17. Get In My Bed Right Fucking Now
17
GET IN MY BED RIGHT FUCKING NOW
MALLORY
I’ve been friends with Oliver Ashby since freshman year. Three years, and I've never been in his room. I’ve been in the house so many times, in fact I'm there most evenings, but I never go up to his room. Maybe he just doesn’t let anyone in there, like it’s his sanctuary, a place untouched by people and their opinions. Especially for him. He may be a hockey player, and super fucking hot, but he isn’t like the other boys on the team. I really wish that didn’t sound so goddamn cliché, but it’s true.
He’s a geek.
That’s the only word that comes to mind but I assume there’s a better way to describe it. Marvel fanatic, maybe? One who enjoys superheroes?
Either way, you get the point.
He loves all things Marvel, especially Spiderman, that’s his favourite. He’s not shy about it, he doesn’t hide this part of his personality. But I also know he only talks about it with certain people, and I'm proud to be at the top of his pyramid of loyalties.
I always assumed the reason why he didn’t bring girls home was because that means you’re serious about them. But now, having seen his room, I know why.
Inside the heather grey four walled room, is what I can only describe as the inside of Oliver’s mind.
I drop my bag by the door and slowly walk inside, taking everything in. He has a giant king size bed in the centre of his room, with navy blue sheets. And above the bed? Creepy alien poster.
Well, not an alien poster. I know what it is. Is that weird creepy goblin guy from one of the spiderman films. It’s fucking terrifying. His desk is next to his bed with polaroids on the wall, and little marvel minifigures placed on the shelves above.
He has a white spider web sticker on the mirror hanging in his closet – to be honest, I'm just surprised he has a full length mirror. His walls are covered with different posters from marvel films. There’s also one of Connor Markey, his favourite hockey player – whom I've met but will not tell him.
I can see Ollie from the corner of my eye as he closes the door behind him, a sheepish look plastered on his face.
He’s nervous. I can see why. This entire room reflects every corner of his personality. And I love it. If anything, I think I like him even more now. Which is a big problem.
“So uh, this is it.” He says, his voice a little horace.
“It’s… I love it.” I say, turning to face him. “It’s very you. In the best way.'' I offer him a smile as I reach for my handbag, pulling out my pyjamas as I head to his bathroom without another word.
I close the door behind me and plaster myself to it, silently cursing, slapping my forehead with my palm.
It’s very you. In the best way .
What the fuck was I thinking? Do friends even say that about each other?
They do, don’t they? Friends support each other and their personalities. They like you for you. Which is also what a crush would do.
No, Mallory. Do not blur the lines.
But then again, I think the lines blurred after he almost stuck his tongue in my mouth, and I wanted him to. I take out my toothbrush and run it under the water.
Do not blur the lines, and everything will be fine.
You’ll be fine.
But then I unbutton my jeans to slide my plaid pyjama pants on, and realise a grave error.
I am most definitely not fine.
I forgot to pack a shirt. All I have is pyjama pants, no top. I’m sure I packed it somewhere, but I have three suitcases, and no energy. I can’t wear the one I have on, because it’s just not a comfy sleep shirt. It’s basically a corset top, good for walking around in, not so good for sleeping.
I could… ask him for his?
No. NO.
That is not sticking to a line, that’s not blurring the lines, that’s mixing them until it’s one big fat line. Friends do NOT borrow shirts. Girlfriends borrow shirts.
I’m in the middle of my internal crisis when I hear a light knock on the bathroom door.
“Mallory, you doing okay in there?”
Lie. Lie. Lie. “Yeah, fine. It’s just um…”
LIE.
LIE. TO. HIM.
“I think I accidentally packed my pyjama tops in one of my suitcases.”
“Wear one of mine. ”
The words were out of his mouth before I even finished saying the word suitcase.
I – if he thinks it’s okay, then it must be – right? He doesn’t like me like that, so he must think it’s okay. But then, I think he does – god my brain is so jumbled.
“I’m going downstairs to get some water, pick whatever you want from my closet, okay?” I hear the subtle click of his door and take that as my queue. I exit the bathroom, looking at his closet, going through all the shirts folded in one of his hanging cubes. I search through them until I see one that makes me smile. He did say any of them. I take it from its place at the bottom and remove my shirt. I stop in my place as my fingers cling to the clasp of my bra.
Do I go braless? I think I should keep it on. But then again, I am sleeping on the floor, and I hate wearing the bra to bed. Maybe the shirt will be thick enough. Braless it is. I unclasp my bra and throw on the shirt, hiding my bra in my handbag.
I take a step back looking in the mirror, I have green plaid pants on, which are so big they look like mens… because I got them in the mens section but still, they look like Ollie’s. Pair it with the faded grey vintage spiderman shirt I picked – which I saw Ollie wear the first time we met – and I look like… his. I look like his.
I sigh, frowning at the sight of me. I look like Ollie’s girlfriend, and I hate it, because I feel good. I want this. But I can't ever have it. I’m moving.
Good god, Mallory. Get a grip.
I audibly sigh, noting the single blow up mattress on the floor with a pillow and comforter, courtesy of Courtney. She normally sleeps in Shawn’s room but tonight she’s at her house to help Abi adjust and settle in. The guilt nabs at my chest as I settle onto the floor, pulling the comforter up to my neck. I feel so guilty for just leaving her at Courtney’s. I should be there, too. I should’ve said no.
Gossip Girls
Me
I’m sleeping on Courtney’s couch.
Abi
Like fucking hell you are.
Court
I hereby rescind my offer.
There, now you have no choice but to stay.
Jules
Did the boys do something?
Because sometimes Tommy sleepwalks and he’s known to burp in his sleep.
Me
No, I haven't left the room, I'm in bed.
Abi
in his bed :)
Me
In COURT’S blow up bed.
Abi
Boo, you prude.
Come on Mallie, fwb is a thing for a reason…
MAKE A MOVE!
Court
While you still can…
Me
I hate you all.
Make a move.
I mean, technically Abi’s right. Friends with benefits does exist. If Ollie wanted to, as friends, I think I wouldn’t be opposed to–”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Oliver’s deep rumble scared the fucking shit out of me, and sent my phone flying. I clutch my hand to my chest. “Dude, you scared the crap out of me.” I look up to see Ollie standing there, clutching two glasses of water in his hands, his brows knitted, his eyes thin slits, staring right into my soul.
“Get in my bed right fucking now.”
“No. Look, the mattress is smaller so it makes sense that I–”
He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, like he’s fighting the urge to tackle me right now. His eyes are still closed when he says, “Mallory I'm not joking right now get into my bed or I will fight you. And I am double your weight, you will not win.”
His voice is so low and angry. I hate that it’s turning me on. I huff, pulling the comforter from my body and standing up, peeling back his navy comforter, and slipping into it, feeling the sweat drip from the back of my neck, because he watches me for the whole thing. His eyes are on me.
“There, happy?” I say, folding my arms, feeling tiny in his giant king size bed. I look over to him and see his throat bob, once, twice .
“That, um. That uh, that – that shirt,” he dips his chin up to point to my shirt, his shirt , that I chose.
“This is okay, right?”
He doesn’t respond, but instead swallows, the tiny ball in his throat bobbing up and down. He finally nods slightly, setting down my water next to me, and his closer to him.
I lean into his pillows, and holy fuck the boy wasn’t kidding. This is the softest mattress I've ever slept on.
And now that I've stolen his bed and I have in fact, felt what the blow–up one feels like, I feel like a massive jerk.
As he turns off the light, I speak into the dark abyss.
“Night, Ollie. Also this is a big bed, so if you want to sleep up here with me, that’s okay with me. Good night.”
It feels like forever goes by without a response, so I think he’s asleep.
But then I hear it.
The faintest words.
“Goodnight, Marshmallory.”