Straight as They Come, Kinda

3: Cold Shoulders and Fists

Peter's fingers landed on the doorbell for the third time, making it buzz. He had been standing there for two minutes now and no one had come to the door yet.

The night was cold and harsh and pricked at his skin. He crossed his arms and rubbed his palms against his skin in a bid to get warmer. Ivy had told him to take a jacket but Peter had refused. Now, he was freezing and the goosebumps on his skin didn't look like they were going to disappear anytime soon.

He didn't like the feeling one bit; it reminded him of how he felt everytime the Colin guy spoke to him. It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him unexpectedly and it left him distorted and confused.

Especially when the guy had the nerve to ask him if he was gay. It had been like a blow to him- how could anyone ask him that? Peter sure didn't think he looked gay. Wait, did gay people have a look?

He was also a hundred percent sure he wasn't giving off any signals or gay vibes. Peter was straight, like a ruler. No curves and definitely no bends.

What about those flexible rulers, they're also rulers too? he asked himself and immediately regretted it. He shouldn't even be giving that subject this much attention. He was not gay. He didn't like boys. That was the straight and simple truth.

And it was the reason why Peter had told Colin exactly what he did when that bomb of a question was thrown at him.

"It seems like you really don't have a head atop your neck. I am not gay. And if I were, I feel like I could do so much better than you."

He had stormed out of the store and a couple of blocks to his house, had realized the mistake he had made. He shouldn't have added that last sentence. He later realized that it could suggest that he was open to the idea of being gay or something, which was a lie.

But he wouldn't dwell on that at this time. He was focused on getting his girlfriend back- wiping that ex out of existence. Plus, he was cold. So very cold.

But Peter wasn't ever going to mention the part where he had to blow on his hands and shuffle from one foot to the other to Ivy- it was something he'd never recount on. He couldn't let Ivy know she was right to tell him to take a coat or jacket along. Her head's already too big for her body, no need in making it bigger, he thought to himself.

Peter pressed on the doorbell one more time before pacing on the porch. It was to get his blood running again. His hands had started turning a pale blue.

The pounding of footsteps came from within the house and a voice followed the heavy sounds. "Hang on. Dammit... I'm coming."

The latch was released and a mop of fiery red hair appeared from behind the door. Vivid blue eyes met his, and a groan erupted from the girl. Her freckle-dusted cheeks hollowed and her small nose crinkled.

The first time Lily had asked him what his girlfriend- ahem, ex-girlfriend- looked like, his mind had conjured an image of that Disney Princess with the thick scottish accent. What was her name again? Aha, Merida.

Lily had told him- after he gave a most heartfelt description- that she sounded like a caricature. It had hurt him because he had really tried that time, but nonetheless, it didn't change the fact that this ex was a beauty.

"Oh, it's you," she said, face scrunching up like she'd just drank from a sour lemon.

The girl began to shut the door in his face but he was quick to use his leg to block the action. It was effective; the door didn't get slammed in his face. But his foot did get the receiving end of the bat.

Swallowing down the pain and ignoring the fact that his foot had begun to throb in the scruffy black converse it was in, he started speaking.

"Kay, don't do this to me. I wanna talk to you."