Definitely Not In The Arms Of An AngelA Story by Storygirl95When you and your boyfriend don't see eye to eye about sweet, innocent animals. You're the one who's correct, of course. Right? Not really a sequel to Idiot, but a continuation of their lives."Please?"
you ask, eyes wide and bottom lip quivering. "No," he
answers. "Come on! Pretty
please with cherries on top?" "Still no." "I'll cry." "No you won't. At
least not real tears." "..." "Oh, giving me the
silent treatment now?" "I wouldn't be if
you would say yes." "Nope." "You're heartless,
you know that?" "Whatever you say,
babe." Your boyfriend flops
onto the couch and stares at the television disinterestedly. You shift your eyes back
to the shot of a shivering dog in the snow, Sarah McLachlan’s "Angel"
playing in the background. "How can you look
at that poor animal and not feel something? Look, he's shivering! You love
dogs!" you attempt to appeal to him. "I do love dogs,
but that doesn't mean I'm going to give them my money," he replies
nonchalantly. "See? Heartless,"
you scoff. "I'm sad it's
happening, babe. I do have feelings," he groans at you. You can tell the
exasperation is starting to seep into his voice. "Apparently you
don't," you bite back. He rolls his eyes. You
hate when he does that. "I do care.
But the ASPCA doesn't need our money as much as we do." He focuses on trying to
reach the remote on the table with his foot. Although he's athletic enough to
be on an Olympic track team, the boy is so lazy when it comes to anything not
competitive. You don't really get it. "Yes it does!"
you exclaim, trying to make your point. He doesn't even look up,
groaning when the remote drops off the table and lands on the floor. He shifts
from his position on the couch to sink lower so he can reach it. "Look," you
try again, more desperate, "An animal is abused every hour! We can
help!" When he doesn't respond,
you grab a pillow off the couch and smack him in the face with it. He's not
even fazed. You sigh in frustration,
lowering your gaze onto the stupid device laying on the floor. Honestly, he was
expending more energy trying to get it with his foot than it would take to
reach down and grab it. "Hey!" you
bark at him, "Are you even listening to me? Or has your brain finally
deteriorated to mush because all you do is watch TV?" You reach down to snag
the remote from him, just as he has managed to grasp it with his toes. He sighs, like this is
some sort of game he's forced to play, but when he looks up you can tell he's
amused. Jerk. "I've heard no
complaints about my lack of activity in other...shall I say, areas," he
responds, raising his eyebrows at you like a ten year old. "I will hit you. Seriously." You try to go
for firm and admonishing with your tone, but it doesn't really come out that
way. He smirks and you lunge
for the pillow next to you, promptly slamming it into his face once again. He
takes it without complaint. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to upset you
more than you are now, but it's more likely a combination of the fact you have
noodle arms and that the pillow is made of soft feathers. "What do you want
me to say, babe?" he asks slowly, locking eyes with yours. You can tell he's trying
to soften you up, and with the way you feel when his irises turn into molten
chocolate you know it's working. No. No. Stand your ground. "I want you to say
yes." "And I want a
million dollars. But I don't have a million dollars, nor will I be receiving a
million dollars, which is why the answer is still and will continue to be
no." He has now started to
pick at the fuzz on his sweater, looking far too determined to remove the
offending objects. It would be cute if you weren't trying to be agitated. "But they're
cold," you start, trying to make yourself cry, "They're on the
street, homeless." "Which is what
we'll be if we give them our money." he answers coolly. You go up an octave when
you whine, and take shorter breaths to simulate crying. He looks up at you
momentarily with concern before he figures out your tears aren't real. Then he
goes back to his sweater fuzz mission. You suddenly wish he
didn't know you so well. "It's only a little
each month," you try in a more reasoning tone. "So is the coffee
you always want in the morning. So unless you can live without said coffee, the
answer is no. Again." You find yourself
wishing again, this time that he wasn't good at arguing. You contemplate for a
moment before he reminds you that you get caffeine headaches without it. You
curse. "Baby,
please," you drop to his side, "They're lonely. They have nobody to
love them." "Which is what you'll
be like if you give them money," he answers. You are taken aback for
a moment, until you look at his cocky smile. He's just being a smartass like
usual. "Take that
back!" you exclaim, this time pushing the blanket draped over the back of
the couch onto his face. He batters at it
ineffectually for a while before untangling himself. "Okay, I didn't
mean it," he says apologetically as he peers up at your petulant face,
"But let me tell you I will not be sharing my warmth if we end up having
to live in a cardboard box because you couldn't stand to watch a dog be
lonely." "I dislike
you," you answer back, still sulking. "Whatever you
say," he repeats again, this time with a smile, "It's got to be
pretty hard to love someone when you dislike them though." You bite your lip and
try to regain your stern feelings. Why must you have no emotional control? "They give you a
free bag," you try again, "We need a new grocery bag." "We just bought
three new bags a week ago." You were hoping he
didn't remember that. "They give you a
free shirt. I know how much you love new shirts." Ha! How about that! "I have enough
shirts. And it's not really free. Not in a sense." He's got a point... "They send you a
picture of the animal you're helping! Don't you want to see a cute, fluffy
friend?" This one couldn't fail. "If I want to look
at pictures of animals I'll go on Google." You guess it could. "Fine!" you
shout, pushed past the point of reasoning, "Be a heartless jerk face for
all I care." You slump onto the couch
next to him, determined to look disgruntled, and curl into a ball. Your boyfriend smiles
warmly at you before he chuckles, and readjusts himself so he can reach for
your hand. Before you can pull it
out of range in a grumpy manner, he steals it away from your human cocoon and
presses the back of it to his lips. "Maybe we can
invest in the next valiant cause, okay babe?" He asks softly, rubbing
circles into your palm. You don't say anything
to hide the fact that your heart has skipped several beats, and you wonder how
you don't have heart arrhythmia problems. "Whatever,"
you finally say back, trying not to look at his face. He laughs again at your
behavior before unexpectedly pulling you to him. He gives you a kiss on your
temple before lithely rising from the couch. "I'm going to go
take a shower," he announces, stepping away. As you watch him pad
across the room, an idea forms in your head. Just because he didn't
say you could give the ASPCA money doesn't mean that if he didn't know about
that money, that you couldn't do it anyway. Yes. You could do it. You had a
joint bank account and you knew all the information. You would do it while he
was in the shower. The number to donate was still on the screen. "Hey, babe,"
you hear a voice call as your boyfriend's head pops out from around the corner,
"One more thing." You trail your line of
sight upwards so you lock eyes, and you raise an eyebrow when he grins cheekily. "I check our bank
account every day. Love you." He ducks back again. Damn it. © 2015 Storygirl95Author's Note
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Added on September 6, 2015 Last Updated on September 6, 2015 Tags: humor(hopefully), romance, silly |