At work the next day I ignored barbed comments from the other waitresses about my whereabouts and managed to get through a garden party for some record company hacks. I thought about Chris the entire time, it was beyond ridiculous. Every time I turned around, I’d see a glimpse of dark hair and think it was him, and my heart would lift, only to crash back down. So I got through that day by ducking into the bathroom stall and snorting a few lines off the toilet tank every thirty minutes or so, skirting Wade’s advances and a rather confused older gentleman who thought I was his trophy wife. 

When it was finally over, I was exhausted and my body craved a drink or a snort, but I wasn’t in the mood to appease it. I yanked off my tie in the private room where the waitresses kept their bags, and fished through my backpack for my phone. 

Missed calls-2.

Voicemail-1.

The sense of vertigo when I saw Chris’s name on the caller ID was heady and I wanted to call him back, but I still hadn’t come to an ironclad decision on what I was going to do about him. I knew if I decided to pursue a relationship with him (although I was terrified of relationships as a rule) I would have to cease, if not stop completely, my substance abuse, and I wasn’t sure I could or wanted to. On the other hand, the thought of starting the same monotonous routine I had at home was enough to drive me crazy, and Chris would liven things up. 

I grabbed my bag and checked my voicemail.

“Nyx, this is Chris Scott Baio. Listen, I don’t know what time you get off of work, but I’m sorta hungry and I was wondering if you’d meet me at Lager’s, for a drink? Um, give me a call.” 

There was a pause, and I stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and waited.

Chris sighed. “Please meet me. Or call me. Bye.”

I grinned, despite myself, and exited my voicemail, then called him up.

The phone rang a few times, and then Chris picked it up, breathless. “Hello?”

“Nice voicemail, butthead.” I teased, and I heard him laugh in a relieved sort of way.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Just walking out of work. You still hungry, or did you eat?”

“I could go for a burger. How far away are you from Lagers?”

I peeked out of the door to see Wade lounging against the front pillar, smoking, even though he wasn’t supposed to smoke on work grounds. Shit.

“I actually don’t know how to get to Lagers from here, I’m horrible with directions.”

“You want me to come get you on my bike?”

“Aw, Chris, you don’t have to do that, plus, my creepy boss is hanging outside and I wanted to get to my car as soon as I leave here.”

“Stay inside, I’ll come and get you and give creepy boss the slip. Come on, pleaseeeeee, I’ll feel like Secret Agent Man.” Chris hummed a few bars of the song to punctuate.

I laughed. “Fine, ass. I’m at that big white pavilion place, on First St. Is that familiar?”

Chris snorted. “I went to countless, boring record parties at that fucking place. I’ll be there in ten. Hang tight.”

I laughed. “Okay, see you soon, Baio.” I hung up smiling, and loitered around the lobby for a few minutes, waiting for Wade to leave, but he didn’t move and I couldn’t stay there forever, the place was closing up. With a deep breath, I pushed open the door and walked past him, determinedly ignoring his presence, and sat down on the bench.

“Hey, Nyx, your car break down or something?” Wade called over to me, and I sighed, pretending to not hear him.

“Nyx? Do you need a ride?” He came closer, and I couldn’t pretend to not hear him now.

“No, Wade, thanks, though. Got someone to come and get me.” I said patiently, even though my teeth were clenching.

“Oh, okay. Listen, what happened to you these past three days? Your ex called up the big boss and said you had gone into the hospital.”

Smooth liar, Alan.

“Well, I don’t know, Wade, I guess I was in the hospital.” I said, rolling my eyes.

Wade laughed. “You are such a fucking cunt.”

I gave him a grimacing smile and watched the road, anxiously, waiting to hear the roar of Chris’ motorbike.

“You need any white, Nyx? Got some for $135.” Wade wheedled, and I groaned inwardly. Fucking asshole, he knew I liked the stuff, and he was going to tempt me like that?

“One thirty-five is kind of cheap, Wade, how do I know it’s good?” I asked nonchalantly, and Wade figured my relenting was an invitation to sit his flat ass down next to me.

“It’s good. I’m letting you have it at a discount.” 

I snickered. “Oh yeah, what kind of dealers have discounts?”

“It’s the Sleep With Me and I’ll let you keep your job discount,” Wade said, his voice laced with threat.

I laughed, even though it felt as if my heart had been dunked in nitrogen. “Fuck off, shitbird. No coke is that good. And must I remind you that I have a picture of you smoking on the job?”

Wade's lip curled. “You are too much, you know that, Nyx? You walk around, holier than thou, pretending you’re better than all of us, when all you are is a fucking cokehead tease, just like the rest of them." 

My fists clenched, my vision had bright red edges, not a good sign if I wanted to keep myself out of jail. 

"Unlike the rest of you fucking dregs, I won't fuck a loser to get my stuff, and I'd rather be a tease than a cockgobbling thundercunt. Now leave me the hell alone, fuckbag, before I press charges on you for sexual harassment." 

Wade laughed, but uncertainly, and it was with a very hard look at me that he rose and strode off through the dark to his car. I watched him go, boiling with hate. The roar of a motorcycle broke my stare and I made myself smile as Chris pulled up on his bike, yanking his helmet off. He sent me his disarming smile, and my stomach did a rollercoaster drop move. The crimson edge of my anger melted away. My fingernails retreated from my palms. 

"Hey, you."

"Hey." I grinned back, and he looked around. "Where's your boss?" 

"He slithered away. Ready to go?" I was anxious to get out of there, and I think Chris could tell because he immmediately handed over his helmet. 

"Aren't you supposed to have one too?" I asked, putting it on. He shrugged. "I'll be really careful. Hop on." 

I jumped onto his bike and held onto him tight as he gunned the motor. 

As we exited the parking lot, I saw Wade glaring at me from the side of his truck. 

He couldn't see my face, but I was smirking. 

Chris ordered a Heineken and I got something light, a Smirnoff, even though I wanted some Patron or Jose. His hair was all mussed from the wind and he looked totally adorable, and I couldn't stop myself from smiling at him like an idiot. 

"What are you looking at me like that for?"  

"I like the sex hair thing you've got going on here," I commented, taking a sip of my drink. Chris' hands flew up to his spikes and tried to smooth them down, and I shook my head. "Stop it! It's hot. Bedhead works for you." 

He stopped messing with it and winked at me, gulping his beer. 

"So, how was work?" 

I groaned. "A pain in the ass. Record company people can be fuckin' assholes, no offense." 

Chris chuckled. "Yeah, none taken. I remember that shit. My apologies. Went to a few with Britney and Christina and it was a fucking madhouse." 

"Ah, the trials and tribulations of fame." I teased, and he rolled his eyes at me. 

"So, do you have the day off tomorrow?" Chris wanted to know, trying to sound off-handed. 

"I work for a few hours in the morning, why?" 

"Wondering if you wanted to come with me to a paintball tournament. I'd think you'd be a terror out there with a paintball gun." Chris teased, and I shook my head. "Oh, you have no idea, Kirkpatrick." 

"Well, is that a yes?" Chris wheedled, and I stuck out my tongue at him. "Yes, yes, I'll come to the paintball tournament, dammit. But I don't have paintball gear." 

He waved that off. "My sister has some of hers at my house. You're about her size, should fit without a problem.." 

I nodded. "Sounds fun. I've never been in one." 

Chris smiled mischievously at me, and my breath caught, I'd never seen anything more sexy. "It's brutal. I'm not sure you can cut it." 

I immediately rose to his bait. "Don't start with that, Mr. I'll Kick Your Ass at Mortal Kombat. Dem's fightin' words." 

Chris chuckled. "Good point. I'd rest up though, after work. We'll wear your cute little ass out, Nyx." 

I gaped. "What would you know about my cute little ass, Kirkpatrick?!" 

He just laughed and winked at me, making my entire body tremble. 

Our burgers came while I was recovering from that little comment, and as usual, I wasn't really hungry, but hopefully, he didn't notice. We didn't talk much while we were eating, but it was a companionable sort of quiet, not awkward or weird, which I wasn't used to. 

I took a few bites of my burger but it was enough to make my stomach ache again, and I guess it showed on my face because Chris was looking at me expectantly. "Something wrong with your food?" 

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. How's yours?" 

"It's pretty good. Are you still sick?" 

I shook my head. "No, but I was sneaking some finger sandwiches at work, probably filled me up." 

Chris snickered. "You eat like a bird." He took a huge bite of his burger. 

I watched him, half smiling. "And I see you're obsessed with keeping your girlish figure." Chris set down his burger and immediately began preening and batting his eyelashes at me, and I couldn't help myself, I laughed. "You are nuts, Kirkpatrick." 

"They tell me that." He picked his burger back up and resumed eating, but I picked at mine and instead, we talked about his band, Nigels 11. He seemed very enthusiastic about it and told me about his bandmates. I admitted that I had checked out the Nigels 11 MySpace and the music was pretty cool. 

"Too tame for you, huh?" Chris winked, and I shook my head wildly. "No! You have a great voice, dude. I really think you've got talent, and if you sucked, I'd tell you so." 

He nodded his head. "I figured you would. Thanks, Nyx, that means a lot to me." I smiled sadly at him. "You've got millions of chicks telling you that constantly." Chris shrugged. "And that means something too, but coming from you, it means a lot. Especially since I know our music wasn't really your thing." 

"Then I'll have to go out and buy myself an *NSYNC CD and see you cut loose." I teased, but I had already exhausted YouTube's collection of *NSYNC videos, something I'd never admit even if someone threatened me with hot coals. The entire time, I had tried to wrap my brain around the fact that I had gone on a date with Chris Kirkpatrick, the same guy who was on MTV and on magazine covers and talk shows. He was a chaotic little gremlin, too adorable for words, and though the Chris in front of me seemed older and wiser, he was still a wild card. Not many people can keep up with me, but he was giving me a run for my money.

Chris made a face. "Just don't ask me to teach you dance moves. I think I'd probably die in the process." 

"Oh, I'm going to learn them, Kirkpatrick," I said, forcing my face to remain dead serious. "I'm going to practice them before I go to bed and maybe even put a video of myself doing them on YouTube." 

Chris snorted. "Right, you let me know when you do that, I'd pay good money for that video." 

"What!? I can dance! I like to dance!" I protested, and Chris threw back his head and laughed. "You like to dance? Doth my ears deceive me? I thought you were a little metalhead; I can't see you dancing in a club." 

I gave him a mock scowl. "For your information, I can bust a move just as well as anybody else." 

"Then I'll have to take you out dancing," Chris said, throwing his napkin on the table. 

The confident smirk disappeared off my face. "Wait. Do what with who for how many donuts?"

Chris started cracking up. "Oh no, sister, you screwed yourself on that one." 

"I was just kidding! I'm a horrible dancer! I suck! Like, the whitest white girl at an all-white school suck!" I protested, and this only made Chris howl louder. 

"Well, let me be the judge of that. One of these nights, you and I are going to dance, and if you don't know how, I'll teach you." Chris promised, and promptly I felt the color drain out of my face. 

It wasn't the dancing part I was freaked out about, I could dance very well, as I had a gay cousin and I had excellent rhythm, it was the thought of being close enough to Chris to actually get carried away. And it wasn't that I didn't want to, I just didn't trust myself. Especially in a club setting, where liquor was certain to be had. And I knew the man could dance-I stayed up till 4am watching him do it on Youtube. 

Chris did not seem to notice my dread, or if he did, he let it slide, cause I'm sure he knew the circumstances of dancing might lead us somewhere. He started asking me about Louisiana, and we talked about that for a while, but the entire time I kept thinking of him and I pressed close together in the dark, sweating, his scent soaking into me, his breath washing across my face. His hands pressing against the small of my back, drawing those little circles into my skin. My entire lower region was twitching. 

It was enough to keep me distracted and angry at myself, so when Chris looked at his watch and suggested we grab the bill and leave, I was only half there. 

When we stepped into the cooler air outside, Chris looked at me questioningly.

"Nyx? You with me?" 

I snapped back to reality. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good." 

"Tomorrow, after the paintball tournament, why don't we go to a club or something? I know one that plays some rock remixes, so you might like it."

Panic surged through me, I hadn't expected this to happen so quickly, but this was the first time I realized that when you put an idea in Chris Kirkpatrick's brain, he was a dog with a bone. Scared though I was, I could not let myself appear weak or scared in front of him, so with my heart in my throat, I agreed. Chris' smile was blinding and he led me to his bike, my heart pounding the whole time. 

Dear God, I thought, what had I gotten myself into? 

Chris dropped me back off at my car at the pavilion and insisted on following me back home, as the area wasn’t that great. I let him have his burst of chivalry because in all honesty, it was a bit flattering. He treated me like I was precious cargo and with anybody else, it would have insulted me, but he wasn't anybody else. 

When I pulled alongside the curb of Alan’s house, I sat there in silence after I killed my motor. Something was happening to me, and I didn’t know how to stop it or challenge it or make it turn to my advantage. I could not control myself and I hated it.

Because I was lost in these woods of despair, I did not notice Chris halting his bike behind my car, I did not notice when he walked along the passenger side. It wasn’t until he opened the door and slid inside did I jump out of my skin.

He had pulled off his helmet and his dark hair was a disaster again, but it was the expression on his face that floored me. He looked so serious that he could have been coffin-side, and he wasn’t even looking at me, just staring at my dash.

“Chris?” I asked quietly, and he shook his head. When he spoke, it was rapid.

“Nyx, all I’ve done these past few days is obsess about kissing you, and if I don’t, I’ll go crazy and if I do, you might run. Either way, I lose.”

I was struck dumb by his levity and could not say a word.

“So if you want to bolt, you'd better do it. If you want to be just friends, tell me now. I’m too old for games.”

“Chris...I..I…”

He looked at me then, and I bit my lip, causing him curse in frustration. He shook his head and made a move to get out of the car.

I touched his arm. “Don’t.” 

Chris stopped and looked at me, his dark eyes questioning, hungry, his gaze wandered to my hand on his arm.

I swallowed. “I can’t guarantee I won’t be...nervous. It's...been a long time since I...you know. A really long time. As for me running, I...I'm really trying not to. But I don’t think that we can keep going on like this and...just be friends.”

Chris searched my eyes, and without a word, slipped his hand into my hair and pulled me forward. Our lips hovered, dangled over the precipice of no return. The edge of his thumb grazed the corner of my mouth. He smelled like expensive leather and good beer, the forest, and a tangy scent that could have been his shampoo. His lips brushed mine. Feather soft, barely a kiss. Once. Twice. The slightest hint of his tongue. My heart seemed to be in the vicinity of my left nostril. There was nothing unsure about his actions-he was playing with me, and he wanted me to know it. He wanted me to want it. All of it. When I tried to deepen our embrace, trembling and slightly frustrated, he would pull back and gently nuzzle his nose against mine until I stopped trying to rush him. His other hand had found its way to my thigh, gripping it possessively, as if he had been wanting to grab me there all night. I was wet. Extremely fucking wet. And something in the tiny, cocky little smile against my lips told me that he knew it, but he wasn't about to blow his chances so soon. 

When he finally slanted his mouth over mine, slow and hot and melting, his stubble gently scratching my face, I moaned into it. I couldn't help it; I had never had a man kiss me like that. His mouth instantly ceased its movements on mine, pulling away just the tiniest bit. His eyes drank me in, a little surprised at first, but they narrowed and he came back for more with a vengeance, his fingers gripping the back of my neck, thumb pressed into my cheek. The point of no return was long gone, both of us burning up now, our panting loud and overwhelming in the car. I barely noticed the console digging into my ribs. He tasted like home to me. He tasted like home, and I have been so fucking homesick.

Now that I had free reign, I devoured him. My hand was tangled in his hair, sucking on his lower lip, nipping it, and Chris let out a dark hiss into my mouth, his hand slipping from my nape, gently and firmly cupping my throat, fingers pressing lightly against my pulse. The taste of his tongue was making my head swim. His hand on my thigh slid up so that it curled around my waist, brushing the skin ever so slightly. He exhaled through his nose; moved away to take a tiny breath, but we barely got any air in our lungs before our lips were back at it, fighting wars, dissembling our common sense. His hand wandered further up my shirt; pressed against the bare skin of my lower back. Hindered by his jacket, I couldn't get as much of him in my hands as I wanted to, but he seemed to like my soft tugging of his hair. At this point I was nearly in his lap. Chris was growling between kisses, his fingers fisted in my shirt now. It felt like I might burn alive. I couldn't think straight enough to realize that it was due to quickly depleting oxygen. 

 I'm not sure who pulled away first, but one thing was for sure-neither of us wanted to. Chris leaned his forehead against mine and exhaled gustily. My heart felt like it might jump out of my chest and join the circus. "Jesus Christ." He said tightly, his fingers drawing the line of my jaw, his other hand still wrapped in my shirt, barely grazing my skin now, but his touch held so much promise. If we ever slept together, I thought dazedly, I was a goner. This guy was kerosene. This guy was napalm. 

"I concur." I don't know how I was able to talk. My lips felt swollen, buzzing and tingling. My entire body felt like a massive live wire. If I thought I had ever held the upper hand with him, he had destroyed that misconception with one kiss. I was in severe fucking trouble here.

Chris laughed softly to himself. “You’re so lucky I have self control, Nyx."

“If you must.” I said coyly, and with satisfaction, I saw his eyes flit to my mouth. He moved forward, but I ran my nose along his and pulled away before he could destroy my underwear like that again. Chris's dark blade of an eyebrow kissed his hairline. "And just where the hell do you think you're going?"

I grinned back teasingly and slid out of the car. He gaped at me in disbelief as I closed the door and walked backward up the lawn. He quickly opened the passenger door and rested his forearms on the hood of my car. Hair mussed, lips wet, those eyes boring into me. I nearly sprinted back down the hill to him again, but I checked myself. 

“I really don’t get a kiss goodnight?!” Chris called.

“You might take advantage of me and my innocence!” I yelled back, grinning, and I heard him grunt in playful frustration. My gut tightened. If I went back down there, we'd probably screw in my backseat. As much as I wanted to, I was in no shape to have sex with him tonight. I had to somehow come to terms with the fact that he had basically kissed my soul out of me. 

“Get the hell back down here, Nyx." 

“Oh, so now you’re greedy!” I called, almost at the porch, turning to face him. 

“Hey, I’m just a man.” He responded, a smile in his voice, and I heard the car door close.

“That’s right. Ciao, baby!” I blew him a kiss and heard him laughing as I closed the door. 

The house was dark, as usual, and as I heard Chris gun his bike, I could not stop smiling, the feeling of his mouth on mine was going to drive me spare all night. I got to my room without breaking my neck and did a thorough search for hidden ex-boyfriends, and when I could find none, I fell back on my bed, and yes, I’ll admit I did it: I squealed like a girl and kicked my legs into the air. And if you ever tell anybody else that, I’ll fucking hunt you down and gut you.

I took off my clothes and got into my PJs, too keyed up to take a bath, and crawled underneath the stupid English bed to retrieve my bag of powder, my straw, and my mirror from where I had hidden it from Alan and his troupe of nosy maids. Using my credit card, I lined up eight fat ones and snorted them, then laid back to enjoy the rush, but try as I might, nothing could compare to Chris’ kiss.

It was better than any hit, any shot, any pill, any high-and it was just one more thing I knew I’d get addicted to.

I miss the way you say my name
The way you bend, the way you break
Your makeup running down your face
The way you touch, the way you taste

When the curtains call the time
Will we both go home alive?
It wasn't hard to realize
Love's the death of peace of mind

You're in the walls that I made with crosses and frames
Hanging upside down
For granted, in vain, I took everything
I ever cared about

The Death of Peace of Mind

Bad Omens