Disabled

Do you know what I absolutely love about thick girls? Their thighs. I love thick thighs so much. They're sexy asf and I know I've said it before but I'll say it again. All y'all thick girls be sexy and pretty asf 😍😍😍🙌🙌🙌 y'all winnin.

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I absolutely need to get over my writer's block for my other books, but I'll be typing away this holiday and get as much done as I can.

In the spirit of surviving finals week and my multiple breakdowns, here's a chapter. I'm still pissed I'm getting a B+ in Geography though, but I feel better because it's not my fault. My professor's just an asshole and I hope he breaks his big toe, stubbing it on a side table.

Who has some interesting stories for me?

**~**

I sprained my ankle.

It's not severe but it is to the point where I have to wear a brace. I blame my weight, but on the bright side, it's one of the fancy ones that lace up. My mom just finished putting my brace on and Arthur's sitting at the other end of the couch with my feet in his lap as he doodled on the white cloth.

He's been here for a while and held my hand as my mother put my brace on. I kept screaming when she had to pull the laces and he's the one who shut me up before my mom had to. She would've socked me in my mouth. Her patience only stretches so thin.

They kept up their meaningless small talk the whole time, to which I continuously dozed off. When I woke up a couple of minutes ago my head was in Arthur's lap and he was brushing hair out of my face. I honestly have no clue how he did that without my dad kicking him out, and when I asked, Arthur said the exchange happened when he left the room. So, I urged him to switch back before my dad walked in again and saw.

"Draw a pony!" I exclaim excitedly.

"I'm not drawing a pony." He leans back into the couch and looks over at me.

"Why not?" I eye him with a pout.

"You're too old for ponies, Grace." He smirks at me.

I blink lazily. "That's your reason? Fine. It was nice knowing you." I look away from him and turn my head toward the kitchen, where I knew my parents were probably eavesdropping. "Dad!" I shout without a second thought.

Right on cue, he stumbles through the kitchen doorway, then looks at me sheepishly. I'm pretty sure my mom shoved him. She likes throwing him under the bus in times like these.

He clears his throat and adjust his already straight T-shirt. "Yeah?"

I hold back a giggle. "Take me to my room," I order.

His eyebrows raise, and I know he's not going to be carrying me anywhere with my attitude. "You talkin' to me?" He looks behind him, his index finger pressing against his chest, then looks back at me. "I know you not talkin' to me."

I stick out my bottom lip and reply, "Fine. I'll do it myself." I start to shift my legs on Arthur's lap and he holds them down firmly, keeping his hands away from my injured ankle.

"Oh, come on," Arthur says lightly, applying a small amount of pressure to my legs in what I'm guessing is supposed to be a comforting gesture. "Don't be like that. I was kidding."

I keep my face away from his direction, and concentrate on not blushing. Trying with all my might to ignore the fluttering feeling in my stomach of his hands on my legs. I had to change my joggers and had on a pair of cut-offs now. I must say, it was a disaster when my mom helped me change. Anyone passing the bathroom would think I was being skinned alive. It only went on until she had taken an air-freshener bottle from where it was on the sink and pointed it in my face as she threatened me in Spanish. Like I said, her patience has a short time span.

Arthur realizes I'm serious and turns to my dad. "You mind if I take her up?"

He shakes his head. "Not like I was going to, with that dirty attitude." He gives me a look, but turns back to Arthur and adds threateningly, "But no funny business. I'll fuck you up." He threatens, his dad side coming into play.

Arthur's body goes rigid under my legs and I feel him shudder. He keeps it together as much as he can and nods quickly. "Yes, Sir."

Can't say I wrong him, my dad is a big guy--all muscle with a number of tattoos covering his dark skin. He was my motivator over the summer when we'd go to the gym. I was very unfit, so I made it my mission to start going to the gym. Every day after dad came in from work we'd go to the gym together or play basketball in the backyard. But since school rolled up, ain't nobody have time for that.

Arthur places my feet on the ground and stands. He hooks one arm under my knees, the other around my back and lifts me up from the couch easily. I keep my eyes away from him with my arms crossed over my chest, but my heart lurches in my chest. The familiar panic of him dropping me, coming back. I don't think I'll ever get used to the fact that he can carry me. I will forever fear that he's going to drop me, but at the moment, I'm trying not to let that fear overwhelm me because I wanna be petty.

I hear him let out a sigh before he starts making his way to the stairs.

I direct him to my room and when we get there, the door's already open, so he just walks in.

The room gets a hundred times hotter when it sinks in that he's in my room. Arthur Kingsley is in my room.

My palms are already sweating and I'm overthinking about all that's wrong with my room. Like the shirt hanging on the back of my chair by my desk and the pair of shoes sitting by the balcony french doors.

He walks over to my bed and lowers me on the fluffy covers.

But that's not all.

He stays hovered over me with his hands on either side of my head. He's dangerously close, and my eyes keep jumping from his to anything else because he's making me anxious. Both in a good and bad way. I'm a second away from shaking.

Dang nerves!

I don't know what to do and my nervousness isn't helping one bit. So I stuttered out, "M-My dad sa-said no funny business." My fists are closed tightly by my sides and my head press into the soft mattress.

He starts laughing. A full-blown, clutch your stomach laugh and buries his face in my peach-colored pillows. I blink, staring blankly at the ceiling. I've never heard him laugh like that. At least not up close. He sounds so cute.

When he finally sobers up, I'd counted around fifty cracks in my ceiling. I'm going to inform my father about my findings. They bother me. They must be covered immediately.

"I'm sorry, Gorgeous." He says, chuckling. He doesn't sound apologetic at all.

An arm wraps around my torso and Arthur buries his face in my neck, momentarily. Heat rushes to my face and I have to take a few breaths to calm down before I speak again.

"Arthur?" I don't know how my voice came out steady, but I'm more than grateful. I've already made a fool of myself enough today.

"Hm?" I can feel the outline of his features against the side of my neck. This isn't helping my not wanting to make a fool out of myself anymore.

"What are you doing?"

"That thing..." He trails off in confusion. "The thing that couples do..."

I blink multiple times. "You mean cuddling?" I ask.

"Yeah, that." He exhales and his lips brush against my neck.

Hate to break it to him, but this hardly counts as cuddling...

"What if I don't want to cuddle with you?" I say, lying through my teeth.

He leans up, his lips touching my ear. "Well too bad," he whispers, "I guess you'll just have to call your dad."

My body's heating up real fast and I can't help my shiver. "Fine." I open my mouth to call my dad, but just as quickly as I did, he's in the bed and almost lying on top of me. He slaps a hand over my mouth, wide-eyed.

"Are you crazy!?" He whisper-shouts in my face and removes his hand, pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of me.

"But you said-" I start, only for him to cut me off.

"Don't listen to what I say!" He was a few octaves away from shouting. Frantic. I guess he really is afraid of my dad. Huh. If he doesn't lower his voice, I won't have to call anyone.

"Lower your voice," I say, leaning away as much as I can.

He stares at me and I see him visibly relax before sighing. "Sorry. Your dad scares me."

I let out a low laugh, before forcing it down. Without meaning to, my hand comes up to shove his hair out of his face, keeping my fingers tangled in the strands. We stare at each other for a while and I'm momentarily lost in his dark brown eyes. I take in the sharpness of his jaw, how his sideburns did more wonders for his features, and how anyone who did his fade is one of the best artists on this earth.

"Gorgeous?" He's staring at my face intently.

"Hm?" I blush. I'll never get used to that name, either.

"You have a pimple." Right then, my bubble burst.

My hand flies up to my face to cover the monster that resides just below my nose. "I know." My voice is slightly muffled behind my hand.

He's right. I do have a pimple. I tried popping it but it felt like I was going to piss myself.

"Let me kill it." He says, staring into my eyes.

My eyes widen in fear and I shake my head. "That's gross," I say to try and play off the fact that I'm scared. If it didn't hurt so much, I probably would've let him. Better yet, it wouldn't still be there.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Let me pop that pimple." He demands.

"Nuh-uh." I shake my head again.

Arthur shifts so he's straddling me and I knew a war is about to take place in my room, on the 21 of September, at some time around 5 o'clock.

Arthur slaps my hand away and places both of his on my face. In my struggle, I kick and fight with everything I have, ignoring the screaming pain in my injured foot, but the boy won't budge. It's my pimple! He applies pressure with his thumbs and I feel as if every nerve in my body felt it. Pain shoots through my face and my skin prickles as if that one pimple somehow connects to every nerve in my body. And I've never felt more violated. Never in my life did I think I'd be caught in a predicament like this.

I slap his hands away, crying out. It feels like my face is on fire. I push him off me with all my might and he rolls onto the floor with a loud thud and a groan. I lift my hand up to where my pimple used to be. I look at my hand and see blood on my fingers. He killed it. He killed the monster. I felt relief and pain run through me. My face is throbbing.

"What the fuck did he do!?" My door slams open. My dad is furious and my mom's worried.

I turn to look at Arthur who's sitting on the floor, only his eyes visible over the edge of my bed. They hold a great amount of fear as he stares at my dad. I want to laugh so badly but that will only make my face hurt more.

"What the hell!" My mother runs over to me in panic. "You're bleeding!"

"I'm gonna kill you!" My dad shouts, marching into the room.

"No! No! Dad!"

He stops and looks over at me, his eyes holding anger. "It's the pimple."

He relaxes and his eyes zoom in on something on my face. Quickly, his expression turns to disgust, but he says, "You mean that big ugly thing that was on your face that you wouldn't let me kill."

"Yeah." I nod.

"How come he gets to and I didn't!" He exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air and glaring at me.

"I didn't tell him to do it!" I shout back. I audacity of this man.

The things we argue about in this house. The sad part is, this is normal.

He and mom get into a heated discussion after that about him being ridiculous and him defending himself, something that works in his favor seeing as he's a lawyer. I still don't know how he keeps the occupation, but he's like two different people at home and work.

Just then, Arthur gets up and walks into my bathroom, making me panic. There are things in there that he shouldn't see.

"Get out of my bathroom!" I shout anxiously.

When he does, he's smirking with a rag in his hand. He sits next to me on my bed and starts wiping the blood off my face. I stare anxiously at the twinkling amusement in his eyes.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "It was bothering me."

"My blood?" I ask, tilting my head and looking down my nose at the wet rag pressed against the irritated spot below it.

"No. The pimple." He shakes his head. "I do that to my sister too. They just bother me. Only my sister's... a lot more aggressive. We get into fights." His eyes became distant like he's remembering. He shakes his head a second later. "That's mostly when she's uncooperative."

I think before I say, "You're crazy." I let out a long breath. "I felt like I was going to pee my pants."

He grins at me. "My bad."

"Sure you are." I narrow my eyes at him and he shrugs.

"I really don't like being a third wheeler." I look over to see my dad standing in the middle of my room, his arms crossed and a bored look on his face.

"You're married." I remind him, my eyes moving to my mom.

His head tilts back and he makes a face as if he actually forgot. Then he nods slowly, "Oh, yeah. I forget som-" He stops abruptly and his head snaps over to my mom who's staring at him without a trace of emotion, but even I know it's the calm before the storm.

My dad knows that too, which is why he tries stuttering out, "I'm just kiddin' around. I do that all the time, right?" Then when he sees that that's not working and she isn't budging, he lets out a sharp nervous laugh, then turns swiftly and runs out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Excuse me." Mom grits out lowly.

Even from this angle, I can see that her jaws are clenched and she is not happy. She gets up from the spot next to me on the bed and stomps to the door, flinging it open, then slamming it shut once more. They might as well just take the thing off since it's such a problem opening and closing it normally.

I hate when they fight because they always come to me with their issues, saying that I've been in a two-year relationship, as if they haven't been married for 18 years. Then they proceed to take their anger out on my door, which they have broken one or two times before. Sometimes I feel like it's a huge inside joke they have, and when they go to bed, they laugh about how flustered and confused I look answering and trying to process their questions and comments.

"Are they gonna fight?" Arthur asks, staring at the door.

"You best believe it." I shrug and try to lay back down on the bed. My ankle is hurting so much right now because of my kicking, I can hardly move it.

"Let me help you." He gives me the rag and stands up.

Just as he's about to touch me, I slap his hands away. "Thanks, but I'm not disabled."

"Yes, you are. Shut up." Then he shifts me to the middle of the bed.

I close my eyes sighing and open them when the bed dips. He didn't even ask my permission in the first place to be on my bed. How rude.

And I'm just realizing that now.

It's still rude.

He takes the rag, folds it and hands it back to me. "Here. Keep this on it." His arm goes around my torso, and he snuggles up to me. Actually snuggling this time, instead of nuzzling. I sigh, but I'm not disappointed that's for sure.