Too Much, Too Young, Too Fast
Okay, just joshin’ you-I didn’t really faint.
But I felt like I was going to hurl (remarkable how Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick always seems to trigger that reaction in me)and if it hadn’t been for Alan’s quick thinking (bless the man) things might have escalated into a royal brouhaha.
Alan grabbed my wrist and yanked, causing our sides to snap together and obscure the view of our hands, which had already hastily completed the transfer of X to my back pocket.
Chris, to his credit, looked only mildly disturbed.
“Yep, here I am. That’s me.” I choked out, and Alan sighed. Chris’s eyes flickered from me to Alan, and I could see the ghost of the wrong idea starting to appear in his eyes. Alan, seeing how I was unable to make any other noise besides odd garglings, broke the silence first.
“Hi, Chris Kirkpatrick, isn’t it? Alan Crane, Crane Shipping. We live down the street from one another.” He extended his hand out, and Chris, snapping back to attention, took it.
“Nice to meet you. We do?”
“Yes, I’ve seen you outside with your motorcycle a few times. Funny how we’ve never met.” Alan said smoothly, withdrawing his hand. Chris had a motorcycle?! Rawr.
“It’s a small world.” Chris joked, his eyes straying from Alan to me.
And this is where Alan started to become less of a lifesaver and more of a pain in the ass. Seeing that I was somehow incapable of speaking (which rarely happens) he took that opportunity to embarrass the living fuck out of me. Alan clapped his hand on my back, making me jump, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, which probably made the scene look even weirder.
“SO! How do you know my little Nyx, here?”
“Nyx,” Chris said slowly. His eyes floated down to my hands. “You’re married?” A look of genuine disappointment passed over his face. Before I could adamantly dismiss that idea, Alan did it for me.
“Married?! Oh no. My intended is in the tent, hopefully behaving herself. No, Nyx and I go way back. Used to go to high school together. Best of friends, weren’t we, Nyx?” Alan clapped me heartily on the back, and I choked.
“Goog.” Was all I could say.
Chris noticeably relaxed at that statement, but it wasn’t until Alan withdrew his arm from around me that his fists unclenched. God, was he going to pee on me next, to mark his property? That irritating little gesture snapped me out of my fugue state. The guy had just learned my name.
“Were being the operative word.” I corrected Alan, and he rolled his eyes at me.
“So your brother sent me those Mojitos? Those were damn good Mojitos.” Chris said hesitantly, trying to ease out of the awkward tension, and Alan laughed. “No, that was my corporate slut of a father, but you should thank Nyx for the quality. She sure does know how to mix up some damn good drinks, don’t you?” Alan glared down at me with a tight smile.
Oh, Christ. When I got home, he’d probably tie me up and make me wear things from the Gap.
“Thank you, Captain Nyx.” Chris said quietly, his eyes sparkling in amusement.
Christ almighty, I had to get out of here.
“You’re welcome. Now, Alan, don’t you have a drunken wench fiancée to attend to? I’m pretty sure she’s face down in the cake at this point.” I said, very pointedly.
“Better her then you, huh, Nyx?” Alan joked, and before I could kick him in the nuts, he again extended his hand to Chris. “Nice meeting you. Be careful with this one. She can cut her teeth on you.” Obviousl taking his words as a joke, Chris laughed, affably bid him farewell and I could do nothing but glare at Alan’s retreating back. I wanted to roast his fucking eyes over a bonfire while his father was tied to a tree and made to watch.
“Strange dude.” Chris commented, taking a step closer to me. Despite the fact that he was sweating, his cologne floated off of him in waves, which hit my nose, then hit my naughty bits like a tidal wave. SHAZAM.
I laughed nervously. “Yeah, That’s my good buddy Alan.”
Who I’m going to gleefully castrate tonight.
“So, are you off of work?” Chris wanted to know, taking another step closer to me. My first instinct was to step back, but I couldn’t, I was frozen.
“Yes. No. I mean, yes. I mean, I think so.” WTF HE IS NOT GOING TO TACKLE YOU ON THE GRASS WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO STUPID OH GOD I WISH HE’D TACKLE ME ON THE GRASS
He laughed. “Well, if you think you are, you want to come grab a bite to eat with me? One of the guys went and picked up some WOW from around the corner and I can’t eat all of it by myself, I’m on the Jenny Craig.”
I giggled. Fuck.
“Yeah. WOW sounds great. Do you want a beer? I can get you one, plenty of free ones left over. What’s your poison?”
“Anything you have is perfect.” Chris said softly, his eyes floating over me, head to toe, and I swear to God I almost passed out. My knees were actually weak. I know people say that all the time, but between the heat and the close call and Alan embarrassing me, I was one red, confused, and horny little waitress.
“Will go get my stuff. And the beer. And meet you at your tent.” I was not capable of forming full sentences, and somehow I managed to unlock my legs and sidle around him. Chris gifted me that megawatt smile and it caught me full force. “Okay. Don’t escape. I’ll be looking forward to a nice cold beer and it wouldn’t be polite for you to jack me.”
“That’s what she said.” I joked, my personality coming back now that we weren’t in such close proximity.
Good, the little fucker blushed, but as I walked away, I felt the heat of his eyes on my retreating back, and I barely managed to make it inside the tent before I smacked myself in the head. He had not looked at me like that at Lagers, but out here he was making it no secret that he was checking me out. And I was not about to get all feminist about it, either.
My God, what was wrong with me? I can handle anything and everyone except myself. I never get flustered or embarrassed or shaky like that, in the presence of any man. Men were men and easy to predict in their ways. In the past, if a man would have looked at me up and down as blatantly as Chris had just done, he would have gotten a swift kick in the nads for his trouble. But I couldn’t do it, and deep inside I was screaming at myself to get a grip, that he was fucking ex POP star! I did not cream over popstars! I creamed over Johnny Depp and Colin Farrell. I loved Pantera and Linkin Park and had never been to a concert where there wasn’t at least three fights involving bikers or metalheads and where I hadn’t gone home with neck pain. But I was losing it. Over a popstar of TRL fame. Lunchboxes. Tiger Beat. AGHHHH.
Thankfully, the tent had cleared out and only a few of my coworkers sidled around, cleaning up, slipping the free beer in their purses, enclosing what was left of the food in paper napkins and stuffing it in their bags. My little panic attack had gone unnoticed and I was exceedingly grateful that none of the Cranes, including the soon to be Mrs. Crane, was there. If they had been, there would have been a ritual sacrifice, and I would have gotten fired.
I hurried quickly to the cases of beer, grabbed a Heineken and a Smirnoff out of the icy water, then into the small cramped back room where the waitress kept their purses. I needed a mirror. And possibly a face transplant. I ran a brush through my hair, swallowed a whole pack of breath strips, thus assuring that my whole mouth would probably be on fire until the day I died, but at least I’d have decent breath. I fished a compact mirror out of my backpack and checked my makeup. After doing a few lines through a dollar bill to calm my nerves and checking my nose for nosebleeds, I was ready. At least, I hoped. I had stalled long enough, and I knew enough of Chris already to know he'd come back.
I collected my payout and slipped away. It was getting darker and the sun over the ocean was bright red, and I could feel the good coke chipping away at my nerves, soothing me down. You may think I’m stupid for snorting coke right before I hung out with Chris, but to tell you the truth I was getting to the point where I couldn’t do anything without coke. And having dinner with an ex pop star definitely called for it, especially since I seemed to be incapable of coherent speech patterns around him. I didn’t think he’d notice-I’m normally fidgeting anyway. Plus, he was in a boy band. How much more wholesome and law abiding could you get?
The paintball arena was empty, save for a few teenagers
packing up their gear. Crickets chirped, and I hoped there wouldn’t be too many mosquitoes tonight. In Louisiana, you couldn’t eat outside like this in summertime. You’d be their five course meal before you even picked up your fork. Florida wasn’t as bad. As I got closer to his tent, I realized that Chris and I would probably be alone, and I shivered. Thankfully, I didn’t turn and run-the drugs helped me steel my resolve.
Chris was sitting outside the tent when I walked up, haunched over one of his paintball guns, and my breath caught when I saw him. It sounds really stupid, but the red light from the disappearing sun was hitting him perfectly and he was positively, awesomely, incredibly hot. Too hot for me to keep my stupid mouth shut about it, and I kind of murmured, “Wow.” Okay, I kind of said it. Loudly. Dammit.
Chris yelped and accidently shot a paintball, and it flew past me, causing me to screech, throw my hands over my head, and drop to my knees. I am a paranoid person. Even sober, the flick of a lightswitch will make me scream and retreat into Armageddon survival mode. So when that fucking paintball flew past me, I nearly pissed myself. Yep, I was the picture of cool, let me tell you.
“Holy shit! Captain! You scared the fuck out of me. Are you alright? Did I hit you?” Chris was already by my side, kneeling on the ground, his warm hand on my back. I peeked up through my fingers at him.
And started laughing. Which was great, as opposed to puking.
We didn’t get up off the ground for several minutes, we were laughing so hard. Chris was holding his stomach and rolling around on the grass. Every time we tried to calm down, we’d look at each other and start up again. And what’s funny is that later, during our ill-fated relationship, we’d look at each other out of nowhere, remember that moment, and collapse into laughter. It was the perfect Break the Ice moment. I’m sitting here, remembering all this, and I want to get back in the bathtub and finish the job. But I can’t. I have to tell you, because it has to live on through somebody else.
By the time we stopped acting like imbeciles, it was officially dark. Chris helped me up from the ground, still chuckling, and we retreated into the mosquito free tent, where white take out boxes from WOW sat on the table, still hot. Chris closed the open part of the tent, which officially made us alone. My skin tingled, but I made myself remain calm until he sat down at the table. Our eyes met, and we both snickered.
“I can’t believe you scared me like that. I was sitting there trying to think of anything else but you, and I end up looking like a total jackass.” Chris admitted. My heart thumped against my chest and I felt my face color. I scrambled to keep cool.
“Yeah, well, I probably looked like an idiot, falling down like we were being bombed.” I admitted, and Chris chuckled. “It was sort of cute. But I thought I had hit you with that paintball, so I was really worried.” I waved him off. “Paintballs don’t faze me, Baio. Plus, a big orange splat would have probably improved this outfit, if only marginally.”
“What does faze you?” Chris wanted to know, openly flirting. I laughed. “Not much.” His dark eyebrow went up. “Didn’t seem so in the back of that tent. You looked like a deer caught in headlights.”
I went bright red and busied myself searching my backpack for the beers. He laughed knowingly and got up from his chair. “We can save the beers for after. I have sodas. What would you like?” Chris tipped his head towards an ice chest in the corner. “Coke, if you’ve got it.”
He nodded and tossed me a cold can, then came back to sit down with a Dr. Pepper and pushed a WOW box towards me. “I hope you like Texas Toast. If not, I’ll call them back.”
I laughed. “You can’t fuck up WOW. I love WOW.” I tucked in.
Chris smiled and dunked one of his French fries in ketchup. “You have WOW in Louisiana?” I looked at him indignantly. “Of course we do. We don’t eat crawfish all day.”
“I’ve been to New Orleans. I liked it, a lot. We went there on tour, and Joey accidentally went into a gay bar. God, we were confused.” Chris winked at me.
I laughed. “He probably went to the Pub or the Oz. Total sausage fests. I could see why you guys were confused. It doesn't get much gayer then that.”
“Shit, you’re not kidding me. We walk in and there’s guys in Speedos dancing on the bar to Beyonce. I’m definately not homophobic, but it wasn’t my thing. Lance was probably having a hard time remaining neutral, though.”
I stopped. “Someone in your boyband was gay? Really?”
He nodded. “Yeah, Lance. The blonde one without the fro.”
“I only Googled you.” I confessed, and Chris froze in the middle of sinking his teeth into a Texas toast sandwich. Flushing bright red, I hastened to do the same. Why can’t I stop from blushing around this guy?
“So,” I hurried to save myself, “what did you like about New Orleans?”
“Oh, just how you guys treat every day like a party. Totally carefree. Great food. I don’t think I’ve ever ate so well, and I’ve been everywhere.” Chris confessed.
I swelled with Cajun pride. “Yep! Best food anywhere. You have to try a muffuleta from Central Grocery. Will make you faint, I swear.” As I said this, a sudden feeling of very intense homesickness rushed through me. Dick state as it was, it was home, Katrina wreckage and all. My smile faded.
“What’s the matter?” Chris wanted to know, looking worried.
I grinned a little. “Nothing. I just kinda miss home, that’s all. Never lived anywhere else.”
“Why did you leave?” Chris questioned, tearing up a napkin, looking extremely interested. The question froze my insides. What do I tell him, when I myself don’t even know?
“I guess it was time for a change. I’ll go back sooner or later. I just…I needed to see what else was out there.” That was a really poor excuse, I thought, but it was true.
Bless him, Chris just nodded with understanding. Suddenly, he grinned, and my bones turned to jelly. “Well, don’t leave just yet.”
I laughed, thankfully not blushing. “Why not, Baio?”
“Let a guy take you out to dinner, first.” Chris teased, and my throat caught.
“Dinner?” As if it were a foreign concept to me.
“Yes, dinner. But we’ll get on that later.” He winked and resumed eating.
I could do nothing but the same.
After we had pushed away our WOW boxes and sighed in contentment, I broke out the beers and Chris proclaimed that my choice for him was perfect. I threw my shoes up on the table, daring him to give me shit about bad manners, and sipped my Smirnoff.
“So, tell me what’s up with your friend Alan. I get a vibe off him and I’m not sure whether to like him or be immensely jealous.” Chris’s breezy honesty took me by surprise every time he said something like that. Guys played games and made you guess. They never laid it out like this. I was in unfamiliar territory.
“Might as well come clean. He’s an ex.” I took a swig of my Smirnoff. Chris snorted. “No kidding. But you two seem like night and day. What happened?”
I am not used to people expressing so much interest in me or my personal affairs. I’m a private person and I’m not afraid to tell people to mind their own business. But Chris had a way of making me open up, I don’t know how he did it; I still don’t know. But I do know that it’s always been hard to lie to him, starting from the very first moment. Chris has always been straight and true, like an arrow.
I took a deep breath and looked at Chris evenly. “I didn’t want his life. I didn’t want to be stuck in a huge house, my only duty to look pretty and be everything that a woman in his life has to be. I wanted to be a person, not a stereotype serving an empty purpose.” I played with the wrapper of my Smirnoff as I spoke, and Chris listened, nodding.
“I can understand that. I’ve felt that way, back when *N SYNC was at the top. It was always, ‘Chris, you have to watch what you say or wear’ and ‘Chris, you have to give up your privacy if you want to keep living this way’ and sometimes I felt like quitting the whole fucking thing. I couldn’t, though. I started it, and I would never leave the other guys like that.”
I toasted him. “To loyalty-with shackles.” He laughed. “Something like that. Cheers.” We clinked our beers together and sat in companionable silence for a few seconds.
“Nyx?”
I looked up. “Huh?”
“Is that your real name? Really?” Chris joked, and I feigned anger, throwing a napkin at him.
“ No, my real name is Gertrude. Yes, Nyx is my real name. Don’t ask. My parents did a lot of drugs in the 70’s, and plus, my Mom likes weird Greek names.”
“You are Greek? Like ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’ sort of Greek?” Chris questioned. I nodded. “Yep, and my family ain’t too far off from those people either. According to my mother I’m supposed to be married with a passel of brats by now. I’m technically an old maid.”
Chris laughed. “That’s wild. My other bandmate, Joey, he’s Italian. That’s sort of close to Greek, isn’t it?”
I shrugged, grinning. “We all like to eat, fight, and fuck, so, yes.”
Chris choked on his beer and had to wipe his mouth off. I snickered and handed him a napkin.
“You know, you really suck at this whole 'keeping your drink in your mouth' thing."
“Seems to be a normal occurrence when it comes to you.” He dryly commented, making me flush. There was a silence for a few beats, and then-
“So, Captain Nyx,” He pronounced every syllable of my name as if he was rolling it around in his mouth. I nearly came. “Do you have anywhere pressing to be, or can I interest you in a walk on the beach?”
I chuckled. “Oh come on, Baio. I thought you were above clichés. Don’t prove me wrong.”
“It’s only cliché if I ask you to walk on the beach, then ask you to look up at the moon, and engage you into a philosophical conversation that brings us absolutely nowhere. In fact, I want to walk on the beach because I feel disgusting and I want a quick dip.”
I laughed. “I’m sure you have a shower. Gilded in gold, probably. With a microphone as a showerhead.”
Chris whistled. “Man, you are harsh. I DO have a shower, but I’m pretty sure that I can’t get you to follow me there.”
My eyes widened and he grinned, pleased with himself.
“So what is it gonna be? Beach, or no beach?” He teased.
Now, here’s a free insight to how stupid I can be. Here I was, alone in a tent with a guy who had been on the cover of Teen People but for all I knew was a closet serial killer, buzzed from the liquor, strung out on cocaine, all my judgment scattered and strained and otherwise abandoned. Nobody at home knew where I was. I had a chalky mouth and skin that was vibrating and buzzing, anxious to get out of this seat. I needed more cocaine, and I knew if I refused his offer, I’d go home and snort till I was comatose. I knew how I could get when I was loaded and if I wasn’t careful I could lose myself in this, whatever it was. I could do something stupid, like jump in the water to be carefree and drown. So, naturally, I said yes.
Chris smiled, beatific. “Well, if you would have said no, I would have found a way to get you there.”
My rebellious side kicked in and I narrowed my eyes at him. “What makes you think I'd say no?"
He shrugged, tossed his bottle in the trash can. “Because I think you're used to running."
He had pegged me already.
“We don’t get water like this back home.” She said quietly, looking out at the wide expanse of blue in front of them, endless, the waves reaching out hopefully for their feet, which were bare. Chris grinned. “You’ve never seen clear water?”
Nyx smiled and shook her head. “No. In Biloxi, I would go no further then ankle deep. Lord knows what you’d step on. I’ve always wanted to go to a place with clear water.” She said this as if she never expected to live long enough to do so, and Chris gazed at her, perplexed and intrigued. Everything about this woman was a question mark, and every answer he thought he had was double sided. At dinner, she had engaged him in lively conversation, and to her credit he stayed interested (something that rarely happened) but he was good at observing people and he noticed that she was tucking pieces of her burger underneath her napkin. And when he had helped her down off of the concrete to step onto the cool white sand, her hand was freezing, and seemed to tremble in his. Nyx seemed fidgety, not nervous, but it was like she was being charged with a live wire. Chris had no idea that what he was witnessing was a person crashing through a cocaine buzz. He himself fidgeted and had too much energy, never stayed still. Chris assumed, bless his heart, that he had just encountered another restless soul, which intrigued him.
Chris stepped into the water and let out a gasp, cold as it was, and Nyx laughed. It was a full, warm sound, and he smiled sheepishly up at her. “It’s fucking freezing. Here, share my pain. Step in.” She shook her head, laughing. “Oh no, Baio, I’m not the one who stinks. Go take your dip. I won’t go anywhere.”
He made a noise of disbelief. “Yeah, and look back and see you’ve disappeared? You fell for my ploy. I have no intention of getting in that fucking water. I lured you here, sister.”
Instead of pushing him or teasing him, or even pepper spraying him, Nyx leveled him with that intense stare. “Why do you keep thinking that I’ll disappear, and for that matter, why do you care?”
Chris shrugged. “Because you already have before.”
Nyx looked at him, long and hard, as if she wanted to challenge that, but Chris didn’t wait for a response. He stepped forward into the cold water, ankle deep, hands in his pockets. His heart was racing. The wind blew at his back and he envisioned her running away while his back was turned, he thought of her throwing fiery insults at his back. He heard silence.
But Nyx stepped into the water next to him, not making any sign that she felt the cold water, her pants rolled up to her knees, and Chris could smell the satsuma again. His lungs filled with it.
“Why are you here?” He asked, point blank.
Nyx laughed. “I got tired of there.”
“What was so bad there?” Chris wondered, and Nyx exhaled.
“That’s the funny part. You can change your geographical coordinates, but the problem always rides in the front seat, no matter where you go.” She kicked gently at the water. Her tone specified that she did not intend to push the subject. Satsuma tickled his throat. The beer made him feel heady, brave, insolent even, but Chris was smart enough to let it go. For now.
“Nyx, you are possibly the most intriguing, bar infuriating, female I have ever met.”
She cracked up at that. “This coming from a man who used to have legions of preteens clawing at him, well, that’s an incredible compliment.” Chris rolled his eyes good naturedly. “So says the queen of backhanded compliments.”
“Eh, touché.” Nyx grinned at him, and Chris saw a window of possibility open up for him, the waves were pushing them closer, and he could not understand the nearly crippling urge to reach over and kiss her. His hands twitched in their pockets and actually started withdrawing, Nyx sensed his intentions and nudged his shoulder. Now she seemed nervous. Chris’ hands relaxed. Dammit.
“Why so quiet?”
Chris fixed her with an even stare. “I want your phone number.”
Nyx fought back a smile, cocking her head at him. “Do you?”
“I’m too old for Craigslist. Give me a break.” Chris teased, but he didn’t take his eyes off hers.
“That depends.” Nyx hedged, sidling around him, and Chris snickered, his eyes and body following hers.
“On what?”
Nyx stopped in front of him, matched his stare, and slowly leaned into his personal space. Chris’ breath caught. Her hair smelled minty, and her breath held traces of the apple Smirnoff. Chris fought the urge to make the first move. Their faces were inches apart when that sideways smile flashed across her face and she poked him on the tip of his nose.
“If you could bring me a signed lunchbox.” She said sweetly, and Chris stared at her, agog. Nyx laughed at his wide eyes, but then glanced down, her smile instantly disappearing. Chris followed her gaze, and the both of them screamed,
"JELLYFISH!"
“Good thing you saw it, because I honestly don’t want to pee on you.” Chris confessed, collapsing in the sand next to me.
I laughed. “Touche. Plus, my aim isn’t as good as yours, I’m betting.” Chris instantly flushed. I wanted to scoop the words out of the air and shove them back down my throat. GAH! I had to stop saying stuff like that in front of him! He was not one of my guy friends at the High Ground back home! I hastened to apologize.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got a potty mouth.”
But Chris chuckled. “Nyx, I lived on a bus with four other younger men for a good portion of my adult life. Don’t worry about offending me. I’m just not used to your plain speaking Louisiana talk. Are all the girls like that down there?”
I shrugged and had to fight off a shiver. The coke was demanding my attention, it was harder to focus. I needed more and if I didn’t get some soon I’d get sick. I pushed the warnings aside.
“I guess they are. Not used to hanging around girls. Too much drama.” I shrugged, and Chris nodded sagely. “Well, for what it’s worth, you have the CUTEST accent.” Chris’s voice was mischievous, designed to make me blush, which I did. I laughed despite myself, but I felt a faint stirring of nausea in my stomach. Why did I have to have that Smirnoff? Coke and beer, even malt, never mixed well with me.
“Nyx?” I heard Chris’ voice from beside me, but it seemed like it was coming from a million miles away. I looked vaguely towards him. He was looking at me in a very serious, very sincere sort of way. I fought to focus.
“Yeah?”
“Did my asking for your number freak you out?”
“What? No! I just haven’t decided whether or not to give it to you; you haven’t given your word for that signed lunchbox.” I joked, tracing figures in the sand to avoid his gaze. My eyeballs were flying around in my skull like cue balls.
Chris snorted. “I’ll throw in a lock of Justin’s afro, if you want.”
I raised my eyebrow up at him. “Do I WANT to know how you acquired that?”
Chris shrugged. “I got bored a lot on tour. Besides, the fro was unholy.”
I giggled. “Nice offer, but Fro Boy doesn’t interest me.” Chris perked up at that.
“Doth my ears deceive me? A girl that hasn’t fallen for Timberlake’s extensive charms?” He said innocently.
I raised both my hands up in supplication. “Blondes don’t do it for me. No offense to your boy.”
Chris grinned boldly and leaned back on his hands. “Oh, no offense taken, sister, trust me.”
We shared a shy smile (how gay) and then fell into silence, watching the dark waves roll towards us, and I dug my toes into the damp sand. Despite my being loaded to the max, I felt a sense of serenity that I hadn’t felt in ages, that usually only came when I was near the water. Even in Biloxi, where I had gone numerous times with my family and friends until Katrina ripped it apart, I felt more at peace near it, like I had control. I knew the illusion would fade, but I couldn’t help wondering if my subconscious told me Florida for this very reason. This was teenybopperish to the max. I mean, what are the odds?
I laughed softly to myself.
“What?” Chris’s voice sounded muffled. He had laid back down on the soft sand, his feet twitching restlessly to some beat I assumed he was following in his head. His lovely, well shaped head.
“What do you mean what?”
“You laughed.”
I snickered. “I was just thinking how fucking weird this is, I mean, really?” Chris straightened up and looked at me, one dark eyebrow cocked. “Doth we protest too much? I mean, you’re on a beach with moi.” He rolled his eyes theatrically and pressed his hand to his chest. I bumped his shoulder with mine.
“Shut the hell up. That’s my point, I mean, you’re famous. Why the hell are you so easily accessible? You’re supposed to be incognito. You’re supposed to be doing whatever you fabulous people do. People who know you are supposed to be lucky to get a glimpse of you in some dark club somewhere. Instead you’re just hanging out on a beach in Florida, playing paintball.”
Chris chuckled darkly. “And tell me, what do we fabulous people do? I must have missed that memo. Look, Nyx, I’m just a person. I used to be a poor skinny kid with nothing and now I have more then I know what to do with. The rest of us have been low profile for a long time, we knew from the beginning of the group that Justin would keep going when we stopped. And as for hanging out on the beach playing paintball, well, I’d rather do that every day then be dark and fabulous in a club somewhere.”
“Amen to that. I’m sorry, Your Fabulousness, I stand corrected.” I lifted an imaginary toast into the air, and he, laughing, played along, wagging a finger at me. “Don’t let it happen again, Smart Ass. By the way, do you like paintball?”
I smiled cheekily at him. “I generously partake in any sport where I can show up the lesser gender.”
Chris whistled. “We’ve got a live one here, boys. Consider dem fightin’ words. Now we have to see each other again so I can knock you off that pedestal, sister.”
I snickered. “I sincerely hope you practice before you try doing that.”
Chris looked pleased by my cockiness, as if he had been testing me and I had passed the test. I felt a stab of nausea again and realized that I had broken out into a cold sweat, my forehead damp, and my damned fingers were starting to tremble. I needed to get home. Or whatever the word for Alan’s house was, since it was in no way home to me.
“You okay?” Chris inched towards me, looking at the same thing I was-my hands in my lap, starting to tremble. I wrapped them up in the hem of my shirt.
“Yeah. I need to be getting home. Work in the morning, all that noise.” I started to rise, but stumbled a little. Chris caught my arm and I was painfully aware of how worried he looked, what he must have thought of me. I hated making him look like that.
“You don’t look like you’re good to drive, Nyx. How about I bring you home?” His fingers tightened gently around my arm.
To Alan’s huge Look At Me Look At Me ranch? No thanks. Rather would die in a blazing inferno of twisted metal and charred Neon. But I edited that to be polite and skillfully broke free of his hand without seeming like a bitch. It did not occur to me at that moment that Chris's place probably made Alan’s mansion look like an outhouse. I was too busy wondering exactly the same thing-how the FUCK was I gonna make it home like this? I scooped up my shoes in one of my hands and collected my bag.
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve been much, much worse. “ I laughed a laugh I didn’t feel and Chris eyed me nervously, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I believe you, that’s what worries me.”
I sniggered, even though I had taken several steps away from him, edging my way up the beach, grateful for the dark for shielding my sweating face. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. You have much bigger problems."
“Oh yeah? What’s that!?” He yelled.
“The tide!”
I can only imagine his reaction as Chris looked down and realized that my phone number, written in the sand, was being smoothed away by the ocean. I couldn’t see it for myself, because I was gasping for breath before I even left the beach, and everything written on my face was shame.
My phone was off by the time I made it back to Alan’s dark, forbidding mansion, so if Chris would have called it wouldn’t have mattered. The Prowler wasn’t in the driveway, but that meant nothing-he had four other cars to choose from. It was 10:30, or that’s what I thought it said on the blurred screen of my radio. The world was hell. I was shaking so hard that it took me a good five minutes to get a decent grip on my door handle to let myself out. And I didn’t walk up the perfectly manicured, football length lawn-I nearly crawled. I silently begged any God available to not let Chris pass by at this moment when I was almost on my hands and knees on my ex boyfriend’s yard, but if he would have, I probably deserved all that and more. I was so, so tired, and the huge oak door with the Crane coat of arms seemed miles away.
When I made it up the marble steps, my body propelled itself forward and my mouth opened and I put on such a fantastic Linda Blair performance that I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t come out to throw crucifixes on me. Yep, I puked on Christobel’s thirty dollar Easter lilies, and I didn’t feel bad about it, but I did feel like something was clawing my chest apart. Like most cocaine addicts, I was never hungry, so nothing really came out, and that resulted in a pain cutting directly into my chest.
The front door was wrenched open and I saw a dark face in the doorway through a haze, one of the maids. Amparo, I think her name was, but they all blended together. The face contorted in shock and I saw her move towards me, arms outstretched.
“¡El fallo, usted necesita para ir al hospital! ¿Está usted enfermo?”
I felt her warm arm around my waist and my head lolled back. My feet dragged over the threshold.
“No, ningún hospital. Ayúdeme justo a la cama, por favor.”
“Bed? You do not need a bed, you need a hospital.” The maid scoffed in heavily accented English, and I could hear soft voices in Spanish all around me, whispering “cocaína” like I couldn’t hear them.
I felt myself being lowered to lie on a useless little bench near the front door that was going to serve it’s first purpose if they didn’t move me quick enough-a barf table. Just the word cocaine made my throat itch-if I didn’t get some, I would die. If I didn’t taste that clogging drip in the back of my throat, I would wither away. Amparo-I was fairly sure that’s who was tending to me-left my field of vision and returned a few agonizing minutes later with a glass of water and a damp cloth, which she used to wipe off the sweat on my face. I didn’t want the water, but she insisted with a gentle hand on my chin. The second the cold water went down my throat it came back up again, and I heard her sigh.
I apologized brokenly. “Lo siento para eso. ¿Dónde está Maria? Necesito Maria.”
Maria was the maid who had sold me the coke the first few times, and I needed her badly. Amparo took my hands in her bigger, darker ones.
“You don’t need Maria, Señora. You need help.” Her English was bad yet gentle. I didn’t have the time for this.
“¿Dónde está Maria? Necesito Maria ahora. Por favor, Amparo. Por favor!” I begged, my stomach lurching as I clasped her hands hard in mine.
Amparo sighed once more, releasing me. I heard her calling for Maria, a faint, confused reply and Amparo’s fierce scolding, and then I saw them both in front of me, blurred shaky images of latte skin and bustling linen.
Maria knelt by me. I wasted no time. “Necesito algunos, Maria. ¡Cocaína! Algo usted tiene. Por favor!”
Maria’s soft features looked worried.
“Yo sólo le puedo dar un poquito, la Señora.”
My heart sank, a little bit wouldn’t cut it. Before I had a chance to demand more, Maria opened up my clammy, sweaty hand and gently pressed a small bag of white powder inside. My head flared with longing but I couldn’t snort here, not in front of them. I fought to sit up and ignored their hands on me, trying to push me down.
“Tráigame a la cama. AHORA.” I demanded. Bring me to bed, now.
The maids exchanged looks and moved forward to take my arms, but before they could I puked again, gasping when nothing came up, my entire chest ripped by the cramp. Everything became muted and I was only dimly aware of a door opening somewhere in the distance, foggy voices exclaiming in anger. Footsteps drew closer and I took a deep breath, trying not to retch again. I heard Christobel’s fishwife tones screaming somewhere above my head, but I smelled expensive cologne and glimpsed forest green. Warm fingers grasped my arms and Alan’s square jaw blurred out of focus only inches from my face, it looked like someone had stuck a fork in his features and scrambled them around. I had a dim sensation of being lifted, and the last thing I remember is the marble floor whirling away from me in a sickening spin.
The darkness was no kinder then consciousness.
Around the time Nyx was dry heaving all over Christobel and Alan’s Italian marble floor, Chris was easing his GSXR Suzuki 600 around the corner of his quiet street, his mind preoccupied and his body aching for a drink. He had been absent the whole way home and it was a small miracle he had made it here at all, even though he lived only a few blocks from the beach. He had managed to salvage Nyx’s phone number from the dissipating sand, though it was a close call. Because of this he hadn’t seen her drive off, and therefore had no idea what her car looked like and also had no clue what house her ex resided in. It was only because she was crazy hot and even more so infuriating that she was worth all this speculation and insanity at all, Chris thought wryly.
He slowed his bike to a crawl as he rolled further up his street, pulling his helmet visor down and squinting at the houses on either side, trying to ascertain which house Nyx would live in. He didn’t have to wait long though, because up the street, about five houses past his, he saw a dark blue Neon with Louisiana plates parked against the curb. Nobody in this neighborhood probably knew what a Neon WAS, so Chris was pretty sure it was her, and his heart slid into his stomach like a hot brick. He forced himself to ride into his garage, even though a part of him wanted to go up to the door and find her.
Stalker!
The Undisputed Truth jeered at him, but Chris ignored it as he yanked off his helmet, his head still buzzing from the mojitos. He needed a shower and he needed sleep, but the fact that he had Nyx’s phone number in his Contacts was giving him an adrenaline rush. He could call her. He could call her now, and hear her voice, and make sure he set down a date to see her before she disappeared again. Chris halted at the top of his garage steps and yanked out his phone, and was about to tap her number, but he realized how desperate that might sound. Hey, I just saw you fifteen minutes ago and I have to talk to you again. Lagers?
He stared at the glowing screen, his desire warring with his pride. Nyx was not the type of girl to tolerate that sort of shit.
"Well, maybe I should call under the pretext of making sure I have the right number. The girl DID write it in sand, I may have gotten one digit off."
The Undisputed Truth responded at once.
She didn’t even seem to want to give you her number, so hold your horses. There’s something up with that girl. She was as nervous as a cat. Give her time.
Chris growled in frustration and shoved his phone into his pocket, then headed inside, straight to a cold shower. He’d call after a reasonable amount of time, he reasoned. An hour or two, after he took a shower and got his thoughts straight. He didn’t want to sound stupid just cause her mojitos had addled his brains. Yeah, that was a good plan.
He headed upstairs and into his bathroom, stripping off his clothes, making sure he kept the phone within hearing distance, even though she didn’t have his number. As he took off his watch, he realized that it was the first time in weeks, hell, months, that he hadn’t gone for a drink the second he got home. This froze him in his actions and Chris realized at that point how serious his problem had gotten. For some odd reason, thinking about Nyx and finally seeing her again had made him forget all about drinking, numbed the urge. He had to laugh at himself as he stepped underneath the cold spray. This was all completely fucking insane, but if it made him stop drinking, then he’d gladly be pussy whipped by a chick he knew nothing about. And really, he couldn't be pussy whipped at all, as they had never had sex. Which was making this behavior even more pathetic.
After he had gotten out of the shower (and relieved some of the tension, ahem) he got dressed for sleep and made himself slowly eat a sandwich, pointedly ignoring the Grey Goose calling his name. The phone on the counter mocked him with it’s silence, and Chris groaned and threw his sandwich on the counter. It was no use, he was going to go crazy until he called and lined something up. He knew, almost as an instinct, that if he didn’t call, she’d be gone again.
He grabbed his phone, jumped over his couch, and took a deep breath as he pulled up her Contact page. Chris’ finger hovered uncertainly over the number, feeling very much like he was still in junior high. He tried to gather his wits’ about him, trying to figure out how to breach this conversation with her. For a wild second he considered not calling her, making HER sweat it out, he knew where she lived now, but his pride was fleeting and he punched the number and held it to his ear, his heart quickening.
It went straight to voicemail. Chris sagged in extreme disappointment, but her cryptic voice on the greeting made him ache, and he had no idea why.
“This is Nyx, I’m obviously not here, so explain yourself at the beep. Later.”
The automated voice urged him to leave a message after the tone and Chris panicked, punching the END CALL button with both fingers. The call ended and he stared at the damn phone with frustration, kicking the sofa and cursing under his breath. Damn this girl. Damn her for making him nuts like this-he hadn’t been this way since Danielle, and that had been years ago. Since then he had had a few dalliances with women, but they were not like this, he had enjoyed their company and did what he had needed to do with them and it had been over. Most of them had dollar signs in their eyes and he wasn’t interested in the least with golddiggers. But like it or not, that came with the package. Finally happening across one that wasn’t impressed by him or his money was almost unheard of, so he figured that was the reason for all this angst.
Sighing, he put his phone on the coffee table and turned toward the sofa.
But Chris couldn’t sleep, and for the rest of the night he shamelessly indulged his craving by calling her voicemail, over and over, never leaving a message, just content enough to hear her voice.
A few doors down, unbeknownst to him, Nyx lay almost comatose on a $30,000 bed, not knowing or caring that Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick was alive. Her phone was downstairs, shut off. Her body was feigning intensely and she sweated, cried out for her mother, put fingernail indentations into her hands. Alan sat by her side, sponging her off, soothing her when she cried out, stretched out her fingers, his face drawn and worried. He knew it would get worse, he knew her nose would bleed, he knew she’d be sick, he knew she would sweat through at least three sheets in the next few days. Alan knew she’d break his heart again, had known it from the second she had blown back into his life. Nyx would take his carefully ordered little existence and twist it around until it was as unpredictable as her own, she would piss him off and make him remember things he had tried to forget, and make Christobel even more unbearable than usual. She’d terrorize his help and fuck up the job he had gotten for her, she’d get arrested and beat up. Nyx was a lost cause and most people wouldn’t take her shit, but without her, Alan was sure that he would have suffocated in monotony and eventually hung himself, as he had wanted to since he was engaged to Christobel. Alan surmised, with irony, that when you got right down to it, this fucked up, hateful, addiction ridden girl would save him with her perfect timing.
The three of them, Chris, Nyx, and Alan, would not leave their respective positions for three days.
I was sick of restrictions
Sick of the boundaries
About to close the door
Such a lack of conviction
No real connection
What should I settle for
But you caught my attention
You built on the tension
And you left me wanting more
Now I don't know what I can do with myself
Do with myself
I don't want nobody else
I let you in, I let you in
And you infected me
Can't get enough of you
Can't get enough of you
I breathed you in, I breathed you in
And now I'm in too deep
Don't think I'm pulling through
Don't think I'm pulling through
Can't get enough of you
(Can't get enough of you)
Trapt
Contagious
