014. Gone Forever.
"So you lost a bet..."
"...A horse race."
"And now you owe..."
"...Some people."
"Thousands and thousands of dollars?"
He nods.
"And you have...?"
"Zero."
"Dollars?"
He speaks quickly. "To give! I have, like, my rent which nine hundred, so..." Realization sinks in. "Yeah...technically...I have zero dollars to give."
I sigh heavily. The plot thickens. "And you can't go home because..."
"...They're watching me."
I shake my head and try to think. Nope, that idea's out. "Ember won't understand if she comes home and you're still here."
He doesn't disagree, just looks at me with a knowing look.
If only there were the perfect justification for allowing him to sleep over another night. I fall back completely exhausted with the knowledge that we must conjure up a solution and lie slewn across my bed. I sigh again. "I should've told her you were a childhood friend."
"Wouldn't have worked; she recognized me."
Fuck. "Fuck. Ing. Shit." He's right.
Now he sighs.
"Maybe it would've worked if I said... you were homeless?"
"Because you always allow random homeless guys access to your couch for the night?" The bewildered look of confusion on his face is a valid reaction to my absurdity but gah... I'm really bad at lying to Emb. Unless I think she can truly benefit from not knowing the truth, I am always honest with her, and despite those eyes boring into me, those teeth holding that bottom lip prisoner... that bottom lip so succulent and tempting-I cannot deny that she deserves to know who Justin really is.
I roll over and curl into the fetal position, and let out a defeated whine. "This is my day off, I should be relaxing."
He lets out a frustrated groan. "I know. I'm sorry." He stands up. "I'm... an asshole." I sit up. "Thank you so much for everything... I can't even begin to think of how I'll ever repay you." He backs up toward the door. "I guess if I'm still alive tomorrow I'll stop by Double Shot and... and bring you lunch." He reaches the door. "Thanks again. Really. And I am still really sorry about... robbing you." He does an awkward wave gesture and walks out.
I lie back down. Let the weirdness that is now my life sink in. I totally could've done him right now. I totally wanted to do him right now. He's just so fucking...
The front door closes and that's it.
The Moi I was four days ago is back.
Goodbye hot, sexy, Lord have mercy I'd chop off and sell my left big toe for a night with you, you nasty, naughty... guy that robs people and then miraculously finds himself sleeping on his victim's couch.
So okay, maybe he's out of my house now meaning out of my hair, but he is not out of my mind...
Am I out of my mind?
I think the Moi I was four days ago is gone forever.
015. You're In Trouble With... The Sopranos?
"Kota riganati." I give him my most astonished look as he slides the Tupperware container to me. "It's chicken with oregano." I open it and sniff the contents. "Made it myself."
"Potatoes." I smile. "I like."
He smiles too. "When's your break?"
For a Saturday afternoon we're pretty dead. Allen's not here and because of our rendezvous Zack has been avoiding me as much as possible... my break is probably anytime I want it to be, however many I need to get me through the day... I'm almost positive that Zack finds relief in me taking a break.
I grab a plastic fork which is for the fruit bowls we also serve here at good ole Double Shot, look over my shoulder to see that Zack is regarding Justin and I wearily, and say, "Right now," as I walk from around the counter to a table by the window.
Justin sits beside me instead of across from me. He smells clean like a fresh bar of soap, and minty with a slight hint of strawberry Starburst. He smells like he'd be good in bed, like his scent would linger in your sheets for weeks, linger on your tongue, in your hair, your skin.
I have to clear my throat to keep from salivating and throw my attention to the Tupperware. "What are you doing?"
He leans close, puts his arm around my shoulder, I fail to realize his outstretched arm pointing to something outside the window... I mean, I know it's pointing to something but all I can concentrate on is him warmth. Our faces are inches apart... until he's leaning over me and not into me.
"Look..."
I sigh, in a dream state.
"Those guys..." He notices my lack of focus. "Moi, look..."
I don't want to, but alas... I look.
"They followed me here."
Oh. Shit. I slap his arm down. "Shouldn't you be a little more discreet then?"
He leans away and settles into his seat. "What for? If I know they're watching me, they should at least know that I know... that they're watching me." Runs a hand over his buzzed head and looks around the shop. Gestures to the kota riganati. "You should eat that before it gets cold."
But I'm more interested in his stalkers slash gambling debt collectors Mario and Luigi. "They're Italian."
"Stereotypical mobsters."
"You're in trouble with... the Sopranos?"
"It's not funny!"
We're eye to eye. "No, it's not funny, but... this is some Mario Puzo, Robert De Niro, Michael Scorsese, scary shit."
He takes another look around the shop. "Please just eat your chicken."
I take the lid off the container, but of course I've lost my appetite. How can I eat when the sand in his hourglass is rapidly falling? "You only have a week."
"Yeah..."
"Yeah! So... any ideas on how to get money? Besides robbing poor little coffee shop baristas that would only make minimum wage if it weren't for tips?"
"I can rob a bank."
I stab a potato with my fork. "You can rob a bank?"
He sighs and throws his hands up in frustration. "No, I can't! I could barely rob you. And Trace isn't answering his fucking phone. I can't sleep because I'm fucking terrified, I look out my bedroom window, my kitchen window, my bathroom window and they're there. They're everywhere. My mom's birthday is next month and I'm going to be dead; I'm going to die; I'm dead."
I go to calm his shaking hands with my own but he switches seats and finally sits across from me.
I replace the lid, let what I'm about to say briefly cross my mind before I truly process it and say, "Sleep over again tonight."
"What?"
"Sleep over again tonight. I'll leave my window open. You'll take the bed. I'll take the floor."
"You'll take the floor?"
Or we can both take the bed. I shrug casually. "Sure."
He gives me his most astonished look. "Are you crazy? Eat your chicken."
I glance at the Tupperware. "What?" Glance at Zack, staring at us. "Why?" Glance out the window. "Wh-" Turn my attention back to Justin. "I don't want to eat. What's the big deal?"
"Ember's pregnant belly! I don't want them staking out around your house with her in that condition. I don't want them staking out at your house, period. You've done enough."
Aww... how sweet... in the really weird way that a lot of things are weird and wacky and fucked up these days.
I let another thought briefly cross my mind. I process it for a millisecond before saying, "Honestly? I don't mind sleeping at your place."
016. Stockholm Syndrome.
Stockholm syndrome. It's a serious psychological problem. True, I wasn't kidnaped, but what Justin and I have going on is very Stockholm syndrome-like. It even goes beyond that because this isn't just loyalty, I would fuck Justin senseless if I could.
His apartment is neat. OCD neat. Straight from an Ikea store neat. Couch, rug, trendy wooden coffee table, good sized TV in a chestnut stand that matches the trendy coffee table, guitar... Guitar? "You play guitar?"
He ignores me, walks past me and sits heavily on the couch. I stay standing by the door and allow him his "second thoughts" moment.
I was outrageous to suggest this, but wasn't he even more outrageous to accept? Can either of us even be more outrageous than the other given the outrageousness of the situation? Actually, he should be immune to the insanity by now because after witnessing those two thugs follow us from Double Shot to the drugstore to his apartment I can honestly say that I, personally, am over being scared, I am ready to embrace this.
It's too quiet. I have to say something. "I've been trying to teach myself for months now, but guitar... it's a tricky one."
He still doesn't say anything.
"I bake cookies." I announce this as if to bribe him to speak. "White chocolate macadamia nut," I clarify. "I'll stop by the grocery store tomorrow before work and pick up the ingredients. I'll also stop home and pick up this really cool collage I made. It's groovy, I think it'd go nicely on the wall by the window..."
His expression is nothing like I've ever seen before. "Stop home? Cool collage? White chocolate macadamia nut cookies? This is not some seventh grade slumber party. You can't go home, they will follow you." He's pissed. "Why the fuck are you here? Why the fuck did I let you come here? I want to be done with you." He gets up and leaves the room.
I've seen Justin scared, frustrated, anxious, confused, never honest to God pissed.
It makes me want to leave. But he's right. I can't go home anymore. Because this isn't just about me, it's about Emb and the baby now.
Author's Chapter Notes:
sorry about the delay... thnx to all that read &/or reviewed... pls, enjoy... =)
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