I stare blankly at the wall, trying to decipher my way through my thoughts. He was going to kiss me, right? Or was it all just my imagination? Was his face really moving towards mine? Or was it just the angle in which he stood?
Aren't I pathetic? Aren't I completely pitiable? I hate Justin for doing this to me, I hate him I hate him I hate him. But he's so great, like when he said he like my freckles, something I've always been self-conscious of, I just about died with happiness. Everytime he's around me, I get this bubble of excitement and happiness buillding up inside of me and my heart begins to do acrobatics in my chest just from talking to him.
Urgh. I sound like the back of some cheesy romance novel in the discount section. Excuse everything I just said, this is so unlike me. Remember Cat, you're sarcastic, anti-love, you're the kind of person that rolls her eyes at weddings. You are not the kind of person that falls head over heels for some guys you've only known for two months and then spends hours thinking about his eyes for heaven's sake.
Thank God the phone's ringing, I was worried I might start on his totally kind and giving personality, his curly hair and the way he constantly runs his hands through it, or the way he calls me sweetie and babe and stuff and I forget all my feminist crap and let him call me whatever he wants. Oh wow, maybe it's him on the phone. In my anticipation, I run towards the phone. Woah woah woah, I ran? I haven't run since gym class in high school.
I groan in despair when I realize it's not Justin on the phone and half listen to the person on the other line.
I need help.
-----------------------------------
“Okay, would you rather date twins, or have one night with Halle Berry?”
I pause, and toss the chewed green ball I had retrieved from the dogs in between my hands a few times. “Twins. You?”
Trace stretches out and yawns, nodding. “Same.”
Trace is right; this old ball really is cool to play with. “Would you rather drown, or be burned alive?”
Trace shrugs. “Both seem kinda painful.”
“State the obvious Trace,” I smirk.
“Stop being a dick, Justin,” he retorts.
There’s silence as I continue to toss the ball around, contemplating whether I should unexpectedly throw it at Trace for calling me a dick.
“I’m bored.”
Why does that sound so familiar? “Then do something.”
“Like what?” he continues to whine, tracing the pattern on the couch. He’s silent for a second, before he says, “We could call Cat over.”
“No!” I exclaim, far too quickly.
Trace frowns and sits up straight on the couch. “Why not?”
Why not? Why not?! The vertically challenged one asks me? Because last time I saw Cat, I almost ended up kissing her for heavens sake. What was I thinking? It was such a bizarre moment. One minute I was just saying hi, the next my lips were inching their way towards hers. What was wrong with me? It only really sunk in later, when Cat had gone home and I was alone and I realized I had to sort out this mush of feelings before I did something stupid.
So there I was, tossing and turning all night, feeling weirded out that I liked Cat and then feeling guilty because she’s such a great girl, when I finally came to a conclusion. What has obviously happened here is my lack of any action in the girlfriend department has left me seeking love in any girl that crosses my path, you see? All I need to do is find a girlfriend and stop pestering poor Cat, and then I’ll be back on track again. I actually called this really nice girl I met in New York, Natasha something or other. She was stunningly beautiful; dark blonde hair framing her perfect face, striking eyes that lit up the whole room. She was perfect. And to top it all off, she was really sweet. I’m pretty sure she’ll call me back.
But you know what I’m beginning to learn? You’re never safe when it comes to women. Look at Cat, for example. I thought I was in for an easy ride with her, she’s the last kind of girl I thought I’d ever like, but a few days without a girlfriend and all of a sudden she’s like Pamela Anderson.
Trace is still staring at me, waiting for an answer. He’s probably going to start tapping his foot soon, a really bad habit he picked up from my bodyguard. I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “I just think we’ve been seeing an awful lot of her lately, that’s all.”
Trace looks at me cluelessly. “Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“Well…you know, um…She does have a life of her own, you know. We shouldn’t be harassing her all the time,” I mumble hopelessly. Good excuse Timberlake, it’s right up there with the dog ate my homework.
Trace scowls. “I don’t know why you’re being so weird about this, J. She’s our friend.”
“I know, but don’t you think we’re smothering her?”
“No.”
Keep your answers short and sweet, why don’t you Trace. He’s making this really difficult for me, especially when I know I’m talking complete crap.
“What have you suddenly got against Cat?” he perseveres.
“I haven’t got anything against her, I just don’t feel the need to be up her ass all the time, unlike some people. Honestly, why don’t you just go marry her…” I mutter. Wow, it’s been at least eight years since I last used the insult.
“Why are you acting so immature?” Good point.
I sigh. There’s no point keeping secrets from him, Trace always finds out stuff in the end. “Sorry Trace. I really am. It’s just lately —”
The piercing ring of the phone cuts my sentence in half and I quickly jump up to get it, glad of an interruption before I told Trace about Cat. Knowing him, he’d just blow it all out of proportion and try and play matchmaker between myself and Cat, which neither of us want.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Justin?” comes an unusually excited and yet oh so familiar voice.
“Cat?”
“Justin, hi!” she says, sounding slightly out of breath.
I chuckle. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Guess what?”
“What?” I ask, a hint of a smile creeping on my face. She doesn’t sound like she usually does, she’s all excited and flustered and happy.
“I got the job!” she replies shrilly.
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding?”
“No! I got it! I really did!” she shrieks slightly and a laugh.
“I’m so proud of you. Well done, sweetie.”
She sighs happily into the phone. “Thank you.”
“So when do you start work?”
“In a few days, Thursday, I think.”
“That’s awesome, well done.” I’m so happy for her, she really deserves this. After all those endless nights at the general store, she can finally put her talent and heart into a job she really loves.
Urgh, why am I so cheesy? No wonder I ended up in a boyband.
Trace is standing next to me, frowning curiously. I put my hand over the receiver. “Cat got the job.”
His eyes widen. “Are you being serious?”
I grin and nod. He tries to snatch the phone off me, but I roughly push him away, sending him crashing into the cushions on the couch. Ha ha, loser.
“You have to come over and celebrate with me and Trace tonight, obviously,” I say once I’m back on the phone.
She pauses. “Celebrate how?”
I shrug. “I dunno. Get a few beers —”
“I don’t like beer,” she interrupts.
I roll my eyes. “Fine, fine. Smirnoff Ices?”
She laughs. “That’s more like it.”
I should have known beneath that tough exterior lay a typical woman who only drank those pissy chick drinks. “Whatever, you have to come over, Cat,” I whine. Hey, wasn’t I just saying she shouldn’t come over a second ago?
“Um,” I hear her ponder. No one ponders when it’s an invite from Justin Timberlake.
“I have chocolate,” I tease.
“Well, why didn’t you just say so? I’ll be over in a few,” she says quickly.
I laugh at her sudden change in attitude. “See ya babe.”
She giggles slightly, which is fairly uncharacteristic. “Bye.”
I put down the phone and turn to Trace grinning. “She’s coming round so we can celebrate.”
Trace grins, but frowns a moment later. “But I thought you said we shouldn’t see her. You know, ‘Don’t you think we’re smothering her, Trace?’” he mocks.
I shrug. “Well, I changed my mind.”
He shoots me another confused glance. “You’re weird, you know that?”
I nod. “It’s part of my charm. Now come on and help me get stuff together.”
---------------------------
You know when you do something that you just know will have disastrous consequences, but you still do it anyway? You take the last chocolate, you put your alarm clock on snooze for the millionth time, you accept the third Smirnoff Ice you’ve had since you got to Justin and Trace’s house…
I know, I know. I’m an idiot. You’d think twenty-one years would have been enough for me to gain some self control and realize that it does not take a lot for me to get drunk, but no. I went to Justin and Trace’s, ready to celebrate my new job in a fun yet controlled, and ended getting shitfaced because I couldn’t refuse the drinks they were giving me. I guess I’m just a little buzzed rather than shitfaced, but I know in a more sober state I wouldn’t be in my current situation. My current situation being a cross examination from Justin and Trace, who have decided they don’t know enough about me and therefore have to ask me ever single question under the sun.
“Okay Cat, what is your full name?” asks Trace.
Well, that’s easy enough. “Catherine Grace Saunders.”
“So you’re initials are CGS.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, isn’t it amazing?”
“And where were you born?”
“Ohio.”
“Date?”
I sigh in annoyance. “20th December, 1983, okay!”
Trace grins and pops a chip into his mouth. “Just being thorough, Cutie, just being thorough.”
Justin leans forward, holding his beer in his left hand as his other scratches his chin thoughtfully. “What are your family like?”
I shrug. “I have two sisters, Dawn and Sophie. Sophie’s older, Dawn’s younger. I’m the dysfunctional middle one,” I add, grinning.
“What about your parents?”
“They still live in Ohio,” I say, wondering why they were asking me such irrelevant questions. What are they, the police?
“Okay,” Trace rubs his hands together excitedly. “Let’s get onto the good stuff. Age of loss of virginity?”
I feel myself involuntarily blush. “Um, seventeen,” I say quietly.
“Hey, isn’t that illegal?” asks Justin. Psht, I really doubt Justin is in the position to question my morals.
Trace snorts. “Yeah, but not as illegal as fifteen is,” Justin reciprocates his glare and turns to me.
“Any weird piercings or tattoos we’re likely to be interested in?” asks Justin.
Yeah, like I would have anything as interesting as a piercing or a tattoo. “Nope.”
“How many sexual partners have you had?” asks Trace, in what I hope is a jokey voice.
Oh hell no! I glare at him, hoping my eyes are projecting my ‘Don’t be an asshole, asshole’ message, which is running through my mind. “Trace, be quiet please.”
“Oh come on!” he exclaims.
He can exclaim all he wants, he’s never going to find out. “Trace, that’s a very personal question to ask,” says Justin gently. Aw, what a sweetheart. “Pft, I’m just kidding! Seriously Cat, how many?” he says, leaning forward to listen to me.
I see where Trace’s asshole influence may be coming from. “Guys, if you don’t start asking me that I’m going to go to the papers and confirm speculation that you two are in fact, gay.”
That shut them up. “Um…oh! Did you like Nsync?”
I shrug. “I never disliked you, but I did laugh the first time I heard that God song.”
Justin grins. “God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You?”
I sigh. “That’s the one. Whoever wrote that should be imprisoned. Forever.”
Justin’s laugh sends uncontrolled shivers down my spine. “Anyway, what were you like in high school?”
I shrug. Disliked? I don’t know. I was one of those anti-cheerleader girls that a few thought was funny and the other few thought was a bitch. “I was just another girl, no big deal.”
“Popular?”
“About as much as Saddam Hussein.”
Justin grins. “What did you do after high school.”
Uh oh. Here is where it gets harder. “Um…I sorta…went to college,” I trail off rather pathetically, avoiding their gazes. “But I dropped out,” I practically whisper.
Trace shrugs. “There’s no shame in that.”
I glance up at him, my embarrassment fading slightly. “Really?”
Justin nods and picks up another beer. “Yeah. I mean, Trace and I barely made it through high school, let alone college.” I smile gratefully at him, before he asks. “So, why did you drop out?”
Shit. How can I sum those chaotic few years without giving them too much information? “The most stupid reason imaginable, let’s just leave it at that.”
“Is it the same reason you left Ohio?” asks Trace, looking at me curiously.
Shit, these boys are smarter than they look. “Sort of, yeah.”
There’s a silence, where they’ve obviously run out of things to ask me because all they can think about is what The Big Reason could be. I sigh. I may as well tell them, however humiliating it’s going to be.
“I dropped out of college to move to Tennessee with my boyfriend,” I say, eventually.
They look up at me, surprised I broke so easily. Yeah, you and me both, guys. “Well what’s wrong with that?” Trace asks.
I snort. “What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with that is I gave up my whole life just for some guy who ended up leaving me after two months in this crappy state,” I snap angrily.
Even now, after almost two years, I still get angry at myself. How could I be so stupid? I think I should mention that Matthew (I even stooped down so low as to call him Matt, several times. I hate myself,) was handsome, rich and intelligent. He was everything a girl could want in a man. So me, being the chubby, not so popular girl I was, practically kissed the sky when he expressed interest in me. He was my first boyfriend, the first I guy who ever seemed to find me attractive and the guy I ended up giving everything to. I was just so happy I actually had a boyfriend I never questioned anything, what a wimp I was. Asshole. I hate men. They should be put in a small pit and fed to ravenous tigers. All of them.
Trace recoils at my harshness. “Well, why didn’t you just move back?”
I shrug. “Because I’d thrown away everything, all my opportunities, all my friends. There was nothing to go back to.”
“Bull,” says Justin, unexpectedly.
I turn to him. “Excuse me?”
“Bull,” he repeats matter-of-factly. “You didn’t go back because you’re too proud.”
Damn you, Dr Freud. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” I say, desperate to move on.
They nod, before Trace begins to yawn. “You know guys, I’m kind of tired.”
I yawn instinctively and sigh. “Same.” I haul myself off the couch, my head already beginning to pang somewhat.
I look around for my coat, preparing myself to go home before Justin stands up. “You can’t go home like this.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why not? I’m fine.”
He shakes his head. “No, you can’t drive like this.”
I shrug. “I can walk.”
He snorts. “Cat, if you think I’m going to let you walk home by yourself, then you are unfortunately mistaken.
I groan. “Why? I can walk home by myself.”
He shakes his head and bends over, picking up a few stray bottles. “I don’t think so. Pretty girls like yourself bring out the wannabe thug in little boys.”
I freeze. Pretty girls like myself? Pretty girls? A grin sneaks onto my face as does a blush.
Of course, he doesn’t notice and carries on cleaning. “So tonight you can just stay here in one of the guest rooms.”
I stifle a yawn. “Honestly, just let me go home, I’ll be fine.” He called me pretty, pretty!
He shakes his head again and touches my arm, sending chills through my body. “Please stay here tonight,” he asks softly, his blue eyes the image of sincerity.
My heart melts. “Okay,” I whisper, and he grins at me. He knows full well he could have just said, 'There's a pink elephant outside your bedroom' and I still would have whimpered, "Oh, okay then Justin."
“Great. Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
I’m vaguely aware of bidding Trace goodnight but my focus is mainly on Justin, who took my hand to lead me upstairs. He heads into one of the countless rooms along the hall and ushers me in it. It’s a nice room, sort of boring, with white walls and white sheets and a closet.
“Is in here okay?”
“Honestly, I’d have been fine walking-”
He holds up a hand to silence me. “Ah ah ah, just go to sleep. There are clothes in the closet over there,” he nods towards the closet and quickly kisses my cheek. “Sleep well, Cat.”
He leaves the room, leaving me standing in the middle of it, blushing and touch the place where his lips touched my skin. The fluttery feeling in my heart just won’t go away and I find myself staring wistfully at the door he just exited.
-------------------------
I happily stroll down the stairs, a slightly smile playing on my lips the next morning. If i ignore the pain in my head, then maybe it'll just go away. Christ, I'm such a light weight. I didn't even drink that much last night, and yet I'm still groaning every time I hear a bang. But it's worth it, last night was amazing. Not only did I get called pretty, but I got a kiss on the cheek too. My life is complete.
"Hi," says Trace as I come in.
"Hey," I say as Trace pushes a slice of toast in my direction.
"Sleep okay?"
I nod as I munch my toast. "How's your hangover?"
He shrugs. "Takes more than a few beers to get me. I'm well trained," he says, flexing his muscles.
I laugh. "At least you're good at something."
He feigns annoyance before pointing over to the phone. "There's a message from your roommate on the answerphone."
My hand flies to my forehead. "Shit! I didn't tell her I wasn't coming back last night!"
Trace waves me off. "Nah, don't worry, Justin did, last night. But she still said something about your mom phoning or something."
"Oh great," I mutter, heading over to the phone and listening to my messages on loudspeaker.
"Hey Cat, it's Diane. I just wanted to let you know your mom called saying she left her glasses or something so she wants you to give her a call. I'll probably be at college when you come back, so I'll catch ya later, hun."
I shrug and prepare to walk away from the phone, when another female voice filters through. "Hey Justin, it's Natasha." A dagger drives through my heart. "I'm just returning your call..." he called her? Another dagger. "To say I am going to be free on Friday night if you wanna meet up or something, that'd be really great." A whole fucking sword is plunged into my chest. "Call me later, bye!"
Just like that, my good mood was snatched away from me. My eyes water, but I quickly bite on my lip to stop them falling. So Justin is pursuing this Natasha girl? I angrily eat another slice of toast. I should have known. I'm just another chubby girl that he's going to refer to as having a "great personality". We will never be together, and he will never look at me the way I look at him, and it's killing me.
Suddenly, I hate every person in the world named Natasha. I bet she's pretty, and thin, and blonde. Bitch.
I want Justin to say it's not true, I want him to say what I'm feeling isn't in vain, I want him to defy the odds and admit he is madly in love with me, I want him to say the other day wasn't just my imagination and he really was going to kiss me before Trace interrupted us.
But want is getting me nowhere. I need to stop dreaming.
Story Tags: Be the first to add a tag to this story
