses me off more than it should have.

"Got it." I know I called him my stepbrother, but that was only to piss him off. I really, really hate it when people, other than me, remind me of that fact.

Thankfully, Geoffrey has already erased his existence from the kitchen. He is sitting at the living room table, eating his aromatic, but hopefully poisoned, food.

"So what do you want?" I hear a creaking sound only to discover she is already rummaging in all our cabinets, the fridge and freezer - she covers every surface area that may include food.

"McDonalds!"

"Dude, no, we already ate that yesterday."

"So? It's only problem for me because I'm already curvy. You can eat whatever you want and never get fat," she says, but I know she isn't jealous of me. She is okay with being curvy, as she should be because she is much prettier than me, plus she has a killer body.

"At least you have boobs and an ass," we hear a loud voice yell from across the room, at the table.

"Stop talking. You could choke on your food and die, we don't want that to happen, do we?" I sarcastically call back.

I focus my attention back to Lana. "Ugh, this guy is depressing." This time I make sure to whisper, so he won't hear us and not give him any more material to insult us further.

"Don't let him get to you, babe," Lana says, empathizing the babe-part - something she only does when she knows I am hurt and can use some support. "Now make me something to stuff my face with."

~*~

Aaaaaand? :)

Don't forget to vote/comment/share if you liked it!