Pixie Hollow Tea Party

The back doorknob banged and rattled before there was a pounding against the window and Diego’s voice called out, “Yo Trev!” 

“What!” Trev called back, as Natalie struggled and screamed beneath his hand.

“Qué tal, mang? Why’s your door locked! We hangin', or what!”

“Not now!” 

“Awe, for real, man? Why! Whatchu doin’!”

“Fuck off, Di, I’m busy!” 

“With what! Ain’t no way you got Blondie slummin’ it in there witchu! You jerkin' off or somethin’? That’s nasty, bro, at least take it to your bedroom!”

Trev’s scowl broke into a snicker. “Yeah, man, I’m crankin’ it! Now get outta here, I’ll text you later!”

“Aight, man, you better! You still owe me twenty bucks for this fuckin’ weed, man, I ain’t above smokin’ it without you!”

Diego’s footsteps drew back down the courtyard stairs to the second floor before Trev lifted his hand off of her. “Un-believable, Nat. Didn’t I tell you no one would hear you scream?”

She huffed, glaring up at him, sensing that the banter with Diego had shaken him from whatever sinister fit he’d been possessed by since his arrival home. “You know that’s a thing serial killers say, right?” 

He snickered. Then his eyes squinted down at her, his head tilting. His fingers wrapped around her and he lifted her close to his eyes to inspect the dried blood streaked across her face, the rusty red smeared and glistening beneath the greasy film of foot sweat.

“What’s this from?” he asked, running the tip of his thumb over the blood streaks.

“My ears,” she grumbled, jerking away from him. “From when you screamed at me earlier. I told you you’d blow my eardrums.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He licked his thumb and rubbed it over her face to wipe off the blood as she groaned and grimaced and cringed away from him, reluctant to have any more of his bodily fluids smeared across her face. “Good thing you apparently have super healing these days or I’da felt like a real dick.”

His fist suddenly tilted sideways, his fingers snapping open and Natalie flopped over into his palm with an “Umph.” She grunted, shakily lifting herself to her elbows, just as the thumb and index finger of his other hand pinched around the front of her tissue dress, yanking her upright to sit in his open palm. She panted, glaring up at him as he eyed her dress. “This is cute,” he smiled, kneading the fabric between his giant fingers. Then he ripped it off, tossing it aside to float down to the floor.

She scoffed, crossing her arms, but his fingers pinched around them, forcing them apart, his eyes narrowing as he looked over her naked body. She crossed them again and he uncrossed them again, grumbling, “Stay still.”

“Quit ogling me, you perv!” 

He ignored her, still frowning at her torso. She followed his gaze downward and drew in breath. The skin of her torso, arms, and legs was tie-dyed in big, hideous blotches of black and blue. She whipped her head back up to scowl at him, hoping he was fucking happy with the damage he’d done. He didn’t look happy. But he didn’t look particularly unhappy either. His face was completely void of emotion as he frowned down at her. She wondered what was going through his head. Guilt, probably. But that was likely getting quickly whisked away to the back of his brain, too intense of an emotion for him to process without launching into another hysterical fucking meltdown.

She waited impatiently to hear what he had to say for himself; whether he would break down in tears, begging her forgiveness for crushing her to a purple pulp, or start yelling at her again for driving him to it. What she was not expecting was for him to mutter, “Cool.”

“COOL?” she shouted. She waved her hands angrily around her bruised and battered body, “You think this is COOL?”

“You’re like a mood ring.”

“WHAT?”

“Look!”

He poked her in the belly and she looked down at herself to see the bruises that had been black and blue just moments before had already morphed into shades of purples and greens. As she watched, she could actually see the colors slowly lightening to yellows and reds, the bruises healing before their very eyes. “Yeah, okay,” she grumbled. “That is kinda cool.”

“Mm,” he grunted, then his gaze snapped to her face. “Don’t ever do that again.”

She sky-rocketed upwards, toppling over in his open palm with a yelp as he rose to his feet and walked across the living room. She latched her arms around his slightly cupped middle finger to steady herself, squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to look down at the panning floor, far below, as he carried her back to his bedroom. 

He walked over to the desk, tossing her onto the bed as he passed by and she flew through the air and sank into the colorful woven blanket with an “Umph!” She struggled for a moment to disentangle herself, sitting upright with a huff as he knelt down beside her, running his fingers down the piece of string hanging from his desk drawer. He wrenched the drawer the rest of the way open to find the leverage system she’d rigged up using his headphones, ruler, and a piece of string. He turned his head to grin over at her. “Damn, McGeiver, look at you.”

He lifted his stack of post-it notes and laughed. “‘My dearest Trevor’,” he read aloud. “‘Fuck you, dick, I’m going home. Love from Natalie.’ Awe,” he tsked, putting his hand to his heart, grinning over at her again. “You wrote me a poem?”

He ripped off her post-it and reached over her to stick it to the wall above his headboard. He grabbed a pencil from the drawer and sat on the floor beside the desk, thinking for a second, counting syllables with his fingers, then jotted down a message and ripped off the post-it. He smiled warmly and reached over to hold it up for her to read:

Dear little mouse girl,

Fuck you, too, I own you, now

With love, Trevor D.

She scowled from the post-it note up at his face, snarling, “Whaddya mean you ‘own’ me?”

He grinned and flipped the post-it around, sticking it to her forehead and she fell back, cursing and smacking and kicking at the huge yellow square. He laughed. “You’re so cute.” He peeled the post-it off of her, tousling her hair, and stuck it up on the wall next to hers. 

“So how long’d it take you to get this open?” he asked with a smirk, sliding the drawer back and forth a couple of times with ease. “I knew better than to leave you out on the desk, assuming you’d be crazy enough to climb down, but I honestly didn’t think I had to worry about you getting the drawer open. So, kudos. I now know better than to leave you unattended.” 

He got to his feet, rising over her. Her shoulders hunched automatically, her heart picking up speed as he lowered his open palm towards her expectantly. 

Her eyes snapped to his hand and back up to his face. “Where are you taking me?”

“Everywhere, apparently.”

She eyed him suspiciously. He rolled his eyes and snatched her up. “Come on, I don’t have all day. It’s a bit late for lunch, but I haven't fed you yet.”

He carried her to the kitchen and tossed her onto the counter, where she skidded along the tile surface and plopped over onto her butt with an “Umph.” 

“Please quit doing that!” she called up to him as he took off his backpack and set it onto the counter beside her. 

“Quit being so cute,” he said absently as he unzipped his backpack and pulled out some groceries, setting them on the counter to tower around her; a can of refried beans, some queso fresco, a bunch of cilantro, an avocado, a lime, a bag of flour tortillas, and a small green and pink plastic toy case, still wrapped in its plastic packaging, depicting a fairy tea party in a mystical forest of twinkling lights, tree houses, and mushroom furniture.

“‘Pixie Hollow Tea Party Play-Set’,” Natalie read in disgust. “Trevor, why?”

He leaned over her to see the play-set, angling it towards him to continue reading, “‘Includes tea pot, tea cups, plates and saucers. Perfect for ages four and up.’ Look, it even comes with a couple of choking hazard fairy friends for you to pal around out with.”

“Trevor, noo.”

“What?” he smirked, opening the can of refried beans. “You needed some cups and plates. This was the smallest I could find.”

“Did you have to get such a girly one?” 

“It’s a tea party toy, they’re all girly,” he laughed as he scooped the beans into a frying pan. “Why do you still have such an aversion to girly toys? You're almost seventeen. Move on.”

“You know damn well why. You and Nick and all our friends always got all these cool games and action figures and shit on your fucking birthdays, while I got stuck with a buncha lame ass ballerina barbies.”

“Yeah, I remember. I always got to keep all the offending toys, your birthdays were the best. Guess it took you shrinking to finally get you to play tea party with me.”

She chuckled dryly. “Can I ask how long we gotta play this game before you bring me home?”

“Sure you can,” he said absently, mashing up some avocado with lime and cilantro in a towering bowl beside her.

Natalie waited expectantly while he went right on mashing, then she huffed. “How long will we have to play this game, Trevor?”

“I dunno. Till it stops being fun.”

“This isn’t fun! You keep hurting me, very badly, it’s not okay!”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, patting her head. “I did always tend to play a bit rough with my toys.”

She whacked his hand away, yelling, “I’m not a TOY!”

He whacked her back, saying, “Pipe down, Barbie,” and she face-planted to the counter.

She pushed herself back up again, glaring and grumbling under her breath.

“You know what I can’t stop thinking about?” he asked as he opened up the Tea Party Play-Set, pulling out the tiny dishes and organizing them on the counter. “What are the fucking odds we both got to the door at the exact same time? Like, I don’t even know why I went up that way. I was deep in thought, trying to figure out how I was ever going to beg your forgiveness for being such a dick to you all morning. And for whatever reason, I was just drawn up that way and then, like, there you were, staring up at me from the fucking floor. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“It was an uncanny coincidence, yes.”

“Was it also an uncanny coincidence that I was the one with you when you shrank? That we were off alone, in the spot beneath the stairs that no one else knows about?”

“We were off alone because you dragged me off alone.”

“You really don’t think it means something?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Like I’m meant to take care of you or something.”

“Well you’ve done a smashing job of it so far, what with all the stepping on me and what not.”

“Well that’s what happens when you scamper around on the floor, but that’s not gonna happen again, now is it?”

He removed the frying pan from the burner and tossed a tortilla over the flame to warm it up, then pressed one of the tiny plastic tea saucers upside down into its edge to stamp out a little circle. He laid it out over one of the tiny plates and scooped on a bit of refried beans, mashed avocado, and some crumbles of cheese, like a tiny taco pizza. He pulled out the little plastic toadstool table from the play-set. “Would you like to be seated at your ‘Pixie Hollow Tea Table’?” She stared stoically up at him, unamused, and he sighed and dropped the table back in the play-set, handing her the plate. “You’re the lamest toy ever.”

He fixed himself a plate using the rest of the tortilla he’d used to make her taco pizza, plus three more, smothering them in hot sauce, while Natalie picked at her plate. It smelled overpoweringly of beans and avocado and lime and cheese. She tore off a chunk and took a small bite. The flavor was similar to what it would have been at full size, but intensely magnified on her tiny taste buds. The texture of beans and avocado felt chunky and foreign, the thick tortilla tough and chewy against her tiny teeth. She took a long time chewing, feeling suddenly queasy, before gulping it down with a grimace, clutching her tight, aching belly. 

Trev set his own plate behind her, leaning on the counter against his elbows on either side of her. Natalie watched, somewhat transfixed, as he lifted one of his tacos—the size of a taco truck—high above her head and took a huge bite, larger than her entire serving, larger than her entire body. He stared back down at her with furrowed brows as he chewed and grumbled through his mouthful, “Why aren’t you eating? What’s wrong with it?”

She jolted, breaking from her stupor to blink back down at her taco pizza and mumble, “Nothing, it’s fine.”

He swallowed with an audible gulp. “Is the texture weird?”

“No... I mean, yes, the texture’s very weird, but it’s still good. I’m just not very hungry.”

“How can you possibly not be hungry? Didn’t you say you haven’t eaten in like, two days?”

She shrugged.

Trev scowled. “The fuck is going on with you, Nat? Are you, like, literally starving to death right now?”

She scowled back. “It’s fine, Trevor, thank you for your concern.”

“No it’s not, Natalie, it’s not fucking fine, you’re a fucking skeleton. Is this like an eating disorder thing or is Frank neglecting to fucking feed you, again?”

“Fuck off, it’s none of your fucking business!”

“Yes it is,” he snapped. “You are my toy, and it is my fucking business if I say it is, now eat.” He lurched upright before she could respond, smacking his taco back down to his plate and snatching one of the tiny tea cups. He stalked over to the sink and pinched the cup by its edges, holding it under the faucet while water splashed over his finger tips. He stalked back to her, setting the tea cup before her, filled to the rim. “Drink some fucking water, too, you can’t survive offa nothing but coffee.”

She glared up at him, then slowly pushed the tiny plate and cup away from her and turned her nose away from them, arms crossed.

“Oh, what, now you’re not gonna eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He scoffed. “Fine, whatever.” He snatched his plate in one hand and leaned back against the kitchen island, using his other hand to lift his taco and take another huge bite, chewing angrily without looking at her, glowering straight ahead out the kitchen window. She sat stubbornly with her arms crossed while he scarfed down his four tacos, then stormed around her, washing up the lunch dishes and putting away the rest of the groceries. Then he stomped to a halt above her, gesturing towards her with clenched hands. “Eat, Natalie!”

“I’m not hungry.”

“What do I have to do to get you to eat?”

“Take me home.”

“I’m not taking you anywhere until you fucking eat!”

“Well get cozy.”

“You think I won’t shove it down your fucking throat?”

“As if you could, dick-for-brains, you’re too big.”

“Agggh,” he groaned in frustration, bonking his knuckles against his forehead. “Please eat!”

He frowned down at her and she sensed genuine concern beneath his heated outburst. She lifted her plate, smiling stoically up at him, and smacked it upside down, splattering it against the countertop. She snarled up at him, daring him to do his fucking worst. She could take it. She’d heal.

He nodded down at the flipped plate, tight jawed. “Well that’s the last time I cook for you, ya dick.” He grabbed a sponge to wipe up the tiny smashed taco. “But I’m taking the moral high ground on this one, Natalie. I’m not gonna starve you, no matter how much you’re asking for it. You just go ahead and let me know when you’re ready to eat and I’ll get you something.”

He washed her plastic plate, dried it off, and stacked it atop the others. He rummaged through the cupboards overhead, pulling out a small tea tin. He pushed the teabags aside to hide the tiny plastic dishes beneath them, adding, “Can you at least be a good toy and drink your water so I can put your little toy cup away?”

She seethed with loathing and snatched up the tiny teacup, hurling it as hard as she could off the edge of the counter in a spiral of water and Trev’s hand swiftly dropped down to catch it as it fell. His gaze descended upon her. 

“I am not,” she snarled. “Your toy.”

“Okay,” he said serenely, wiping down the tea cup and adding it into the tea tin. He snapped on its lid before setting it back in the cupboard overhead. “You wanna big girl cup?” He pulled a pint-sized water glass from another cupboard. “Have a big girl cup.” 

He tilted the glass below the counter, the circular rim rising before her, and his other hand whacked into her from behind, knocking her forward to slide, headfirst, down the glass, smacking hard at the bottom with an “Umph!”

Natalie hurriedly scrambled herself up to her hands and knees, bellowing, “Fuck you, Trevor!” her voice echoing against the glass, just as the cup jerked violently forward and she smacked downwards again. Through the bottom of the glass she could see Trev’s incredibly long legs stalking swiftly across the kitchen floor for a couple of steps before stomping to a halt before the counter. She lifted herself frantically to her hands and knees, looking up to see his hand wrapped around the side of the glass, the lines and wrinkles and ridges of his palm and fingers pressed up and smoothed against the clear surface. His tee-shirt drew quickly away as the glass lowered into the kitchen sink and the faucet loomed into view overhead. 

Before she could make any attempt to protest, his other hand shot past to turn on the faucet, and she lurched back, ducking against the side of the glass with her arms over her head, taking a deep breath as a cylindrical torrent of water came crashing down. It smacked against the bottom of the glass and she clamped her eyes and mouth shut as shockingly cold water crashed against her, knocking her under the violently rising rapids. This lasted for only a couple of seconds before the faucet switched off again and Natalie kicked madly to the surface, sucking down breath.

“FUCK YOU TREVOR!” she screeched, struggling to wade in the water as it waved and vibrated with every step he took, smashing up and down and side to side against the glass wall. He’d only filled it about half way, so she was level with his hand, the sloshing water magnifying and distorting the bottom half of his palm and fingers. His torso rose up from the back of the glass while the kitchen swept by from the front and sides, his chin and nose above and his magnified legs stalking in and out of view below. 

He plopped down in a barstool and slammed the glass down on the counter with a vigorous wave that swept her under. She kicked to the surface again, gasping and sputtering, looking out through the glass at his arms crossed atop the counter, his chest leaning over her. She looked up, paddling her legs and swaying her arms to keep herself afloat, to see his face through the rim, leaning over the glass, smiling down at her. “That better, my little big girl?” he cooed, his voice echoing into the glass.

She ground her teeth, glaring up at him, shivering and treading water in the freezing pool, the film of his foot sweat rinsing off of her to float around her in a greasy ring. He leaned his chin down against his crossed arms so that his face was directly on the other side of the glass, his huge green eyes just above her paddling body.

“You’re not drinking,” he said, tapping his finger against the side of the glass with a series of loud, echoing clinks that sent angry ripples through the water.

“I’m not thirsty,” she panted stubbornly, her teeth chattering.

“Drink anyway.” His hand lifted from the countertop to clamp over the top of the glass, swirling it around and she took a deep breath as waves crashed over her, sweeping her underwater again. He kept it up for a few seconds before slamming the glass back down. But rather than kick to the surface she swam down to sit cross-legged at the bottom of the glass, like they used to sit at the bottom of the swimming pool for tea parties and breath-holding contests. His voice warbled through the water, “The fuck you doing?”

She squinted her eyes open to glare out at his wobbling, magnified face, grinning down at her through the water, her lips tight and her hair floating madly around her like a vengeful little mermaid.

“You know you’re gonna lose this game, right?”

She flipped him a middle finger and he snickered and flipped one back, then he whacked his palm against the side of the glass repeatedly, calling, “Nataliiiie!” until she ran out of air and kicked to the surface to suck down a gasping breath.

“There she is!” he said brightly. “You done fucking arou–?” but before he could finish she dove back under and swam down to sit at the bottom again. “Oh, okay,” wobbled his voice from the other side of the glass. “Let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

He sat with his chin against his crossed arms on the counter, his finger tapping the side of the glass, his eyes following her up and down like a kid watching a goldfish as she swam up for breath and dove back down to sit cross-legged at the bottom of the glass, over and over again, for no real reason but to display spiteful indifference for his little ‘cup’ gag. 

His phone buzzed and his face rose from view as he pulled it from his pocket, holding it in both hands against the counter in front of her to read a new text message. His thumbs started typing a response as she kicked back to the surface and treaded water to catch her breath, her heart pounding and lungs aching.

“You’re doing it all wrong, Nat,” he said absently as he typed. “Water goes in the mouth.”

“Get bent Trevor,” she panted.

He snickered lightly as he finished writing his text message, letting her tire herself as she treaded water in the glass below, gasping for air. Then he hit send and set his phone on the counter. His hand wrapped around the glass again, tilting it towards him as he looked down at her through the rim. “We’re gonna have to speed this along. You need me to show you how it's done?”

She scowled up at him, catching his drift. “GET BENT TREVOR!”

“Okay, then, I’ll show you how it's done.”

The glass jerked off the countertop, the water waving madly, and she sped upwards towards his parting lips. The rim of the cup met with his bottom lip, his teeth letting out a ringing clink against the outside of the glass, his huge top lip curling over. The cup tilted towards him, the surface of the water growing into a rocking oval shape and she was swept automatically in the opposite direction. She paddled madly to keep herself on the opposite side, inches from the infernal chasm that was his mouth, while his eyes looked down at her through the glass. She kept her face blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror she felt as water rushed between his lips with an ominous, echoing gurgle, cascading in rapids into the dark cavern within, sweeping over his tongue and crashing against his teeth as the glass drained and his mouth filled. 

Then his lips smacked together and receded as the glass jerked upright with a couple of violent waves. His face leaned over the cup as he sent his mouthful careening down his gullet with a loud, squelching gulp.

“Ahh,” he said, smiling down at her in the glass, his lips wet and glistening. “Refreshing.”

“Jokes on you, ya dickass,” she panted up to him. “Ya just drank your own foot sweat.”

He snickered, the sound bouncing across the glass. “Ooh, you got me. But I also detected a hint of your sweat, and it was oh so sweet. Your turn.”

She glared.

“Come on, Natty, you can do it,” he said encouragingly, lightly swirling the glass around in a mini whirlpool. “One big gulp. Or do you need another demonstration of how it’s done?”

She huffed and ducked her face under, filling her mouth with water and glaring back up at him as she gulped it down. She gestured irritably towards herself. “There! Happy?”

“Yay!” Trev called exuberantly, clapping his other hand against the glass. “Good girl, I knew you could do it! Okay, my turn again.” 

The glass tilted towards his mouth again and Natalie bellowed, “YOU FUCKER!”

His huge lips grinned around the rim of the glass as water gushed into his open mouth. The water level dropped rapidly as he chugged it down, the bottom of the glass tilting higher and higher as Natalie swept away from his mouth, until the water was nearly drained and the bottom of the glass rose higher, creating a water slide down into his gaping maw and she shot down towards it. But just as she reached his mouth, the gap narrowed and she smacked into his top lip with a squeak. She clung desperately to his plump, moistened lip to avoid getting swept into his mouth as the rest of the water drained away around her, gurgling down his gullet.

His lips smacked together, with her still clinging to his top lip, as he swallowed his mouthful with a final gulp. The glass lifted away from her as he leaned forward and spat her into his other hand with an “Umph.”

“Awe,” he said, grinning down at her. “Did you just give me a lil kiss?”

“YOU ARE UN-FUCKING-BE–!”

Her words cut off as his huge, wet lips puckered and planted a sopping smooch against the entire side of her face, as well as most of her torso, rocking her sideways from the impact. 

“UUUGH!” she wailed, swatting his spit from her face.

“You kissed me, first, ya harlet,” he teased, stroking his huge finger down her nose. He grabbed a napkin and wrapped it snuggly around her, setting her lightly on the counter. “Well that was a fun tea party,” he said brightly, patting the top of her head. “Now you be a good girl and stay right there.” He flipped over the empty water glass and smacked it over top of her, trapping her beneath it. 

“Oh come on!” she yelled, her voice echoing, as his torso rose up from the barstool. 

He leaned over to grin down at her through the bottom of the cup from his full height. “Awe, you gonna miss me, little mouse girl?” he called, his fingers rapping loudly against the glass, knocking loose a couple of water droplets that rained down upon her. “Now don’t you worry, I’ll be right back.” 

He turned and she pounded her fist on the glass, yelling, “I’m worried about the limited air supply, Trevor!” But he either didn’t hear her or pretended not to as he walked off, the glass rattling on the counter with every step he took, growing weaker as he drew down the hallway to his bedroom.

She huffed, wrapping the napkin around her head, like a particularly bitter babushka, as water droplets dribbled down the side of the glass into a ring on the counter. She considered trying to push the glass along the slick surface of the countertop to hurl it over the side, but she decided she’d better not push him any more at the moment, lest she embark on another hellish waterslide ride. Or worse. 

She reached over to the glass wall to catch a droplet of water, letting it pool up into a dome in the palm of her hand. She stared at it for a second, shimmering with dancing lights and her own gloomy reflection, before she scrubbed it irritably against her cheek to wash away the clinging remnants of Trev’s sopping kiss.