There are some things you just never expect to happen. Madonna winning an Oscar, Marilyn Manson quitting the music business and opening a bakery, pigs unexpectedly taking flight outside your window. The only time you can say you know a person, is when they can’t do anything to surprise you anymore. My theory has just come to slap me in the face.
Or, more specifically, kiss me on the lips.
I don’t know Justin, at all.
Shock freezes my entire body the second Justin’s lips land on my own. My thoughts comes to a tire-screeching standstill. My brain refuses to function. The fingers that were half-heartedly trying to pry Justin’s hand and it’s firm grasp on my hips off are suddenly brought to a halt, weaken and fall on top of his hands.
I couldn’t even begin to tell you how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted to feel the soft skin of his lips against mine, or to feel as though he truly wanted me. It never even occurs to me to wonder what the consequences of this are, what a vulnerable position I’m putting myself in, how easily I could get hurt by this. All that matters is that he kissed me.
Justin’s lips move slightly against my own, adjusting their position so his lips aren’t just crushed against mine, but are actually in a position to caress my own.
With that one movement, a million and one thoughts come crashing down on me as shame starts to seep through every pore in my body.
What am I doing? I have a boyfriend. It doesn’t matter that Justin initiated the kiss and our lips have been touching for a bare minimum of three seconds, which probably doesn’t even qualify as a ‘peck’. But I have a boyfriend, nothing I can say will justify the fact I haven’t thrown Justin off me and slapped him for touching me.
Especially not the fact that touching me is all that I want him to do.
My thoughts and my body finally work together and I remove my hands from my hips and place them on his chest, using all the will power I have inside of me to shove him away.
“Justin,” I mumble, my lips still attached to his. I give him a firm push, my body shaking for reasons unknown. “Justin!”
His face contorts to one of shock as he is pushed to the other end of the seat. His gaze drops to my hands, which are still on his chest, holding him away from me. Or, me away from him, I don’t know.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, my breath coming out in shaky gasps as I barricade him from coming closer.
“I…I don’t know,” he replies softly, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Why did you kiss me?” I ask in hushed tones so we’re not heard. I don’t know why I asked him that. What do I want him to say? Because he felt like it?
Pain flashes through his eyes, making me wish I had used a softer tone of voice, and he bows his head. “I…just wanted to,” he whispers, his voice cracking.
Panic starts to rise in my throat. This is wrong, so wrong. Why is he acting as though I’ve just shattered every hope and dream he has? He’s not allowed to like me, he’s supposed to go for some girl who is everything I’m not. I’m ugly. I’m not skinny. I’m the pathetic girl who lusts after the guy she can never get. I’m nothing. Even the possibility of him liking me is wrong...nonsensical...the last thing anyone would expect.
“Why?” I repeat.
He doesn’t answer me for a long time. He takes his head out of his hands and stares at me, attacking me with self consciousness as I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and smooth out my top under his cool gaze.
“What do you want me to say?” he says finally. “That I care about you?”
A gasp leaves my lips before I can stop it. What did he say? I’m waiting to wake up in my bed, surrounded by my old movie posters and teddy bears that I try to keep hidden, and for this to be just another Justin-dream I’ve had. I’m waiting for him to suddenly squirt me in the face with a water pistol and burst out laughing, saying it was all a joke. I’m waiting for the tingly feeling his lips have left on mine during their brief visit to die down.
If only he had told me this four months ago. If only I didn’t care about him too. If only I wasn’t with an equally great man. If only, if only, if only…
“I--I don’t understand,” I stammer out.
He shrugs and looks down at the ivory keys of the piano. “There isn’t much to understand.”
“But…you’re breaking all the rules!” I exclaim, surprising him slightly.
“What?”
“You’re not allowed to like me!” I clutch my head with my hands. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’m supposed to like you, not the other way round,” I murmur softly into my hands, more to myself than him.
“Cat, what are you trying to say?” asks a soft voice, grasping my face and bringing it up to face his own.
Don’t do it, Cat. Don’t lean in, reach for his face and bring it closer to yours. Don’t succumb to all your inner urges that are screaming at you to pick up on this shred of a chance and to kiss him again. Don’t become a dirty cheater. Don’t, don’t, don’t.
Tears begin to stream down my face, but I make no attempt to brush them away. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have feelings for me, Cat?” he says, his eyes lit with what I can only assume is hope, although I have no idea why.
Terror courses through me as I struggle with his fingers, trying to get them off me. I can’t tell him. Not now, not after spending so long convincing him the opposite. “Justin, let me go.”
“No,” he whispers harshly, his grip tightening. “Tell me what you mean.”
“I--I have to go,” I whisper, my tears continuing to flow over my cheeks, unable to stop.
I pull away from him and rush up the stairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom, where things make sense, where I don’t feel confused, where I can pretend I’m not in this mess.
The angry slam of the front door a second later assures me Justin is gone, and I’m alone again.
------------------------------------------------------
I’m not a spur-of-the-moment guy. Years in the music business has taught me before you do something, it’s important to think whether it will benefit you or not, whether it is worth it, and whether it’s what you really want to do. The few times I’ve actually done something spontaneously, I always had the comfort of foreshadowing in my mind that things would turn out okay. The first time I told Britney that I loved her, the first time I decided to sing in front of people at my cousin’s wedding, the first day of preschool when I went over to Trace and asked if we could play in the sand together. Something in the back of my mind told me that it was okay to be adventurous, that I shouldn’t think about things, but should just put my reservations to the side and to do it.
So that’s why I did it. That’s why I kissed Cat.
Things almost moved in slow motion. I rested my hand on her hip, she tensed, I picked up on it. And then…I don’t know. I had to kiss her, there was no other alternative, it just had to be done. It was as though I was caught up in this little dream world where her complaints fell on deaf ears, and before I knew it my lips were touching hers.
I’ll never forget the way her entire body went rigid when I finally closed the space between us. I’ll never forget those two seconds of bliss as I felt a bond created, I felt complete, even if it was just for a few seconds.
I’ll never forget the cold slap of rejection as her hands landed on my chest and pushed me away.
The way she looked at me, it was unbelievable. As if that was the last thing she had expected me to do, which, I guess, it was. Her eyes were wide with astonishment, her arms were forming a protective wall that I wasn’t allowed into around herself as she held me off, her lips had darkened slightly at the sudden pressure my kiss had caused. I was convinced she was going to pass out from shock.
But then, her words broke through the haziness that my mind felt, and she brought me back down to earth with a crash.
“What are you doing?”
Good question, Cat. What was I doing? Breaking every rule there is in the Friends-Only Book. Moving in on someone who was already in a relationship. Forcing myself upon her, when I didn’t even know whether she wanted me to kiss her. I was doing everything I never thought I would.
She didn’t realize, but every word she said broke my heart a little more. “Why did you kiss me?”, “I don’t understand”. I didn’t feel like explaining it, I just wanted her to admit the secret feelings she too had been harboring for me, if there were any.
But of course, she didn’t. As soon as I thought I might be onto something, she ran out of the room. It’s so fucking typical of Cat, to shut off as soon as you get too close. Christ, if I didn’t love her so much I would have given up on this shit ages ago.
So, I took the mature approach and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind me, planning to take a ride through the serene streets of Tennessee. I didn't even care that my actions were similiar to that of a teenage girl, and for some reason, I find myself driving to the grocery store, where we first met, about six months ago.
It’s surreal to walk through the aisles, knowing I don’t have her at the other side of the counter to scan my barcodes and makes sarcastic comments. I pick up a copy of The Daily Buzz, that newspaper she works for, and begrudgingly read my way through that abortion thing her and Sean have spent the past few months working on. It occurs to me that if they hadn’t had to write that and been forced to spend so much time together, they probably wouldn’t have hooked up in the first place.
Or maybe I’m just saying that to make myself feel better.
I smile at the person behind the counter and give her an autograph as she hyperventilates and holds up the queue. I wonder what Cat would do if I gave her an autograph. Laugh her ass off and burn it probably.
I should regret what I did, really. I should be scolding myself for making a pass at her when I know full well she’s with Sean, and happy to top it off. But I don’t. Of course, there’s the chance she hates me and is going to pull out feminist bullshit next time I see her, but I doubt it. She’s either meant to be with me or no one at all, I just know it. As I drive around the quiet streets, all I can think about is the faintest glimmer of hope she gave me when I asked her how she felt about me. She just has so many impenetrable walls around her, protecting herself, her heart, her everything.
And I'm the one who's meant to break them down.
----------------------------------------------
I vaguely remember Justin once bitching about the phrase ‘Things always look better in the morning’. He said people only said that to stop people committing suicide during the night.
I’m beginning to think he might be right.
He didn’t come back last night. Trace happily informed me that Justin was staying the night at his mother’s and then proceeded to rip Justin to shreds, the phrase, ‘Momma’s Boy’ becoming a recurring theme. I was tempted to tell him or Diane about what happened between us, but I decided against it. Despite the fact I told Diane every little detail of my numbingly boring life, this was just too personal. It was between me and Justin only.
I hope he isn’t too mad at me.
I stroll into the office, dragging my feet on the linoleum floors because I just feel too confused to pick them up, and finally reach my desk, promptly dropping my things on it.
“Hey sweetheart,” greets Sean, planting a quick kiss on my treacherous lips.
“Hi,” I mumble, my stomach tying in guilty knots the moment he touched me.
“I thought we were going to do something this weekend?” he asks, tapping in his password at the computer, his broad shoulders covered only by the thin, white cotton of his shirt, so I can see the tattoo on his back, which I so lovingly gaze at whenever we’re together.
“Sorry,” I stammer, feeling my tear ducts prepare for another outpour. “I just got so bogged up in…”
“Justin and Trace?” he answers, smirking slightly.
My eyes widen. He knows. “God Sean, I’m--”
“Trace called to say he’s found an online bacon community that he thinks you should join.”
What? “What are you talking about?” I ask confusedly, my elaborate apology crumbling at the mention of an online bacon community.
Sean spins around and clasps my hips, pulling me nearer to him. “He just called and left a message. Oh, and he’s sorry that he missed you this morning.”
I shrug and feel my sensitive nerves calm down a bit. I should have known Sean wouldn't have a clue. He doesn't feel the least bit threatened by Justin or Trace. I once remember he mentioning how they just weren't my type, to which I had shrugged and half-heartedly agreed with. It's true Sean is more similiar to my ex boyfriends than Justin or Trace, but that is hardly a compliment.
“I love that little guy,” says Sean, smiling and shaking his head at Trace’s weirdness.
“Mm,” I respond, pulling away and sitting down at my computer. I don’t want him to touch me, I just don’t. Especially when I realize he is merely retracing the path of Justin's warm hands from yesterday. “So, what did you do this weekend?”
“Missed you,” he mumbles, sliding his chair over to my desk and kissing my neck from behind.
“Sean,” I mutter, putting a hand to his face and cupping his cheek. “We’re supposed to be working.”
“Supposed to being the operative words,” he murmurs, leaving a trail of kisses from my neck down my shoulder, gently tugging at my shirt to touch the bare skin of my shoulder.
“Sean,” I repeat, my voice gaining a note of authority. “Stop it.”
In the reflection of my computer screen, he frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I snap.
“Are you sure?” he persists. “Have you had an argument with Justin or Trace or something?”
“This has nothing to do with them. I just don’t feel like putting on a show for the rest of the office, that’s all,” I huff, brushing my hair behind my shoulder.
“Ouch,” he whispers, sliding away from me back to his side of the cubicle.
I put my head in my hands, “Shit,” I mutter, before inching my chair next to his. “I’m sorry Sean, I’m just a little stressed, that’s all.”
Is it just me, or am I constantly making excuses for my behavior these last few days?
“It’s okay,” he says happily, turning around and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek, causing guilt to once again stream through my body. “You just seem a little off, that’s all.”
I should tell him. I have to tell him. If I don’t, I’m no better than any other cheating girlfriend out there.
“It’s nothing,” I reply, smiling brightly.
“Good,” he turns back to his computer, oblivious to the pained expression that goes over my face as I realize how amazing this man truly is.
I can’t tell him.
Turning back to my computer, I reluctantly turn it on and start working, my mind a million miles from the article I’m supposed to be writing.
It isn't until the violent vibration of my phone distracts my attention that I actually put all my throughts to the side. I flip it open, ready to press the accept call button, before realizing who it is.
Justin.
Why the hell is he calling me? Does he not realize I’m trying my best to push him out of my mind and forget about the dreamlike events of the past day? I hastily drop my cell and glance around, as though someone is pointing at me, screaming, “We know what you did, you terrible person.”
My wandering eyes repeatedly land on the small cell phone, lying innocently on my desk, with a bright blue message saying, “1 New Voicemail”.
“Cat, I’m gonna go to the deli to pick up our order, okay?”
“Great. Make sure it’s white bread,” I chirp happily as Sean drops a kiss on my head before throwing on his light jacket.
My fingernails tap irritatingly on the desk. My eyes won’t stop darting towards my phone. My left legs begins to jig up and down as my thoughts are plagued by what is message says.
Groaning, I give in to my inner urges and grab the phone, my eyes nervously flying around the room, in case someone’s watching me.
“Cat, it’s Justin.” He sighs. “Look, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, and you’re probably just not picking up your phone because you know it’s me.”
Shit. The boy is smarter than he looks.
“I’m sorry about earlier, I had no right to…”
My head collapses into my hands as I await the, “I just wasn’t thinking” speech that people always give when they make awful mistakes. It’s the thing you say to your one night stand once the beer wears off and you see what they really look like. It’s a regular crock of shit, with overused phrases like, “I’m sorry”, and “I’m just not looking for a relationship now.
And that is exactly what I’m about to hear from Justin. Bracing myself, I rub my closed eyes and wearily hold the phone against my ear, waiting for, ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’
“Oh, fuck this.”
My eyes shoot open in surprise.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Cat. I don’t regret kissing you, God, if I could I’d…anyway, I don’t know how you feel about what happened, but I…shit, I fucking hate talking to machines.”
He stops and sighs angrily, as a smile creeps onto my lips. He’s normally so refined, so smooth, so well rehearsed. I almost forget what he’s saying when I realize he feels like the rest of us mere mortals: Awkward, confused, and self conscious.
“I know you, Cat. I know how you want to act about this. You want to pretend nothing happened, and that things are just peachy between us, when we both know they’re not. We can’t pretend what happened didn’t happen.”
I almost protest. Why not? Why endure awkwardness and nerves when we could easily just say it never happened? I would blissfully sweep everything under the rug and carry on loving Justin without anything in return. I’ve been doing it for the past six months, for heavens sake.
“I know you didn’t really have a say in it and I’m sorry I pushed myself on you, and I know you probably hate me and never want to see me again…”
In the midst of his rambles, my smile fades into a smirk. How wrong he is.
“But the fact is Cat, I lo-…shit, I can’t say this over a machine. Listen, we need to talk about yesterday, face to face.”
My hands begin to tremble. The very idea of being in the same room as Justin, knowing he has feelings of some sort for me, makes my bones shake.
Suddenly, Justin’s voice drops into barely over a whisper, and I press the phone hard against my cheek, drinking in his every word.
“I don’t know what this is Cat, but I know you feel it too.”
Story Tags: Be the first to add a tag to this story
