I’m an idiot. You know how some people are a little stupid? Well, I’m a whole lot stupid. This is how it should have gone:
“Hey Cat, wanna move in with me and be exposed to me and Natasha’s disgusting canoodling and probably be driven to suicide?”
“Oh, no thanks, Justin. I’d rather have sex with Donald Trump.”
“Okay. Let’s watch a movie.”
“Sure.”
It would have been great. You see, if I was clever, and actually used the brain I know I have somewhere, I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in now, literally. Boxes
with various titles such as, ‘Summer Clothes’, or ‘Photos’ untidily scrawled on them wouldn’t surround me. An open tin of paint wouldn’t be precariously balancing on the table by the window. Trace wouldn’t be sprawled out by my feet, saying he was too tired to move after he helping me shift all my boxes. No, no. I would be at home, albeit uncomfortable with Diane and her beau, but at least I wouldn’t be going over the conversation Justin and I had, where I displayed as much common sense as a toothbrush.
“Cat, why don’t you just move in with us for a while?”
My hand flies to my mouth in an unflattering, extremely teenybopper-ish way. “Really?” I squeal, my voice rising several octaves. I hate it when that happens, I sound like some teenage boy who’s voice is breaking.
“Sure,” he grins. “It’ll be like camp.”
Camp was awful. I got in trouble for pushing a girl into the river because she said her hair was better than mine. Hey, maybe I could do that to Natasha. “Come on, Cutie. It’ll be a blast,” coaxed Trace.
I sighed happily. “Then I guess I have to.”
Justin put an arm around me, sending a tingling shiver down my spine. “Great, Cat. We’re gonna have so much fun!”
And here I am, wondering whether I would survive if I jumped out of the window. Why am I voluntarily subjecting myself to this…hell? I know Natasha’s been spending quite a bit of time around here and I’ve successfully avoided her so far, but with me living here, I’ll see her all the time. And after our first meeting, I realized I am dangerously close to liking her. Ugh, better wipe that out immediately. I’ll just picture her having sex with Justin every time I think I’m beginning to like her; that’s sure to get me pissed off again.
Another thing I did not take into account was that being in such a close proximity with Justin will no doubt heighten my feelings for him. Unless being with him all the time causes me to get bored of him and I end up feeling nothing for him. Yeah, well, I personally don’t see that happening. Especially because he’s announced his ‘out of shape’ and spends half his time exercising and walking around in little tank tops. I hate to sound like some teenage comedy starring Melissa Joan Hart, but yum.
“Cat, are we almost done?” a whiny voice says.
I look down at the crumpled heap that is Trace. “Yeah, we’re done. That was the last box.”
Trace puts on a delirious smile and I laugh, before adding, “Apart from the heaviest one, downstairs.”
Just as a disgruntled pout adorns Trace’s face, a figure hidden by a giant box labelled, ‘Heavy Crap’, enters the room. “I got it,” comes a muffled voice behind the box.
The box lands on the floor with a thump and Justin stands up, stretching his back. “That’s a heavy bitch, Cat. What the hell you got in there?”
“Um…um…oh, just stuff. Like, you know, yeah.”
The reason for my sudden inadequacy to form any words? Justin, of course. But not just casual Justin, dressed in some pants and a t-shirt, more like fucking gorgeous Justin, wearing no shirt, and a pair of low-riding jeans. Jesus Christ he’s got an amazing body. My eyes drift down his chest to his stomach, in awe of every inch of his skin. The perfectly formed pecs, the soft-looking patch of hair that disappears into the waistband of his pants, the way the very sight of his stomach is making me forget the English language…
Damn you, Justin. Damn you for being so…fine. I’m practically quivering over here. I don’t usually quiver. And I don’t usually go googly eyed at a six-pack, but since when did normal rules apply to Justin Timberlake? I swear I’ve regressed four years just by the sight of him half naked. Why don’t I just get braces and a job at McDonalds to make the teenage girl picture complete?
“Well Cat, it better be pretty god damn useful, ‘cause my back is killing me,” he moans, clutching his back before muttering under his breath, “Fuck me.”
Don’t tempt me, Timberlake.
“So,” Trace suddenly stands up between us, giving me a stern look. “I guess you need to unpack now, right?”
He’s pissed. Despite witnessing my little breakdown the night I first met Natasha, we’ve never actually talked about the Justin issue. I think it’s because he realizes questioning me about it would only make things worse and, let’s face it, end with a meltdown on my part, which neither of us want. I think he assumes I’m over it if I’m moving in with them but no, I’m just stupid.
I nod at him but avoid eye contact. “Yeah, but you guys don’t need to help me with that.”
I dare to look at Justin in the eye and find him frowning. “Are you sure?”
I nod again. “Nah, I’m cool. I thought you guys were going to go and look at that new golfing range or something.”
A look of excitement spreads to Justin’s eyes. “Oh yeah, that looks awesome, man!”
I laugh at his cuteness. Urgh, don’t use the word cuteness Cat. “You have that stupid golfing range in your backyard, dumbass. Why don’t you just use that?”
He shrugs. “That’s not fun.” He smirks, and I melt, which is something I’m beginning to think I should grow to expect. “But are you sure you don’t want us to stay here and help you unpack?”
I shake my head, a strand of irritating hair falling from my hair tie. I hastily brush it away. “It’ll become really masculine if I let you guys help.”
They snort and nod. “Are you sure you don’t want us to paint it, though?” asks Trace, looking around the white room. “It seems a little drab.”
I shake my head and shove my hands into my pockets. “I’ll make it interesting, don’t worry.”
They stand there and look awkward, before my impatience gets the better of me. “God, will you guys just piss off to the golfing range already?”
They laugh and both move forward at the same time. I hate that, it’s like they’re some gang about to rape me or something.
Trace leans forward and brushes his lips against my cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Cutie.”
I smile. “Me too.”
“We’ll talk later, okay?” I know he’s talking about Justin, and I know that’s going to be an incredibly long, deep, heartbreaking conversation. Great.
My smile turns a bit tight, showing my nervousness. “Okay.”
Trace leaves the room; hopping over boxes and looking so much like a leprechaun I can’t restrain a laugh. Justin smirks and moves forward, putting minimal space between us. I’ve yet to decided whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“I’m glad you’re here too, Cat,” he says, putting his hands on my hips.
Oh god, his hands are so warm and I can feel even more heat radiating off his perfectly toned upper body… “Me too, I can’t thank you guys enough.”
He shrugs but his hands remain on my hips. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the fact my hips aren’t my best feature and could probably house a small country. Oh shit, they’re so big…
“We really want you here.” I realize he’s talking and try to ignore the fact my hips are expanding by the second enough to listen to him. “Me and Trace could use someone like you around.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Why?”
He shrugs and smiles cheekily. God, that’s sexy. “We need someone to keep our asses in line.”
I nod. “Very true, very true.”
He grins before quickly swooping down and kissing my cheek. “Gotta go sweetheart, but I’ll you later tonight?”
“Sure,” I nod. “I do live here, after all.”
His grin broadens and he leaves the room, quickly waving over his shoulder as I gaze in wonder at some tattoo on his muscled back. I bet his back looks really great during sex, when it’s flexing as he thrust-
Woah woah woah. Not only did that boy cause me to go an unattractive siren red color when he kissed me, he also had me dreaming up disgusting sex fantasies at three in the afternoon. What the hell is with that?! I realize my hand has slipped up to my cheek and his covering the bit Justin kissed, and from a quick glance in the mirror, I can see my expression is clearly dreamy.
Snap out of it Cat. Remember he’s got a girlfriend, remember he’s a good friend now, remember he’s not really your type….
Don’t remember that you couldn’t get him anyway.
-----------------------------------
If there were ever a joke I wish I had never told, it would be the whole comparison between sex and golf. Do I really have to remind you? “Sex is like golf, it’s all about getting the ball in the hole…” It just seemed like a good thing to say at the time, okay?
“Trace sucks!” I call out as Trace gears up to do some big ass shot, which he, of course, screws up.
“Asshole,” he mutters, turning and briefly firing daggers at me with his eyes, before picking up another ball.
“Trace has sex with his grandma!” I shout out as he does his second one.
“Fine, you can take a turn!” he snaps, and I smirk as I get into position.
Whenever Trace and I play golf, we bond. It’s our bonding thing. Kinda like how girls go shopping, only we don’t spend thousands of dollars of random shit we don’t need. Nah, for me and Trace all we need is a club, a ball and a stretch of land and then we’re all set for some serious macho talk.
“So, how are things going with 'Tash'?” asks Trace sarcastically.
I roll my eyes. “I only called her that once, and it was a joke.”
“Mmhmm,” says Trace, in an unbelieving way. “So seriously, how are things?”
A grin breaks out across my face. “Very cool man, very cool.” They really, really are though. Natasha’s great.
He lapses into silence and I line up my shot before turning to him. “Do you like her?”
He’s silent. “Yeah, she’s okay.”
I roll my eyes at the lack of information. “That’s what you always say.”
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s what I mean.”
I turn to him, smirking. “Shortstuff, you have an opinion of everyone, so just spit it out.”
I turn back to my ball and am just about hit a really powerful shot when, “She’s kinda boring, don’t you think?”
My ball goes way off the left and eventually rolls into the lake, but I don’t care. “Excuse me? Boring? Have you seen her?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her.” He shrugs and tosses me another ball, but I’m not interested. “That’s what makes her boring, she’s just too…”
“Perfect?” I supply sarcastically.
“Exactly,” he replies. “There’s just no…excitement there, you know? I bet she doesn’t have one fault.”
“Of course she does,” I scoff. Actually, she doesn’t. “She has a bastard Chihuahua.”
Trace raises an eyebrow. “Chihuahua? Mmm, sounds nice.”
I scowl at him and turn back to my game. I guess he has a point. Natasha isn’t exactly a challenge. I mean, she’s not too dependent on me, she’s not clingy, she’s good in bed, she has her own money. Wait, not only did I just agree with Trace there, I just complained that my girlfriend wasn’t a psycho.
“Anyway,” I proceed. “Isn’t it great Cat’s moved in?”
He smiles. “Yeah. Now SHE’S someone you’d wanna date.”
I turn to him and frown. That was random. “What?”
He looks and me and shrugs. “Well, I’m just saying, she would be.”
“Do you like Cat?”
“Do you?” he quickly reciprocates.
“No, do you?”
He sighs. “No, I was just hoping that…”
“Hoping what?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. We should probably head back now, we’ve been gone hours and Cat will be lonely.”
I nod and brush off the weird moment Trace had there. I don’t think he likes Cat, but I don’t see why he thinks I like her. For a second there, it felt like he was encouraging me to date her. Oh well, he always was a strange boy. We drive back home in silence; we both seem to be thinking over personal that we don’t wish to share. I have this weird feeling they both have something to do with each other though.
When we arrive back home after picking up a pizza, it’s already late into the evening. I guess Trace and I spent longer at the range than we anticipated. We walk upstairs towards Cat’s new room and see her folding up empty boxes. She looks kind of cute, in an over sized sweater that some guy must have given her and a pair of jeans that she claims make her ass look, ‘huge’. She looks really…natural. It’s only times like this I admit she’s a lot prettier then I give her credit for. Not necessarily beautiful, but pretty.
“Hey,” I say, and she looks up.
“Oh, hey guys. I’m done,” she replies, holding her hands out for approval.
I take in my surroundings. I only then realize I’d never seen Cat’s room at her old place, and I think I can see why. Cat’s room is obviously very personal to her, and you only get in there if you’re really special. I take a second to congratulate myself before looking around the room and something suddenly hits me. You know how Cat likes to think she’s this big hard ass chick who so doesn’t what to fall in love? Bull, complete bull. She’s got all these movie posters of classic love stories and pictures of Paris and Venice and other such dreamy cities. It’s clearly the room of a hopeless romantic.
The room itself is dull and white, but she’s livened it up with these drapes and cushions and stuff, so there’s a strange clash with all the beautiful oriental things and the pictures. But somehow it works, with the posters peaking out behind the colourful material. I tear my eyes from the wall and a few glinting picture frames catch the corner of my eye. Psh, so typical of Cat; tons of photos, and she’s barely in any of them. They’re mostly of Diane, and what I assume is her family. The only one she is in is with her and…some guy. He’s pretty good-looking, and I say that in a non-gay way. But he’s the kind of guy scrawny seven years old boys aspire to be. He has these broad shoulders and a square jaw and the arm that is tightly wrapped around Cat is muscled, as is the rest of his body by the looks of it. He’s not too muscled though, and I bet he’s some football captain, which every girl loved. Shit, that guy’s wearing the same top that Cat’s wearing now.
I’m guessing this is her boyfriend, the bastard that screwed her over. I can kinda see why she’d be tricked, he’s quite handsome. Cat looks different in the picture. I’m guessing it was taken what, three years ago? Two? She just looks so…happy. As though nothing in the world could bring her down.
It’s a far cry from the kind yet pessimistic girl standing in front of me now, who is talking to Trace about the positioning of her bed. Cat’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t help but think that guy fucked her over big time and really damaged her in the long run. She’s probably still not over him, and it does explain her slight resentment to couples and love.
Suddenly, I just want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that one day, some lucky guy really will sweep her off her feet, just like in the movies.
------------------------------------------------
Justin’s acting weird. I shouldn’t notice, but I do. Trace is talking about some random thing about my bed and all I can concentrate on is the fact Justin is skimming over my pictures. He’s probably already seen the picture of Matthew and me and is wondering why I still have it.
Don’t ask me why I kept it, or why I wear his sweater every now and then. I think that picture just reminds me that once, there was a guy that loved me and I loved him and everything was great in my life. I didn’t need to be sarcastic in every other sentence, I didn’t have to curse every happy couple out there, and I didn’t even worry about my weight or what I looked like. Yes, I really was like that once. So in love it was sickening. But that’s over now, and who knows if it’ll happen again.
Trace is stifling a yawn. “I think I’m gonna hit the sack. All the moving has tired me out.”
I thank him and promise I’ll save him some pizza before he goes, leaving an immersed Justin and me.
“What ya looking at?” I ask, as if I don’t already know.
He looks at me over his shoulder. “Oh, just your pictures.”
I nod and walk over to join him. “Yeah, I’m silly like that. I have to have pictures of everyone. I need one of you and Trace, actually,” I say, poking him in the back.
He grins and continues to look. He must think I’m blind. I can clearly see his eyes centered on one specific picture. “Go on, ask,” I mumble. Although Justin knows the background to Matthew and I, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t waiting for me to tell him more.
He smiles bashfully. “Sorry.”
I shake my head and grin. “Don’t worry about it, I know you’re dying to know.”
He pauses, before nodding viciously.
I laugh. “Well, we got a box of pizza, you can supply the wine, and we can get down to business.”
Justin laughs. “Okay, I’ll be back up in a second.”
I open the window and crawl out onto the balcony. Well, it’s not really a balcony, but there’s enough space for two people to lie down and look at the stars, so it’s good enough for me. Justin eventually returns with some red wine and two wine glasses.
He lies down next to me but even the smell of pizza can’t pull me from my thoughts. It’s nights like this that always remind me of Matthew. When we first came to Tennessee we used to spend hours just staring at the stars, talking about what we had left behind and what was ahead of us. We thought we were destined to spend the rest of our lives together, we really did.
You know how people say every cloud has a silver lining? Those people are normally referred to as “optimistic”, or “positive”. I, on the other hand, refer to them as, “in denial”.
What is with the world’s constant attempt to put a positive slant on everything? Let’s face it, some things are crap. Just pure, untouched, crap. If you’re heel breaks on your shoe when you’re heading to a job interview, that’s crap. Or if it starts raining and you’re wearing a white shirt that goes unattractively see-through?
And even if this ‘silver lining’ crap is true, then doesn’t that mean every good thing that happens to you will have its downfall? That seems more sensible, and much more realistic. It’s like, tit for tat. So maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, but also, with the good comes the bad. That’s a depressing thought. That’s like saying we’ll never be fully happy, but at least we can never be completely sad. We’re like robots, always just ‘okay’.
With Matthew, my clear mistake was leaving Ohio, and college and my friends just for some stupid guy. What’s the silver lining there? Okay, I met Justin and Trace, who are rapidly becoming my best friends, despite only having known them for four months. But at the same time, being around Justin but not being with Justin, tears me apart. After all the pain I went through with Matthew, and all the pain I’m going through now, sometimes I really wonder whether coming to Tennessee wasn’t just one big mother fucker of a black cloud with no silver lining.
“You’re doing it again,” a sound interrupts my pessimistic thoughts.
I look up at the offending voice. “Doing what?”
“Going all misty-eyed, as though you’re thinking about something amazingly deep and profound that I probably wouldn’t understand,” says Justin, smiling at me as he turns his head to look at me.
The world is shit as is everything in it? Oh yes, very wise. I don’t think I could be more teenage if I tried. “I was just thinking about silver linings.”
He grins. “Every cloud has one.”
I snort. “That’s what I was thinking about, whether that is true or not.”
His brow furrows. “Of course it’s true. You can’t think that there’s bad in everything.”
“But there is,” I say matter-of-factly. “In the real world, anyway.”
His frown deepens. “Pessimistic much?”
I smile. “A little, I guess.”
He rolls his eyes. “A lot, actually.”
I shrug. “I was thinking about me and Matthew…. the guy in the picture,” I add.
He nods and I can feel his gaze on me, despite the fact my eyes are glued to the sky. “When you’re looking back on a relationship, sometimes it’s a little hard to see it’s good points,” Justin says softly.
“Maybe,” I whisper. “I just wish I hadn’t been so stupid.”
“Everyone’s stupid when they’re in love,” he replies, putting his head on top of his hands. “It wouldn’t be love if we didn’t do stupid things.”
“Yeah, but what I did was really stupid,” I snort.
“Then why did you do it?” he asks gently.
I feel the horrible prick of tears in my eyes. “I was so excited someone actually liked me,” I say, in a would-be confident tone.
“What do you mean?”
A tear slips down my cheek and I want to slap myself, but figure in the dark Justin can’t see anyway. “I was so desperate for someone to love me and find me attractive. For my whole life I always had people telling me that no one ever would, and that I was destined to be alone. They’re probably right,” I murmur softly, my voice thick with emotion I hope Justin can’t hear.
I feel a hand gently cup the side of my cheek and wipe away my tear. “I don’t think they are,” Justin whispered.
The gentleness of his words and touch touched something deep inside of me, and I felt my tears rapidly fall in streams down my face. I was pulled into comforting arms and soothing words were whispered in my ear. I didn’t feel embarrassed or stupid or ashamed of my tears, not like I usually would.
But when the thought occurred to me that I truly was in love, it only caused more tears to fall.
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